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[WP] An Alien and it’s Human sidekick roam the galaxy, willing to do just about any job to keep the fuel tanks full. The only issue - most clients have never seen a Human and they’re terrified by the sight of one.
Cake Day Post!
EDIT: wanted to say thank you to everyone that responded! I’ve been reading your stories on here for years & couldn’t have asked for a better cake day! | "Rrrraaarrggghhhh." Shyrakas groans and smacks a control panel with a tiny paw. She's frustrated, I can tell. I don't blame her. Stupid junk pile's acting up at the worst time. The cargo freighter is fast approaching and starting to dock with us.
"I know, dude." I toss a greasy rag aside and wipe the sweat from my brow. "Here, pass me those wires. I've got an idea."
My partner nudges the copper bundle closer with her foot, and I begin splicing them into the retrostatic junctions. Sure enough, there's a flash of sparks and the *Dust Bucket* hums with life, display screens lighting up dimly and beeping with warnings about the low power cells. The alarms are annoying, but they won't be a problem soon.
Shyrakas squeaks happily, and hops around for a few seconds before rushing over to the weapons rack and handing me weapons. It's a little comical, seeing my fuzzy brown friend heft firearms twice her size. It's a bit like watching an Earth Shih-Tzu carrying a large stick in their jaws.
"Hmm, plasma grenades... solid choice. Are you sure this Chuttin belt has any power left?" I go through the inventory Shyrakas is pushing on me, strapping the various weapons to my vac-suit. "Really? A Lippillutan arc-saber? Fine. Hand me that pistol- yes the slugthrower."
"Rrrrrggrrraaa!"
"Hey, it's not old-fashioned, it's a classic. Saw my grandfather through the Lippilluta War, this did." I check the handgun with practiced ease before holstering it. Sure, an energy pistol has less kickback and holds more ammo, but traditional kinetic bullets will punch right through an energy shield. "I'm ready."
I feel my heart starting to race as the other ship comes into sight. A cargo ship, responding to the distress signal we put out earlier. By the looks of it, it's a Yellavian transport, small and light craft designed for speedy deliveries. More importantly for Shryakas and me though, it's got fuel to share.
There's a dull thunk as the cargo ship feeds an airlock tube to the *Dusty Bucket* and connects our two ships together. As Shyrakas presses the button that will open the airlock door, I can't help but think about how the Yellavians have no idea what's about to hit them. Primal adrenaline floods into me, an evolutionary advantage granted to the most terrifying of spacefaring sentients, and I can almost hear the drumbeats of my distant ancestors in the thundering of my heart in my ears.
Funny thing, most other sentient species didn't spend as much time on their home planets as humans did. Most of them couldn't wait to get off-planet and set up colonies on worlds where their natural predators didn't exist. Turns out not many sentients evolve from the apex organisms of their worlds, and space travel is more of an escape than an aspiration.
Humans though, we're unusual in that we conquered our homeworld before we reached for the stars. We became the hunters of the animals that would have rivaled us, and that horrified our peers among the galaxy's sentients even before Humankind nearly wiped out the Lippillutans. Nowadays, we are wary after the Galactic Conference's betrayal, and don't venture far from home, and the tales of humanity's wrath have made us the stuff of nightmares.
Yellavians don't gasp, they don't have the vocal structures necessary for such expression. Instead, they turn from their usual bright green to a sickly yellow in shock as I storm through the doorway brandishing a gun in one hand and blazing arc-saber in the other. The six-armed merchants flee from me, terrified by my very presence. I think they're headed for the escape pod, but I don't chase them. They're not the target.
I stride into the cargo ship's bridge and slice open the lockbox with the arc-saber. Lippillutan weapons are generally more bark than bite, but they are useful for more than their creators intended. As the broker said there would be, there's a box of Taydenite gems inside, which I tuck into my pack. The rest of the cargo is unneeded extra weight, so I leave it and head to the engine compartment, where a stellarium power core hovers in a compartment. I rip it out with impunity, and the Yellavian ship's lights die.
Did I say the ship had fuel to share? Well, maybe the Yellavians would have been willing to share, but Shyrakas and I aren't. | **OK, my human sidekick.**
You can call me Dave like you normally do, Xzorp. It's as clear as you are a seven foot tall purple being with four tentacles instead of two arms.
**Exposition complete. Now, then. I talked the to the guy working the space gas station.**
The what?
**I mean, gas station. We have a problem. They don't accept galactic credits as a form of payment.**
Why not?
**No idea. One of those interstellar currency only joints. Do they not trust our great galactic banks?**
To be fair, it's been a rough week for the financial markets.
**It wasn;t so bad until Galactic Prime Emperor Keith Johnson lost the whole treasury betting on soybean futures.**
But soybeans don't grow around here?
**Right, which brings me to the next order of business. We need fuel. Now, the gas station folks have never seen a human. In fact, when I mentioned that I had one on board, they flipped. The one named Blern grabbed a laser pistol and told me that the human race was known as the most deadly and cancerous in the universe.**
We are?
**I mean, now you are. The year is 14712. Your ancestors have done some crazy shit, like Slavery II. How did they get away with that? The word Slavery was right in the name! Anyhow, I told them you're from a more primitive, gentle time, plus you're disease free and their organ will fit in your mouth.**
Oh no.
**Yes.**
Why does this always happen?
**Because the currency problems in this universe are legion. But if there's a species you can blow, there's a species you can get money from.**
Why do I always have to do it? You never put on a pair of space kneepads and had to get your, uh, mouth? Mouth dirty?
**It's technically a mouth, yes. And the thing is, I own this great machine that lets us travel in time and space. If you wanna ride the ride, you gotta buy a ticket.**
I see.
**With your mouth.**
Yeah, yeah, fine. How many are there?
**Three. And according to the fat one, its really easy to make their kind come. But don't look at their genitals. You'll go insane and succumb to space madness.**
Do I have to? What about our backup plan?
**I didn't wanna tell you. There's a problem with our backup plan.**
Uh-oh.
**Right. We've been canceled.**
But this show has been on the air forever!
**The producers say our time is up.**
But this show has such a legacy! It's been on since the 60's. My grandfather got me into it! Can't we do anything to save our jobs?
**Well... *you* can.**
What? No, you don't mean....
(sound of evil laughter) (lightning) (thunder) (cut to "To Be Continued") (end theme) (credits roll) | 2020-03-05T22:25:30 | 2020-03-05T19:47:59 | 48 | 24 |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | "Minister?" said the secretary. The minister was much too tired to look at her, to talk to her. He grunted a murmur.
"It's... the Queen. She's taken ill. We have about an hour until this hits the news."
"Taken ill?" It seemed unlikely at this point that anything could get into her immune system. The Iron Lady was after all, just a lady. Even she fell. The Queen on the other hand, she must be made of much stronger stuff. NASA grade material.
"Yes, minister, she's in a medically induced coma." The minster stood up. "Good Lord, a coma?" The minster rushed out the door, leaving his secretary behind.
The minister was the first to arrive, at least after family. He saw his old friend Willy, the next in line to the throne. Willy's wife was there, his brother, a few minor royals. But William, he was the most important man in the room, and perhaps soon to be the most important in the country.
"William, I came I soon as I heard. What's going on?" William, I noticed wasn't looking at me when he told me that she collapsed, fell down a few stairs. He looked towards a TV, the news had caught wind of an ambulance at Windsor.
From the doors of the Royal Wing, a team of nurses, and doctors had came into the lobby. They looked stressed, as if they were to announce bad news. "Prince William, we need you. Please follow us." I'll always remember the look Willy made at me. Not quite confusion, not quite stress.
The Royal Lobby, as it turns out, was much like any other hospital waiting room. The chairs were better, but nicer chairs didn't make the wait of news any easier. William cam back, by himself. He looked towards his wife and his brother. The three huddled together. Whispers.
William looked at me, his face tripping him. "I told them to do anything to save the Queen. They had ideas... but not permission."
Their ideas, it turns out, was to convert some of her organs into machine. Do what God couldn't. The Queen made a full recovery, I'm sure you're aware. She was better than new, upgraded to the best that biomech science could muster. Every year she would get tuned up. Her veins were replaced with wiring, her heart would be swapped for better power cells each year. At 124, she was more machine than human. The Titanium Lady we called her.
| "They're starting to figure out... We've been alive too long"
"Nonsense" The Queen spoke. "This is going just the way I wanted it to"
"Listen, we've both lived our grand lives. It's about time we went and lived one more humble. We could hide away in the mountains, or maybe in a small village in Asia. "
"Let's not get careless now. The world is within my grasp. While you've been out accruing 'popularity' for pretending to be some old harlet, I've been slowly manipulating the powers of each of the nations"
"That's not fair! I was once a kind old woman from the Midwest "
"Only because there was another old woman to take your place. "
"This is irrelevant! I demand that we go into hiding."
"After 120 years, I really expected more of you. Such a shame poor Betty was cut down in her prime." | 2022-10-30T19:51:16 | 2018-07-08T21:36:18 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] Humanity has discovered immortality but not interstellar travel. The world is in decay due to climate change and no one can escape it. As a punishment, climate change deniers are sentenced to immortality so that they can face the consequences of their actions | The courtroom was bleak, as was the sentence, but Jim wore an absurdly optimistic grin, as if he was receiving a reward rather than punishment. He, like other deniers, lived in a world free of logic, rationality, and hard-won facts. He did not live in reality.
He would soon, whether he knew it or not.
"Jim Habbert," read the judge. She used her formal tone, dashed with an extra sense of weight due to the magnitude of the sentencing. "You are charged with denying the facts of climate change, intentionally working toward the demise of our world, and, therefore, are additionally charged with the manslaughter of millions."
That was new, manslaughter bit. If Jim was phased, he hid it well.
"And how do you plead?"
Jim took a deep breath, his eyes filling with the hard confidence of a passionately misinformed man.
"Not guilty," he said loudly.
He smiled; it was a wicked smile, full of teeth and utterly lacking in empathy. "I can't be guilty of something that *isn't true*. You are all sheep! Brainwashed, stupid sheep who follow every command made of you! Wake up! Wake up and--"
The judge cut him off with a stern stare and blunt words. "Enough," she said. "I hope you have thought over your decision well." She flipped through a few of the necessary papers, taking her time and allowing the tension to grow.
"Jim Habbert, you are hereby sentenced to immortality. May you witness the horrors of your own ignorance."
With that, the court was adjourned, and Jim was shuttled to me.
I waited patiently. My job was not a pleasurable one; I was in charge of carrying out such sentences. Jim was the forth of the young year.
"Hello," I said quietly, once Jim had taken his seat across the cold, blank table.
He chose to stare, rather than respond. I could see no remorse in those eyes, only glee at what was once thought of as the ultimate gift, the punishment he was about to receive--immortality.
"I want to make sure you realize what is going to happen to you," I said. It was a well-practiced, scripted speech, but I usually chose to improvise as I saw fit. It made it feel a little more natural, a little more humane.
"You will be immortal." His face lit up. "Which, as I'm sure you know, means you will not be able to die. Now, when I mean you won't be able to die, I truly mean it. No matter how hard you try, where you go, or how much you suffer, you will not be able to die.
I grimaced. The next part was always the most difficult. "That doesn't mean you won't feel pain," I said. He frowned at this. "You will be fully capable of suffering. And you *will* suffer. Pain is inescapable. And when humanity is gone, and as the earth warms and temperatures rise, you will burn. You will burn until the earth cools. And when it cools, you will freeze."
He didn't look so excited now. They never did, once they reached this point.
"Your body will break," I continued. "Your mind will flee, but *pain* will persist. And you will be unable to die."
Cold, hard silence befell as the truth finally penetrated his thick skull.
I checked my watch and sighed. "It's time," I said. "It's time for your punishment."
For the first time, I think he recognized it as such. | "Alex Jerredson, you stand accused of using a forbidden power source."
The judge's voice boomed throughout the court room, warning all those near not to become the next recipient of my fate.
"How do you plead?" I glare up at him and scream "GUILTY!" just like I've seen the real criminals do on TV. Perhaps if I hadn't gotten into science, I would've had a career as an actor. I can almost imagine it: a costume, an audience, a stage.
But I don't need to imagine it. The orange suit is my costume, the judge my audience, and the very courthouse my stage.
The judge nods sadly. "You are sentenced to immortality. You will see the consequences of your actions as you live through them, never able to escape the suffering you have inflicted on yourself." He motions for the doctor holding the syringe to come forward.
Should I laugh? I think it might be dramatic to laugh, but I'm not quite sure. I know the time to decide has passed when I feel the needle pierce my arm, and as the plunger pushes down and seals my fate I have the sinking feeling that I should, in fact, have laughed. It would sell the whole "crazy person" persona better, I think.
As soon as I get home, I drop the act. Sure, they probably have cameras in here now, but I don't care. Instead, I find the remote and hit the button to raise my life's project.
A rocket.
I didn't love this planet, not really. By the time I was born, it was long past loving. But still, I'm sad to leave. I comfort myself with the knowledge that I'll never come back.
There's no mission control, no countdown, but I give one for myself.
"T-minus 3... 2... 1..." I mutter, clutching the remote, my thumb hovering over the button that will send me into the stars, into my future. "Lift off!" My eyes snap open and my thumb pushes down.
This'll be fun.
r/StoriesOfAshes | 2021-02-02T11:34:06 | 2021-02-02T10:10:20 | 121 | 26 |
[WP] The evil artifact wants to slowly and insidiously corrupt the hero until the inevitable fall from grace and turn to the dark side. This is somewhat undermined by the hero demanding to be "eviled up" right now, and accepting every faustian deal without even hearing the downside. | With a heaving swing, Rorick's warhammer scattered brittle bones into the air. A rusty sword dropped to the stone floor, and the black vapor inhabiting the skeleton was banished by a blinding light. The last demon had fallen.
As the demon left, darkness, too seemed to fade. A single ray of sunlight filtered through an opening in the temple ceiling, shining down on the top of an altar. There, upon a pedestal, lay a jeweled amulet - The Fathom, the answer to Rorick's troubles.
Rorick slowly climbed the staircase, careful of any traps set for overeager adventurers, even though he knew there likely would be none. The amulet itself was a trap.
At the top, Rorick set his warhammer down and approached the dazzling necklace. The chain itself was intricately woven with golden links and speckled with rubies, but those were of little interest, mere distractions from the true artifact. As he got closer, Rorick could not tear his eyes way from the deep blue gemstone, like an ocean set in stone. He bent lower and closer, almost as if it was pulling him into its majesty.
He reached for the necklace and lifted it from its ancient seat. Dust fluttered in the sunlight, until, as Rorick slipped the necklace over his head, the sunlight suddenly vanished.
The temple was black as night, though as Rorick squinted to find any glimpse of light, the darkness hinted blue. His breathing quickened and the air felt thick. He tugged at his neck, though the necklace hung loose over his chest. He heard a voice, though not with his ears.
*Power you seek and you have found*
*Those who wield it will be crowned*
*Use it, for you now are bound*
*The Fathom awaits those who've drowned*
Rorick thumbed the gem as it hung close to his chest. The words echoed in his mind, a haunting phantom upon his heart.
"Great," he said as he mulled it over. "Exactly what I need. Now I can kill my father."
Rorick grabbed his warhammer and moved to leave the altar, but he found he could not move more than a step away from the pedestal.
*Halt! Do not leave this hour*
*Not until I've given power*
*To accomplish good that tastes sour*
*So your soul I may devour*
"My soul?" Rorick mocked. "I haven't had one of those in ages. How do you think I got this demon-blasting warhammer?"
*So you've done a devil's deal?*
*No problem, there's always more to steal*
*Perhaps in time your heart may heal*
*Enough for me to make a meal*
"Fat chance. Those demons I banished had more heart than I. When I heard the legend of the Fathom was true, that an amulet to overthrow kings was hidden in the forest, I knew I needed it. No, not so that I could become king myself. I'm just here to become powerful enough to kill my father. Drown me afterwards, I don't care. The kingdom can go to hell."
*This is no good, this cannot be.*
*For this was not the plan, you see.*
*The one from whom the demons flee*
*Is someone more evil than me.* | "Just fuck my shit up fam," I say to the bemused little gnome. It looks at me like it's never heard any of those words before and maybe it hasn't, being a strange, asexual thing in a world of gumdrops and happy little mushrooms.
I hate this place. I had even before I'd become it's hero.
"Look gnome," I say, "I don't care about your country. There's not a single thing in all the land to interest me save for this quaint little sword you've given me." I raise it to his eyes and speak a word of power. It flares to life with a hiss, the flames dancing against his ivory skin.
"My Lord, I--"
"I'm no Lord," I hiss. "I'm a raging alcoholic with a fire sword in a land of misbegotten midgets, and all I can hear is whispers of power. I want that power."
"Whispers?" The gnome blanches, turning to his compatriots. "Twinkletoes, Appledrop, what sword did we give him?"
A particularly stupid looking gnome scratches at his head. "Uhhh, I don't know actually. I just grabbed the first one in the armory."
The sword whispers louder, using words like "genocide" and playing images of minced mushroom houses across my vision.
"I'm in." I say instantly.
"My lord, what are you 'in' for?"
"Everything," I say, raising the sword. "Now someone get me a beer, I can't bargain with a dry mouth." Then again, maybe I wouldn't bargain at all. The images were awfully attractive, and the gnomes had always been infuriating.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-05-04T08:47:06 | 2021-05-04T07:56:00 | 394 | 205 |
[WP] "The people needed hope. They needed a hero. And I chose you. I nurtured you. Every challenge, every trial, just a little harder than the last. And at the end, you would stop me. You would be the hero. I never wanted it to end... I never wanted you to know what I was really capable of." | Diane, by the time you read this, I will be gone. Please don’t weep for me, for I have not been a good father.
You are a smart girl, and by this time you probably should’ve known, or suspected something. Your suspicions were correct, for I am indeed the dark lord who had plagued this land for decades. The “business meetings” were nothing but a cover.
I am not a perfect man, just someone lucky enough to be born with great magical prowess and a passion for theatrics. In my younger years, I was quite obsessed with tales of heroes and chosen ones vanquishing a evil force. Yet when I searched and searched for an enemy to destroy, I couldn’t find any to fit the narrative. So I decided to become the fabled villain.
I assembled an army of darkness through my travels across the world, planning the perfect moment to strike. It was then I met your mother. We were perfect than, making plans and lofty goals of world domination, then taking up new identities and saving the world from the perils we brought. Yet a horrible tragedy struck, our plans derailed. Your mother fell to a horrible sickness, leaving you behind.
I became compulsive, needing to control every aspect of the environment. Wanting the perfect story without deviations and imperfections. And so just like a puppeteer, I began my work.
I planned every aspect of your story. Who your friends are, the inciting motivation, every quest and every key leading to my defeat. You were going to be the perfect hero, the champion of the world. Diane, my child, perhaps I regretted my actions, perhaps I didn’t. But none of that matters now.
There was but one fatal error in my plot. That I could neither be the strongest nor evilest force. That there would always be an outside force to challenge the status quo, to upstage everything. My hubris prevented me from realizing before too late.
If you are reading this. I had given up my life sealing away a greater evil. I have done everything I was truly capable of, and it wasn’t enough. Attached to this letter is a key to the private library in the basement. It contains all my life’s research. I entrust them in your hands.
Perhaps it was always intended to be this way, the faux chosen one on a path to become a real hero.
My daughter, you have every right to hate me. And you most likely won’t want to hear this from me, but I really do love you.
Alas, I will soon be reunited with your mother.
I believe in you. Good luck. | "And so you killed me?"
"Yes. I couldn't let you go. You were mine! Why couldn't you see that Christine?"
"If you couldn't let me go, then why did you kill me?" She was ghosting in front of him, one by one his other victims were beginning to show up for the conversation too, they all asked the same questions as Christine.
"Because you were not able to stop me. Its all you fault. I trained you, I gave you every opportunity to stop me. I showed you how to use your VocalKinesis, and Technopathic powers, in this day and age, what powers could beat those!"
"But I trusted you. You were my angel, How could you be soo evil? We brought down Raoul the KillDrake together, you and I, how could you do this Erik?"
"Because you were going to go away! Now your voice and my spirit will be forever entwined."
Now she knew why, as she look around at the other apparitions, it took him killing her to see why he was called, The Phantom. | 2022-11-25T15:50:33 | 2022-11-25T14:49:07 | 48 | 29 |
[WP] You are a human on a spaceship crewed by aliens. As your hair dye begins to fade, your crewmates start to worry about your health. | There’s a gelatinous cube on my berth when I clock off shift. It’s fluorescent yellow with a blobby green middle and smells vaguely like a liquid trap in a zero-G gym on cardio day.
It’s seeping into my blanket.
Yay, more hazing. Last week those Zaphle brothers removed the fives from all my keyboards (*hurr hurr, humans love fives, Stella is a hyuuu-mannn*— that doesn’t even make *sense*, you lumps). That was fun to explain to the Quartermaster.
I glance around the compartment. The one I call Tuggy slurps his eyestalks into his head. Tuggy and I are cool. I tend to keep to myself, but we’re both on the Able Bodied Species rota and spend a lot of time in the rigging with the other dexterous types. Besides, the first rule of interspecies crew relations is *never assume malice.* My corollary to that rule is *I know it when I see it.*
So I just ask: “You put this here, Tuggy?”
The tips of his eyestalks, shining like faraway stars, peep out of his head.
“I am questioning: does it please you, Stella-Stella?” Tuggy scuttles to my berth.
“What is it?”
Tuggy’s eyestalks droop. “I am disappointed: it pleases you not. I did not have a reference image, only a description in the Codex entry for Earth.”
“Okay, hey— it’s okay.” Is Tuggy’s forthrightness common to his species, an individual quirk, or just a bad translation patch? “What were you trying to make?”
“I am explaining: it pleased me to give you the sexual organs of a chlorophyll-rich life form from Earth.”
It takes me a minute to translate. “A flower?”
Tuggy folds his limbs in three places to touch the cube with a long digit. It jiggles. “I am embarrassed: the flower appears in Earth literature I have read and I believed it a traditional gift of your kind.”
“Uh, yeah. Historically, I think.”
The light in the compartment shifts abruptly down the spectrum, signaling the end of shift-change. I’m meant to have a sleeping shift now. But I give Tuggy a smile instead.
“Truth is, I don’t know what a flower looks like either, not really.”
“I am curious: I also wish to be respectful: I will say nothing.”
I perch on the edge of my berth. “I was born on a colony ship, sixth-gen. It’s pretty austere on those puppies. If we had any real plants I’m sure they were being saved for the colonists.” I rolled up the sleeve of my coverall to show Tuggy my tattoo: *Grew on Goo!* with the BetaMill logo. It’s a dumb tattoo, but when I look at it I can taste the nutritional sludge of my childhood.
“There were still another two generations to go before it reached Cygnus, so when we refueled at PGA-1911 I bounced, hired on the first short-range cargo ship that would take me. Haven’t been on a majority-human ship since so—“ I shrug.
Tuggy’s eyestalks arc toward me, and his fibrous mouthparts work vigorously. This is Tuggy’s thinking face, I’ve learned.
Then I wonder— “Why did you want to give me a flower, anyway?”
“I am earnest: you seem sad, Stella-Stella. Your keratin shafts have changed their appearance.”
My—oh, my hair. I touch it, grab a short lock and bring it in sight. It’s healthy, shiny—*thanks, Goo*— but the magenta dye is pretty faded, allowing my natural brown to show through.
“It’s just dye,” I tell Tuggy. “This isn’t a biological process. I dyed my hair with my last crew...”
The lights shift down the spectrum again, to near-darkness. I don’t finish telling the story—it’s a good one! Bel lost a bet, had to shave her thumbparts, Jordadada consoled her with his story about hauling robot-pollinators—anyway.
Tuggy rubbed his digits together, a slick click-clacking in the dim red light. “I am perceiving: you miss the crew of your former vessel.”
“Yeah — I guess I do.”
“I am consoling: we are a good crew, too.”
“Tell that to the Zaphle brothers,” I mutter, cringing as I say it. Ugh, just like a human to complain about not having *friends.*
“I am excited: it pleases me to prank the Zaphle brothers.”
I look at Tuggy, at his glittering eyestalks.
“You don’t know the word *flower* but you know the word *prank*?”
“I am joyful: *prank* transcends species, and the very useful hands of a human are very excellent prank-tools.”
I feel a smile, despite myself. “We’re going to prank the Zaphle brothers.”
“I am plotting: Zaphles love the number six. We will use this to prank them!”
I move Tuggy’s flower from my bed to my personal item locker, carefully.
“Hey— tell me your name in your language again? I want to try and nail the pronunciation this time.”
Tuggy’s eyestalks wiggle with glee. | First of hopefully many more and better writings:
"Hark! Are you experiencing Albinifinosith? Our ship's medic can remove it." called out the bald, four-armed four-eyed, humanoid.
​
Pfft what was Albinifinosith? It sounded dangerous, but so did everything in space. A couple of months back, as I was choking on some water, they seemed to think I angered some ghost and was possessed. I'd better play it cool--
​
"Albini-what now?" I coolly replied rasped. Well, the contents may have shown some ignorance, but my voice sure was cool. Hopefully they wouldn't try doing something dumb.
​
"Albinifinosith. In laymen's terms, it's when you're infected with a parasite, Alfinosmith, which slowly consumes your longevity." replied the alien whose name I should've probably learned.
​
Just gotta keep cool, keep cool. Why is the disease called 'Albinifinosith' while the parasite is Alfinosmith? No time to worry, aliens are weird with their naming because there are so many. All those languages must've brought over some weird roots and naming conventions... not that English was any better. Man, I'm sure lucky, everybody speaks English. Wait, it sounds sort of like albino...
​
"Nope, what makes you say that bud?" Hehe, avoided its name and showed a close bond. The classic.
​
"Your hair is losing its pigmentation. That means the Alfinosmith has started to drain your essence." it said.
​
Hmm, well it's true I've been on this ship for half a year now, after all space travel takes time, everything is so far away. My hair dye must be fading. The alien seemed to mentioned the medic can remove it, I wonder what the alien procedure is. Might as well ask, one can't be cool all the time.
​
"Intriguing, so without this Alfinosmith infecting animate beings, they live longer eh? What's medical procedure consist of?" I inquired.
​
"Yes. Imagine giving up 500 years to a parasite. Everyone gets the procedure done immediately. It's simple, we have some leftover anesthetic we can apply and then proceed to extract the parasite." it replied confidently.
​
"Myes, sounds pretty interesting. So what happens to the hair color afterwards?" I further asked.
​
"Hair color? It is all cut off. Just look at my beautiful head." it replied.
​
Oh boy. These aliens and their whacky procedures. If I remember correctly, I saw food dye in the pantry. I bet I could make some hair dye if I dilute it a little bit. Hopefully I can keep doing it for 6 more months... I don't wanna go bald. Does going bald really give them longer lives? It sure doesn't for humans at least. No need to risk it, my hair is great and I'm on cooking duty tonight anyways.
​
"Hmm, humans have a top secret way of dealing with the parasite. I'll work on the potion, don't worry about me." I replied coolly. Even the sentence's contents were cool this time.
​
"Top secret? What is it?" I could see the curiosity popping out of face as he asked.
​
"Wouldn't be top secret if I told you bud." echoed my voice as I walked away. Gotta stay cool all the time, except when it's cold. | 2020-07-05T12:44:40 | 2020-07-05T10:58:38 | 588 | 282 |
[WP] After your seventy-third time dying at the hands of the Dark Lord, you awaken to find the Priests of the Chosen One have resurrected you once more. "Stop doing this to me and let me die!" you shout at them. "I'm just the damn village baker!" | “I am very tired of making the same ‘rising’ joke,” I said.
I knew the priests were not mute, because they chanted indeterminable phrases that sounded at once hallowed and hollow. I strongly suspected they were deaf, however, because goddamn, they have simply not *heard* anything I’ve tried to tell them.
The first twenty times or so, I awoke with cold sweat drenching every fibre of my being, a waste rag so flooded that its only purpose was void. Such was the terror of fighting against the Dark Lord with nothing but immaculate bread making skills—useful when in close proximity to flour and an oven, but entirely futile against an evil wizard with more ways to kill human beings than gluten in a well-kneaded dough.
The next thirty times, I could only laugh. It hurt so, so much. I would raise a fist, and then proceed to be put through the wringer, hacked by a saw, zapped by magic I could barely fathom but completely feel… I never thought death could be an escape, let alone embrace how much I welcomed it.
Then, there was nonchalance. I raised not a finger against the Dark Lord. What was the point? I quipped for the priests, for I had no other companions for the snarky protests that failed to stay my tongue. I could not very well speak with Death, could I?
“You are tired?” one priest muttered. And all of a sudden, solemn incantations became barbed complaints, a circle of holy servants jabbing at me.
“We’ve healed you seventy-three times. Seventy-three!”
“And yet the Dark Lord stands. And you think of making jokes?”
“Not deaf or mute,” I muttered. “Look. I am but the village baker. I have no idea what notions or prophecies you’ve concerned yourselves with, but I *cannot* defeat the Dark Lord.”
“Nonsense.”
“Gibberish.”
“Idiotic wastrel completely defiling our church, and squandering our time!”
“OK,” I exhaled. “I don’t know what I need to convince you. Do you need me to make you a Danish? A baguette?”
“We need you to kill the Dark Lord.”
With their high hoods and voices with the same timbre, there was no way to tell who was speaking. Each word surrounded you like oven heat, oppressive and unwilling to let go unless you were thoroughly cooked.
I slammed my fists on the stone table they held me on.
“I can’t. I’m a baker! Please,” I cried, wrath filling my veins. “Just let me go. Just let me die!”
“... Is there really a mistake?”
“We have detailed records of books. We’ve never had a hero fail to kill a Dark Lord after seventy-three times.”
“Yes, yes!” I cried. I whipped out a large container on me, the remnants of my last quest in my last life.
“Look. I have cookies here. Take them, alright? Taste how delicious they are!”
The priests hesitated for a moment. But I was a good baker. I knew how to make them look as delicious as they taste.
“They look good…”
“Very chocolatey…”
“And poisonous,” I said.
I could not speak with Death. But the Dark Lord taught me a lot about it. As I watched the priests foam at the mouth and collapse around me, I breathed in deep, and marvelled at the beautiful stained-glass windows that I’ve never quite had the time to appreciate, and how quiet a cathedral could be—well, after the sounds of choking died down.
“Alright, Dark Lord. Told you baking the cookies would pay off,” I sighed in relief. “Now you can actually finish the job and let me die, thank you very much.”
---
r/dexdrafts | The first 3 times I ignored it, the Dark lord came to me and when I desperately tried to explain that I didn't want to he decapitated my head.
The next 10 times were spent learning magic, I failed miserably and died to a poison spell far more powerful than any spell I tried to master.
I gave up the sword after 5 times, it was too heavy and the Dark Lord was a master at that anyway.
25 times I was practising the spear, i showed a suprising amount of promise but once again the Dark Lord had already mastered it and knew it's weaknesses.
The next 30 times I spent running, but no matter where I went that damned Dark Lord who refused to listen killed me, and this stupid priest revived me.
"I'VE TOLD YOU TO STOP, FIND SOMEONE ELSE PLEASE, IN 73 TIMES YOU'VE REVIVED ME I'VE LOST EVERYTHING"
If it wasn't enough torture to be brutally killed 73 times than loosing my wife, my parents and my friends definitely was. I am totally alone, every vague link I ever made was found and killed, every new person in my life was found and killed, EVERY POOR SOUL THAT SMILED AT ME ON THE STREET HAD THEIR WHOLE VILLAGE DECIMATED.
"Please, just let me die, find someone who has already mastered a weapon, find someone with the will too fight that Dark Lord. Just leave me in peace, have I not suffered enough." The priest doesn't answer, he's never answered since he told me to kill the Dark Lord, I've even tried attacking him, all he does is stare at the ceiling or revive me again.
I get up and draw myself a teleport circle, at least magic was useful something. I remember when customers would come in with news about the Dark Lord's minions doing evil magic, I never imagined myself learning it. The Dark Lord's minions.....who would join the Dark Lord? All you would be doing is making a deal with the devil. A deal with the devil.....A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL. SURELY THE DARK LORD MUST SICK OF THIS TOO. MAYBE IF I GO TO HIM HE'LL BE INTRIGUED ENOUGH NOT TO KILL ME! | 2021-10-30T13:31:21 | 2021-10-30T12:27:15 | 43 | 31 |
[WP] Aliens invade earth, but they have never understood the concept of guerilla warfare. Humanity's doom is out there, marching toward us in neat, straight lines. | People have a terrible understanding of scope and scale. It’s just a light-year, how many of them could there be? Gee Ben, I don’t know, how many alien ships do you think can fit into *six trillion miles*? One by one, unceasing, and that’s just all we could observe. There could be infinitely more equally patient, equally ordered bugs out there just marching toward us. I check my watch. It’s about time. Groaning, I roll off the couch in the break room and head toward my post.
“Mornin’ Ben.” I pass another grunt, raising my hand in acknowledgment. I make my way sluggishly to the computer screen that’s been my life for the past two years. Fingerprint scanned, iris recognized, welcome Ben to the World Operational Defense Satellite Network (WODSaN). I check my watch again, I’m thirty minutes ahead of schedule, that’s fine, better too early than too late. Several commands later and I have the damn bugship found and targeted by the computer.
“Press enter to confirm launch” the cool, computerized voice said. Without looking I pressed the button. I could do this blindfolded at this point. I didn’t bother trying to peer through the thick, opaque, hole of a window – I knew the invaders’ ship had been detonated. Just like the others. You could catch a glimpse of those strange silver forms evacuating the ship right before the missile’s impact. They’d float in space with the rest of the debris until another ship picked them up.
I logged out, set my alarm, and went to find my bunk. I hadn’t been sleeping well for months.
“FIELDS!” Damn, I just closed my eyes. Blearily, I rose to attention.
“Sir?”
“Do you mind explaining why in the goddamned hell we just got reports of twelve confirmed casualties?” Flecks of spittle hit my face as Commander Jacobs closed the distance between us faster than my eye could follow. I craned my neck to make eye contact with him. His face reminded me of an apple, red and shiny, rage and sweat in equal measure. I tried not to flinch.
“Sir?” I responded, not understanding. I did my job.
“*Sir? SIR*” He mocked, “I don’t know how you fucked up but boy you really did, you really fucking did Fields. ‘Computers are unreliable’ they told me, ‘what if the power goes out? What if something crashes?’ No, we just NEEDED a team to press a damn button. I don’t know how all five of you managed to sleep through a goddamned alien invasion but now we have bodies on the ground! Do you understand *that*.” It wasn’t a question.
“Sir, I –” I was floundering with my watch, trying to pull up the log of my activity. I saw the confirmed launch. No way any of the bugs had slipped by, the system never made a mistake.
“You better choose your next words very carefully or you’ll be the next thing we launch into space.” Commander Jacobs narrowed his eyes, barely able to control his breathing.
His phone rang, giving me a brief respite to collect my thoughts. I could only hear his side of the conversation. “What? Yes. What do you mean we’re empty? None? NONE? You fucking me? What the hell are they doing about it? They realize this is a time sensitive issue? Christ. Christ. Christ, yeah, I understand.” The color drained from his face throughout the call. He hung up and sat heavily on the bed, rubbing his face in his hands. “Fields…”
“Yes, sir?”
“We’re out of goddamned ammunition.”
“No way.”
“Russia pulled out of the agreement, then China. We already mined our country to hell, there’s nothing we can dig up to fight with anymore.”
“Why would they do that? With respect sir, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”
He sighed, “some political nonsense. Something about how WODSaN could be turned against them once the aliens are all killed. They wanted the base moved to under their jurisdiction. The higher ups refused.”
“But there’s literally trillions of alien ships still coming at us!” I said incredulously.
“You know that, I know that. But they don’t see it every day like we do. It’s just an abstraction to them.”
We stood in silence for a moment, trying to comprehend what the future would hold. Commander Jacobs broke first. “You know, Fields? I don’t think we’ve ever actually killed any of those bugs. They always retreat and regroup before we do any serious damage.”
“Who would have thought attacking your enemy one at a time would be an unbeatable strategy.”
He let out a short, barking laugh. “Just wait ‘em out. Straight lines and politics. Keep the pressure on and we’ll crack first. Smart buggers.”
We stood. “What now sir?” I asked.
“As far as I’m concerned you’re free to spend the end of days as you see fit. I’m going to tell the rest of the unit then I’m guessing I’ll see you at the bar.”
“Cheers sir.”
He grimaced and turned to leave. As he shut the door behind him I heard him muttering, “straight lines and politics.”
| We knew they were coming. The news spread quick throughout our world. These beings looked similar to us, but they were not like us at all. The first time their massive ships appeared on the horizon, no one knew what to expect. By the time they landed, we had our defenses prepared. We had no idea how little damage we could do. Each being was clad in a material harder than anything we'd seen before; impenetrable and covering their entire body. They carried something that resembled spears, but at the click of a button would begin to drain the blood from it's targets body- instantly. It was chaos. One by one, they took down the nations of our world. Some by deceit, but most by sheer force. We tried to ban together, but they were far more organized than we ever could be. Far more precise. Little did they know, that would be their downfall.
I'd like to say that I fought and died bravely the day they came, but I ran with my family. I had to know they were safe. We found a place deep in the forest, where we ran into other retreating families and communities. Soon, we had a village of our own, far from all other civilization. I knew we had only bought ourselves time. They won't stop until they've claimed every inch of our world. Through what I witnessed firsthand, and stories from my new neighbors, I figured out their weakness. They rely too much on their technology and their numbers. These things are no match for the fighting spirit of my people. I would show them.
A few months into living in our new home, a scout was spotted near the perimeter of our village. We had our best tracker follow him back to the others. We discovered their fleet planned to meet our resistance in an open field down at the valley below us. I put together a group to meet them. We gathered what weapons we had and met them in the clearing. I saw the beings who looked like us, but not quite, on the other side of the field. Even at this distance I could see their white faces. They began to march, wielding their terrible weaponry, which I learned were called guns. We charged. Before we were close enough for their front line to use their guns, more of my men emerged from the forest on either side of them. We ran unpredictable routes, throwing rocks and spears. Our arrows flew from deep within the forest and rained on their army indiscriminately. Many of their commanders in the back of the formation were killed even before their front line used a weapon. Still, they put up quite a fight. Many men died on both sides, but ultimately it was they who retreated. However, at this point they had lost all sense of their formation. White men ran through the forest alone, only to be attacked from above by more of my people waiting in the trees.
Through the sweat and blood that blurred my vision, I watched our victory unfold. Among all this death, I managed a smile, for I knew that my people would be safe to live on this land- now and for the rest of time. We knew they were coming, and we stopped them.
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*My newnew project is* r/TalesOfAcka *- A fictional universe where the prophecies of the Old World are fulfilled, abandoned, and rewritten on a new continent of vicious civilizations and fantastic creatures.* | 2018-10-30T12:00:03 | 2018-10-30T11:55:03 | 228 | 80 |
[WP] War is no longer initiated by your country’s leader. War is now decided by popular vote. If you cast a vote “FOR” war, you are automatically enlisted in your country’s militia upon successful declaration of war. You voted “AGAINST,” but the rest of your family voted “FOR.” | It had never been done before, giving The People such a place in decision making.
The Vote was a trial system to be reevaluated in a year's time. Hannah didn't know if this was more or less barbaric than old men deciding that another country had pissed them off and had to suffer for it but she was sure it wasn't right either way.
Her mum poured herself and Mark a coffee and brought it over to the couch so they could sit all cosy as it was decided if people had to die for the sake of - Hannah didn't know actually. Something to do with nuclear weapons or oil? She rolled her eyes and checked her phone, the voting app wasn't accepting anymore votes now. The war could be over who had the best coffee for all she knew but it was still going to be stupid and unnecessary and a waste of lives and money.
"Vote's closed," She sighed from her chair, legs curled under her. Her mother and Mark glanced over at her and Mark rolled his eyes as her mother pursed her lips in disapproval.
"Don't be such a fucking downer," Mark barked with a sneer on his rat like face as he shifted his fat ass to be able to stare his stepdaughter down. "You're 19, when *I* was 19 I'd already been in the army for two years! Doing something fucking useful with my life, and what the fuck are you doing? Working at fucking Wallmart!"
Hannah refrained from sighing or rolling her eyes as that would set him off again into another rant about how worthless she was and how she was a drain on their resources... Nevermind that he had been kicked out of the army after only six years or that he'd convinced her mother to give him her college fund, given half to his clone of a son and spent the rest on a new car and booze.
"Oh look!" Her mother chirped, ever the peacemaker. "It's starting! How exciting, don't you think Mark? We're part of history now!" Now Hannah did roll her eyes, history, right.
The special bulletin banner unfolded across the T.V. screen with a triumphant fanfare. The news anchor smiled blindingly at the cameras and Hannah's skin crawled. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen! Tonight we make history! The votes have been counted and the decision has been made by the fair people of our country!" Hannah tuned out a little as Mark made a self congratulating noise, like the news anchor had called *him* a 'fair person', ugh.
Hannah began paying attention again when the anchor cleared his throat and adopted a serious look. "The votes are in, we *will* be going to war." Mark cheered, Hannah shot him an incredulous look before quickly focusing back on the T.V, the man was 54 and cheering like a preteen over the idea of war. "The Vote served another purpose," He continued and Hannah frowned slightly. "All those who -" He cut himself off with wide eyes as he paled and then continued in a much weaker voice. "All those who voted 'YES' have been conscripted into the Armed Forces as of this moment, those who voted 'Yes' will receive their orders in the next two weeks, anyone who tries to evade conscription will be given a mandatory sentence of five years in prison,"
The house was silent for a long moment before Hannah looked over at her mother. "Tell me you voted 'NO' mum," She pleaded, fear beating at her rib cage. "Mum, tell me you voted 'No'!"
Slowly, ever so slowly her mother shook her head. "I voted 'YES'." | 'It's only a little war' was his mother's reply to the objection of her vote to defend.
'She's right, the odds of losing are pretty slim. The bookie's got it 3 to 1; me and the guys at work each put a hundred quid on it.' said his forty-something dad, who voted the same. He was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table, in between his plate of egg on toast.
Maybe it was because he was young, or maybe he'd been reading too much far-left media, but David was in complete disbelief.
'People are going to die because of this! Real, actual people like you and me.'
'Well, not quite like you and me, David.' his mother was still in her dressing gown, casually dipping her tea bag in and out of her cup. 'You shouldn't generalise. They're a small country of only a few million, it can only do more good harm than harm.' his mother continued, before turning to the television.
Technology had advanced to a point were digital counting was almost immediate, and even quicker now that people could vote on an app on their phone. Within the hour of the designated window of voting, the government-mandated television unmuted itself and the BBC breaking news alarm was heard.
'...And the vote is in.' the fresh tie and suit presenter allowed for a short, dramatic pause alongside the quiet pulse-inducing music '55% to attack, 40% to defend, and 5%... undecided. Well, there we have it folks at home; we are to go to war with Slovenia. The Prime Minister will hold a briefing this evening, but for now, let's all get back to 'Black Mirror: a world without war'.'
'What if they attack us here?!' David continued immediately.
'Oh don't be so naive, Slovenia doesn't have it in them to attack us all the way over here. We'll be fine. Now go to your games and play with your friends, and stop reading that left-wing garbage.'
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r/Un_Caste | 2021-01-28T06:17:38 | 2021-01-28T04:18:05 | 1,809 | 228 |
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid. | Sleet poured down outside. It was a dreadful night, but after a hard week even the weather wouldn't stop the working men of Lareton from enjoying a drink. The tavern itself was warm enough, the beer had only a little water, and the stew was hot. What more could one ask after a long week? Oh that's right, a little fun!
"The Dark Lord," I shouted, "Should stop trying so hard! He'll never be the man his *MOTHER* is!" The patrons around me guffawed with laughter. The men needed a good laugh, and it was an easy crowd. Unfortunately, a drunkard at a different table decided to give it a go.
"The Dark Lord is so stupid," the fat peasant slurred as he stood up, "that he makes Brody look smart!" He pointed to the innkeeper's mute child. The joke fell flat on the room since everybody liked the sweet and generous boy. Sure he hadn't spoken since seeing his mother brutally tortured and killed, but he was always making sure the other kids were looked after and didn't go hungry. It was my fault that he was mute. My henchmen who mistook his mother for her traitorous sister. Nothing can really make up for that so when I wanted to be just me I picked this bar. His dad could use the cash.
I smiled and weaved my way over to the fat one with poor humor and put my arm around his shoulders. "Leave the jokes to the professionals. I know EVERY Dark Lord joke ever made!" I really did. I have a collector whose job it is to find out these things. "The Dark Lord's family tree" I announced as I walked the drunkard to the door and politely pushed him out of it, "Must have been a cactus. Because how else would it produce such a PRICK?!" Laughter ignited again throughout the room.
The jokes and banter continued for several minutes, but even residual chuckles died away as the door slammed open. A hooded figure stepped in out of the night. He stared at everyone from under the hood of his cloak, "What. IS. This?!" His sinister voice seemed to cut through the tavern. The bouncer began to rise, but the intruder's sword was drawn and placed against his throat in the blink of an eye. Everyone stood very still. The intruder lowered his sword from the bouncer but did not sheath it as he began to stalk around the room. He examined every patron as he spoke, "A fat peasant told me that someone in this tavern was besmirching the good name of my Master - Lord Algrim."
When he spoke the Dark Lord's name and claimed that man as his master, the tavern went from quiet to deathly silent. Brave men suddenly stared into their cups or focused on something at their feet. No heads were up, and no eyes met those of the intruder. Except mine. He walked over to me and spoke again, "The description he gave me was of you, old man. You dare to speak so boldly against the Master?"
"Who, exactly, are you?" I asked. I have been around many years and done a little teaching here and there, but I have a good eye for faces. His was not one I had seen before. Ever.
"I am the Dark Lord's Apprentice." he whispered fiercely, "And you *will* show respect to my master." His face was young now that I could see under the hood. Just a boy, really, and clearly an idiotic one at that.
"Alright," I said. Perhaps the wine was making me feel indulgent. "We were just having a bit of fun. No need to get all upset about it. I'm sure the Dark Lord would understand peasants blowing off some steam. Let me buy you a drink."
The young man took a step back and spoke loudly enough that the whole room could hear, "Nobody speaks in such a manner about my master and lives. On your knees, dog, and if you beg I *might* dispatch you quickly."
Bloody hell. My one night off and this moron has to ruin it. Option 1, I let him think he's killed me. A little stabbing won't do more than ruin my shirt and be slightly inconvenient. On the other hand, I won't be able to show this face in town again without being resurrected somehow. Option 2, I kill him first. On the other hand, everyone will know who I am if I do that. Evil sorcery is a bit obvious. Option 3... I took too long pondering the options and the idiot was trying to stab me. Well at least that makes the decision easy. With a wave of my hand I broke both his legs and the arm holding the sword. He can keep the other arm so that none of my guards have to waste time feeding him while we question him.
As the young man lay screaming on the ground, and the patrons around stared at me in horror I sighed. Little Brody would probably never speak again at this rate. "Idiot" I snarled at the imposter. Looking up at the other patrons, I dropped my peasant disguise. "This imposter," I muffled his screams with my magic so that I could be heard, "This imposter thought he could use my name to commit crimes. I may be a dark lord, but this is MY kingdom! Crime of any sort must be sanctioned by ME, and ME ALONE! If any of you fools, having seen this, think that you can claim my protection to do as you like, I encourage you to come by the palace gates next week. I'll have them hang what's left of this idiot out for the birds."
Floating the imposter along behind me I vanished into a cloud of smoke. I took the imposter to the dungeons and gave the torturers very specific instructions about how to handle him. As I climbed the stairs to my chambers, I yawned and sighed at the thought of my half-drunk beer. *Wait a minute*, I thought to myself, *I never paid my tab!* A brief effort brought up just enough of a smoky portal that I could reach my arm through and drop a gold coin on the bar in front of Brody's father. I always tip well. | Agileas sobered up, thread of Water inward; an old trick developed at an age younger than the boy standing in front of him. "You? An apprentice of the Dark? Don't make me-"
A needle of Earth; poison and buzzing, shot through his vacated chair, a coat of Fire surrounding it and hiding the hole it had made. Air rushed out, toxins threatening to invade; easily dispelled with a burst of Air of his own. "Sh-hut UP!" the boy shouted.
Agileas sighed. Not only did he not recognise the boy; he was also far younger than his usual set of apprentices and too emotional by half. Use emotions, yes; fools of the Light preached numbness and sterility. Be used by emotions, no: that way only laid pain, at best. "Boy's had too much to drink," he shouted over the din; other patrons figuring out there was a magic duel happening and preparing accordingly. He counted five crossbows and two sets of throwing daggers, not to mention the regular sidearms. "I'll sober him up with some water. Or Water, I don't know yet!"
"Just do it outside, Saag!" the bartender shot back before demonstratively going back to serving a drink.
A flick of Air and a rush of Water and the boy was washed out of the establishment, while a waft of Fire and Air flash-dried the floor before anything could seep in. Agileas took a bow and threw a gold coin into the till before leaving, mind already on the next spells he needed to employ. One weave of Air: a curtain to deaden sound's escape. One heavy wave of Water, in case someone was looking. One stab of Earth; a wall behind to block flight. One thrust of the Dark, left and up to the centre of mass.
He hadn't anticipated the slash of Earth and Dark, and it took him aback, impacting on his heavily bespelled tunic. He grunted with the impact, but the tunic had experienced worse and absorbed it as it ought, fuelling the Dark Lord's own counter, instinct picking apart the Magic and distributing it accordingly. "You *are* a student of the Dark Lord," Agileas mused softly as he walked up; voice unmagically modulated to carry to the paralysed boy of maybe fourteen winters. "Yet I do not recall you." In fact, he made a point to not take apprentices under nineteen winters old, to remove the worst of age-induced temperament. "That spell is one of my favourites."
The boy was pale in the moonlight, the dagger of Dark inches from his heart. "Yo... You..." The dagger receded. "You're not Him."
That was the voice of someone who believed something could not possibly be true; not a mere statement of denial. "I am," the Dark Lord countered, studying the half-foot shorter boy with one hand behind his back. One hand that wove Water and Dark in a spiral; and with a swirl, the spell went into the boy's head. "Name, age, rank, date, fourth invocation."
"Ignat, fourteen winters and a spring, Apprentice Seventh, Sixth of Harvest Moon and Thirteenth of Begaz," the boy recited dully, before uttering a string of words in Low Elvish. Then, to the Dark Lord's surprise, his spell wavered. "Agi...le...aasssssssssssss."
The Dark Lord Agileas was not easily taken aback, yet in nine words and one invocation, the boy had managed to do so. Water and Earth receded, Dark was quashed, and Air kept the boy upright; his own magic rushing back and... Submitting. That, if nothing else, proved the veracity, yet questions remained. "Ignat, Seventh, we will have words after the sun rises on the morn. I have questions, and you will answer them, through Water and Dark if I must, but the Worm Moon of the Twelfth demands sacrifice." He had *hoped* to ply one of the drunkards into his ritual, but after what had just happened, that was futile. "Something you ought to know as a Seventh."
"I... I do..." the boy said, still weak, unsurprisingly. The weave wasn't known for being subtle or painless. Nor did the Dark Lord know anyone who could resist it except himself, until now. "I... This isn't the Thirteenth of Begaz? It... It actually worked?"
Myriad questions arose. The Dark Lord suppressed them. Now was not the time. Not if he had to find a sacrifice. "We will talk on the morn. For now..." he cut Air and Dark and Earth, only to meet a lance of Fire. "Boy."
"I... I remember what happened. A... A peasant's child... Fr... From here." Eyes widened. "Her!"
Air and Earth grabbed, and a waif of a girl, seven winters if that, came flying out of an opened window. | 2022-01-14T15:38:28 | 2022-01-14T15:38:16 | 2,794 | 56 |
[WP] You live in a village in the dessert. One day it is raided by terrorists and all village members are killed, except for you. You lost most of your memories and now wander through the dessert, thinking you are the last of your species.
Second time posting this, yay... fucking tags mate *cough* Well anyways, i didnt go into a lot of detail in the title, because i wanted to keep it as short as possible. So, a lot is kept to your imagination. How much and what do you remember ? Will you die in the dessert ? Why do you think you are the last of your species ? Will you find other of your species ? etc,etc... Really, so much to write.
So i come back and i see this...1063 likes WTF! This was my first prompt ever, im still amazed. I want to thank everyone that submitted a story and all the people that still will :D | Time is passing - it must be near noon. I still remember vividly the smell, the strong sweet smell of burning sugar everywhere.
It was the torch that changed this land. It used to be a soft sea of soft peachy crème in an ever changing configuration of dunes, with our people happily swimming and living in it. The land gave us everything we needed: lair, joy and sustenance. Our hunger satisfied with sporadic bites, here and there, of sweet sugary substance.
Then the torch came and reshaped our world to a ruthless wasteland. It burnt - how it burned! A flickering blue demon, hardening the peachy dunes to glassy crust, transforming everything in browned blotches with minute spots here and there - my fallen brethren carbonized into oblivion.
As I walk these vast plains, hunger now controls my mind. I have lost count of the many times I've traveled between the arching porcelain walls that surround it. I cannot climb them, there is no foothold. They stand there, impervious, mocking my helplessness.
Too long I've stumbled here. I repeatedly pound and stomp this land unsuccessfully, longing for a minute drop of its sweetness. I feel it; it is there, underneath this tough sugary barrier, a few millimeters down. So near, so far.
The light has suddenly darkened. An elliptical shape hides the sun. At last, redemption of my suffering has arrived. It has the shape of a metallic elliptic monster, cracking the surface in arching blows. The repeated, syncopation harmony of destruction. My time has come.
I can smell the crème floating again, seeping through the cracks. I reach it and bathe again into it's richness and warmth. The monster is now on top of me. Just one more swing and everything's over.
**Edit**: my first Reddit gold! thanks a lot to all readers. Been lurking for a while on /r/writingprompts, and even though English is not my first language, it has given me courage to post more attempts. Thanks again! | I'm alone, alone in a sea of meringue. The macaroons surfaced like a sea of coconut clouds, blurring the sun. Just when I made my way out of the sticky sweetness, the evil chocolate rum balls came crashing down from the sky, like black, acid rain, invading my village and killing all the villagers. I am the only one left. I walk through the carnage and look for other survivors. Hoping, hoping to again kiss my children and hug my wife in the candy land that I once called home. | 2014-12-17T00:31:27 | 2014-12-16T23:10:53 | 369 | 45 |
[WP] You are an average Joe who is challenged by a random super hero every week. Your record is 337-0. | The phone is ringing. The phone is always ringing. The phone is halfway across the apartment in the kitchen and this will just be one more unanswered call and another voicemail filling up the inbox.
A grunt effectively mutes the phone. There’s always a grunt when I’m moving now. I was told there’s something seriously wrong with my lower back, but I have no idea what. The pain just blended in with everything else after the first month or two. My agent had me go see a doctor about it but after that fight with Banshee, Lord knows my hearing isn’t right. I just smiled and nodded during his explanation and took the prescription.
The freezer is like Mecca and I’m ready for my pilgrimage there. One small step and my knee buckles again. It’s been a six months since my second knee surgery, it felt better for a few weeks and for a few fights but now it’s slipping again. The freezer door opens the blasting cold tickles the bruises on my face reminding me of the soft hands on my face during kisses with my high school girlfriend. That memory is snapped out and the memory of Iceman’s left hook almost snapping my jaw comes in.
I grab a few ice packs and a handful of ice then close the freezer.
Now that the ice sits in the glass, there’s so many options of whiskey to choose from on the counter. It seems like every fan meets me and gives me a bottle for every autograph or selfie. They aren’t always the best whiskeys but they always help with the pain.
It wasn’t long after my 130th fight that all the websites were saying that I couldn’t beat flyers. They said I picked my opponents and that my weakness was people with wings. I never backed down from a fight, who were they speaking about? I called them all out after I smashed Donatello’s shell. They started to line up for the paychecks, pride, or just the chance to brag to their friends that I beat them.
My hands have never been the same since. Every single one of them were choked out with a modified X choke. I’d grab the bottom of their wings and wrap it over the opposite shoulder, passing it off to my left hand. My right arm would then go over their head and put my elbow on their ear forcing their neck further into my left wrist. My right hand would grab that same wing I pulled over and I’d slowly bring my elbows to my ribs until they passed out. Imagine the damage all those grips do to your hands. Especially Archangel. God damn, Warren’s wings. It makes squeezing opening this bottle of Rye annoying and my knuckles all crack. I don’t even put the caps back on the hydrocodone bottles anymore.
The phone starts ringing again. This time, I’m in front of it. Little white pills fly all over the place as I pick up the bottle and bring it to my ear yelling, “HELLO!” I realize my mistake and pick a few off the floor and pop them in my mouth. I wash it down with some of the whiskey I just poured. I pick up the actual phone, swipe my agent’s face to the right and answer, “Yeah, I’ll take the fight.”
| The first time it happened I was working in the neighbor's garden. Mrs. Lewis, the pretty one. The one who always called me and my friends "sweetie" or "honey" and paid us too much when we did odd jobs for her.
I was about fifteen years old at the time, just trying to make a buck. I was watering her flowers I heard a scream and a crash from the house. I opened the door and froze. There was Mrs. Lewis on the floor. A thick liquid stained the snow-white dark red. A strange, mudlike being loomed in the living room, his misshapen head grazing ceiling. He spoke with a voice so deep and gravelly he could hardly be understood.
"There you are. I have been looking for you."
I would have remained paralyzed with fear, except that I suddenly realized my feet were soaking wet. In my haste, I had dragged the garden hose with me. Without waiting to hear what else it had to say, I pointed the hose at the creature and sprayed.
The mud dissolved into a watery mess, and that was my first victory. It's been over six years now, and every Saturday without fail a strange, powerful being has attacked me, and somehow I always have exactly what I need to defeat it. Whether it was time I was attacked in the hospital while recovering from a car crash or when my eighteenth birthday fell on a Saturday and I was at Mrs. Lewis' house, a strange mixture of luck and good timing have kept me alive. Today being a Saturday, I don't know what to expect other than the unexpected. Wish me luck. | 2016-11-19T16:24:17 | 2016-11-19T15:07:16 | 38 | 26 |
[WP] Two men eat dinner in an empty restaurant. One is rich and one is poor. They are good friends. In two minutes, one of them will be dead. | Jodie stared blankly out the smudged glass door of the small family restaurant, one hip resting slightly against the stained plywood countertop as she tapped one chipped nail in a steady, if absent-minded, rhythm. It was a Wednesday. Jodie hated Wednesdays. Wednesdays were somehow always the same sort of wet, dreary, and dreadfully boring day. Currently there were two customers in the dining area, which was the busiest it had been all shift.
One man had been there for nearly an hour, sitting alone and nursing the last dregs of the coffee he had ordered after his meal. Jodie scowled at the back of his head. She could tell he wasn't going to tip her. She had hoped that he would choke on his burger or maybe a french fry. Then she'd be able to get some excitement.
The man was old, and obviously had not planned on living as long as he had. His suit was tired and worn, with patches sewn onto the elbows and knees in slightly different shades of black than the suit originally had been. He was balding with fine white hair flying untamed about his head, and his face worn down like a statue that had been caught in a desert storm, blasted with sand until the barest likeness of a face was all that remained. His bloodshot eyes bulged slightly as he stared out the window into the rainy streets, probably, Jodie thought secretly to herself, contemplating his long walk back to whichever shitty retirement home he was able to afford.
The other patron was much more promising, tip-wise. This man was also older, but had taken much better care of himself. His shock of white hair was carefully combed back and gelled to stay out of his face. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, slightly crooked but well in place as the man studied the newspaper in front of him. It was turned to the business section. Jodie had been a waitress long enough to know that men who read the business section in newspapers left good tips. It was like a law of their kind or something.
The poor man slowly leaned forward and turned his head to Jodie. "Could I bother you for the check, young lady?" He croaked with a voice that sounded as dusty as his suit. She plastered on a plastic smile and chirped "Sure, hun!" back at him.
"Did you hear about that detective put in charge of the Windsor murder? Says it's likely a serial killer." The poor man said.
Jodie felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and it wasn't all due to the topic matter. She got being interested in crime drama. Customers had been talking about the Windsor murder all week, and she herself had joined in the speculation once or twice. Even the rich man at the other table had looked up with wary interest at the mention. No, it was the way the man had spoken his words, like he knew something. Like he was telling a joke and trying his best for a deadpan presentation, but hadn't quite managed to evade his amusement.
"Uh, yeah," Jodie muttered, dropping the check on the table and escaping back to the waitress stand. She didn't like that man. She really didn't.
The man paid in cash, dropping bills that looked like they were printed the year of his birth, and stood with creaking slowness. He grabbed his cane and slowly hobbled towards the door. He paused, however, at the rich mans table. "Could I bother you for the funnies?" He asked casually. "I always try to keep up to date with my comics, but I missed todays delivery."
The rich man frowned at the poor man, but nodded slowly and carefully unfolded his paper, extricating the requested pages and handing them over. The poor man took the sheets with a strange grin, and shook his counterparts hand. He left whistling a tuneless song Jodie had never heard before.
Within thirty seconds, the wire-rimmed glasses of the rich man were on the floor, as was the rich man. A heart attack, declared the paramedics who arrived shortly after. Jodie was sent home by her boss, for all the excitement had gotten to her, and she couldn't stop babbling about the 'touch of death' and the old man who had delivered it.
What no one was to know until well after the rich man had been buried was that he knew the poor man quite well, though he had never met him before. After all, a murderer and death are very good friends indeed. | “I’m so glad we could meet like this.”
I look at my watch, nearly twelve. Quite late, and I think we ought to polish off our dessert plates and leave.
This place was empty, not by chance, but by design. I own this restaurant, and a day of lost revenue is of little consequence to me. I have many, you see, and this day is important, his birthday. After years of soul-searching, he has finally returned stateside and I thought I’d treat him with a nice dinner.
Tick, tick, tick.
“Waiter, please clear the table.”
He gladly obliged as I press down a generous tip. As he hops off, I get up, push the table in.
“I’m going to use the bathroom, but I’ll be back.”
I head into the bathroom, close myself within a stall. I reach within my throat, my hand moving of its own accord, and adjust the Black Cube jutting our from under my uvula. I twist it slowly, and it synchronizes with the ticking of my watch.
Tick, tick, tick.
First there is pain, then euphoria. Things become clear to me, my Eye is open. I will give my poor friend a heart attack so sharp that he will not call out for help, he will not even scream. Then I shall take from him what is mine, what I was provided by Kaji for.
I exit the stall, and look in the mirror. My veins pop out, my lips are a dark blue. My eyes have been clouded by the mist, they are as black as abyss.
I move back through the restaurant, as it begins to fold up into a larger Black Cube, and the false identity in which I hath assumed for the past two months hath left me like the fog leaves the light. My purpose is clear, this is my reality.
My false friend, my host’s childhood friend, is unworthy to carry the Lektor, yet he found it among the Dugpa monasteries of Tibet, whole soul-searching. I look at him, and he feels nothing, sees nothing, for it is only the Lettie and I present in this false reality I have pulled us into.
The tables fold like flower petals, the chairs crumbling into ash, and cascading to the floor. The sky is nonexistent, only the thousands of eyes watching this surreal plane. The doors have become tunnels into great stellar bursts of light, quasars of an expanding universe.
I walk forth, to the table in which my unsuspecting host and target shared their last meal. The flame of the Lektor flickers, the presence watching over me heightens its strength. Lines and symbols appear atop, radiant, ever present.
I reach in, and retrieve the Lektor, absorbing it into the Black Cube within my throat.
I ascended, watching the restaurant devolve into what is only a mass of light and fire.
And I return to the Second Existence. | 2018-07-30T10:07:09 | 2018-07-30T09:07:23 | 38 | 10 |
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human. | I was sipping on my wine when the notifications started flooding my phone. My gang members all looked at me, obviously annoyed by the ringing. That was when their phones started ringing too.
I raised a hand to my temple and let out a sigh. I was much too tired to be disturbed like this.
“Boss, you might wanna see this.”
Peter glanced up at me, and with shaking hands, showed me his phone.
‘Am I Going To Hell?’
“What in the world is this?”
“I don’t know, it just popped up like an ad. Our names are all there. Should we look?”
I glared at him and snatched his phone, searching up his name.
Eternal damnation.
“This can’t be real,” I said as I nervously chuckled. I looked up the names of all my family, friends- everyone I knew who didn’t deserve hell.
I guess it was real.
“Shit,” I mumbled under my breath. I looked up and saw everyone else starting to panic. Everyone must have been given the punishment of eternal damnation.
I hurriedly typed my name and got the exact same result. What did I expect? A group of fugitives running around, killing, stealing, assaulting. Who’d think we’d go to heaven?
Everyone had different reactions. I was silent, rethinking and regretting all my decisions. John and Bartholomew were yelling at each other, blaming each other. Simon was drinking, trying to forget.
Although I saw someone who was quiet and demure.
I searched up his name- ‘two thousand days in purgatory’
As the result popped up, sirens started ringing, doors started banging.
“This is the police! Open up!”
Great, as if the punishment of hell wasn’t enough, now we were going to jail too.
“How did they find us? We’ve the best hiding spot in the state!”
Murmurs erupted from 10 of my members. The last one was still silent, fidgeting with his hands.
“Someone betrayed us,” I announced, everyone suddenly falling silent.
I took out my gun, pointed at him and shook my head. One of my closest friends.
“Enjoy life in purgatory, Judas.”
———-
This was supposed to be mirrored to The Last Supper but like, idk lol. | I search my name.
Shit.
It’s there.
My name is there. In bright red, my name is plainly written across the screen.
Now everyone can know that I killed her.
I killed her.
*I KILLED HER.*
My hands are shaking. This can’t be real. No. No. No. no.
I’m shaking and crying and breaking down.
NO!
I will spend an eternity in hell.
Great.
GREAT.
I can’t think I can’t breathe I can’t live I can’t see I can’t speak. I can’t.
I can’t live.
I CAN’T LIVE! | 2020-02-29T22:56:20 | 2020-02-29T20:52:03 | 109 | 11 |
[WP] You have an ability: As long as your eyes are closed, time is stopped. You can move while time is stopped, but you can't see. Suddenly, a SWAT team bursts through your window. | I closed my eyes. The noises stopped. I gingerly felt around the room until I found my way out to the hall. I opened for the briefest of second. "Move, move!" came the SWAT cries, and then time stopped again. It was enough to see that the door was being breached as well.
I fumbled my way to the closet. I sighed, and opened my eyes again. It took me only a few seconds to get in and grab my jacket. Cries of surprise came from my living room, where for all they knew I *should* have been sitting still. I closed my eyes, again.
I couldn't get out the front door. SWAT officers were in the way, as well as chunks of the door. One of the downsides to this trick was that while time was stopped there was no moving of anything I didn't have my hands on at the time. Also, I couldn't see. Still, over the years I'd gotten quite adept at maneuvering without sight.
The backdoor was closed and locked, and I imagine there were agents either breaking in or about to do so. I opened my eyes long enough to shout "What do you want!?", then shut them again. I moved to the top of the stairs and opened again.
"Where the hell is he!?" came the reply. A reply. There were others, mostly cursing, none of it an actual answer I wanted. I opened my eyes again and cried out "Answer me!" I ducked around the corner and waited until I heard boots on the stairs. I reached out, and brushed one of the SWAT members, they were that close. Too close.
It took some doing, but I managed wiggle around them. I crept my way towards the front door. It felt like it was closed again, I looked into the peephole and risked a quick glance. It wasn't a peephole, it was the muzzle of a pistol.
I jerked back on instinct, but it was too late. The round tore through one eye before I managed to close them. Well, the one I had left by that point. And the other didn't away unscathed either. In my flailing I twisted, allowing the round to continue across to the other eye where the searing lead burned the eyelids as they clamped shut. Unlike in the anime shows I did not catch it. The bullet did at least keep moving due to that barest of contact.
Time stopped, I was alive. I'd barely managed to avoid being literally shot in the face. I still didn't have any clue why the authorities were after me. The pain was incredible, but I managed to stay conscious. I ended up crawling through the shooting agent's legs. I took my time and worked my way for several blocks before I allowed myself a moment's rest. I felt around until I found a parked car, squatted down to look in the side mirror and opened my eye to assess the damage.
At least I tried. The one eye was obviously gone, and burned like the fires of Hell itself, and the other didn't feel much better. But I didn't think it was *that* bad. It seems I was wrong. In the bullet's passing it had seared the remaining eyelid shut. I couldn't open it. I couldn't unfreeze time. | I open my eyes at the top of the stairwell for an instant.
It's dark, nothing at the bottom of the stairs though. I could hear my bedroom window finish cracking as my eyes shut again. Making my way down the stairs was the easy part. Through the dining room to the left, 16 paces to the side door then I'm home free.
I've paced the movements from my room out of my house several times for cases like this. Every night before bed I practice with my eyes closed until I'm comfortable enough to exit the side door, front door, and out my bathroom window. I made it to the door and instantly stuck my hands out. I can feel thick clothing, stretched across a hard surface. I move my hand across to one side and down the cloth. The arm is gripping a heavy metal cylindrical probe. Another second and my door would have been being rammed down, and if I had decided to open my eyes it would have rammed my chest instead.
I shuffle step sideways and make my way towards the fence near the woods. At least I think that's where I'm headed. 22 paces from the back door to the fence, 10 paces left to the loose panels. I reach the loose panels in 8 paces and push them aside and slide through. I replace them the best to my knowledge and fight to keep my eyes closed. It's late, shortly passed 1am but the summer heat doesn't stop with the time like everything else. It's still a scorcher and sweat is still beading on my head and neck, making my shirt cling to my back.
40 paces and I'm in the woods and I can finally open my eyes for a moment.
| 2017-07-05T20:33:35 | 2017-07-05T19:39:57 | 49 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol. | He was infuriating. So quiet and judgmental, always looking off in the distance whenever I was talking to him. A 99 was never supposed to be ignored.
I was born gifted, I was born to become president of the free world or lead the UN, to do anything I set my mind to. Everyone followed me, everyone tripped over their own feet to be in my good graces, knowing there would be benefits in only a matter of time. Even complete strangers moved out of my way, being able to tell I was a High Tally from the marks that made their way from my left wrist to my right. Many had thought I was a 100 when I was first born, the marks had been so close together, the nurses had needed a magnifying glass to count them all.
“*Where did you go? No one gave you permission to leave.*” I asked him as he yet again, ignored me. My voice didn’t work on him. The voice that only those above a 98 had, *Compel*. It was a side effect of having such a high number, there was an innate amount of charisma that would always flow out of you. For some reason, extremely low numbers weren’t affected by *Compel*, as if their brain wasn’t capable of recognizing power and authority. Everyone had placed bet on this kid’s number.
Steven Han, probably somewhere between a 0 and ten based on how unpopular he was with people. You would know if you met people as low as him. They could change the mood in the room for the worse merely by showing their face. They didn’t even need to talk, people knew that Low Tallys had nothing to bring to society.
He was silent again, looking at the road behind me, past the parking lot of the school. Sometimes, I pitied people this low, they couldn’t help it. But you could usually tell the plain stupid ones from the lazy Low Tallys, there was usually something about the eyes.
He had something in his brain that turned on at least, and he refused to use it. People that lazy needed to be set straight, it was my duty as a leader in society.
“*Hey, I’m talking to you. You can’t just leave in the middle of gym class!”* The teacher had sent me after him, being class leader and all that. Especially for kids as unruly as Steven who didn’t even wear the proper dress code. T-shirts and gym shorts were the only things students were supposed to wear, but for some reason, teachers had long given up on trying to get Steven to change out of his daily long-sleeved button up and long pants. As long as I remembered, I had prided myself on my ability to keep order.
For the most part, I did. Our class had 90% straight A, never tardy students, people trying to put their best foot forward, for me. As leader of the senior class, I was in charge of any failing and trouble students, and knowing that I was a 99, people did all they could to keep in my good graces.
Except him.
“*What loser fails physical education? It requires absolutely no brain work, which I know you’re quite short of*.” I taunted, giving in to the mean spirit that I tried to suppress for the greater good. Even if I was a capable leader, I tended to be irritated by the stupidity that surrounded me in this place. To keep my image up, I had limited showing my emotions to the one person no one would listen to.
Not that he had much to say. To this day, no one had ever heard him speak. That was where some people had confidence in betting on him being a 0, maybe he was actually incapable of formulating speech. I knew if that was actually the case, he wouldn’t be capable of formulating the complex thoughts that were required to pass AP Calculus like he did freshman year. It was quite unbelievable that this was the same person who had been getting straight D’s in physical education for the last ten years.
He just ignored people. He was just lazy. One of the leeches that would contribute nothing to society, ever.
“*No defense? Figures for someone not-“* I was cut off as the breath was knocked out of me. Steven had barreled into me, knocking me to the side. A second later, a truck raced pass us, heading straight for the football field where our gym class was going on.
My head hit the hot concrete, and bounced slightly from the force of the impact. Steven was over me, but still looking at the truck. My vision was spotty, but I was still awake enough to get a hold of myself.
*“Get off of me,”* There was no way I was going to be seen touching a 17, what I thought he was. Capable of intelligence but no social skills. I pushed a hand against his chest, but he didn’t move.
I paused for a second, and then put actual power into it, putting some *Compel* into my hand as well.
He still didn’t move, not even an inch.
I looked closer at my hand, *it wasn’t touching him*. I was pushing on air.
*I must have a concussion*. That was the only explanation, I was seeing things. I looked up at him, his eyes were scarily focused, intensely looking at the truck.
Without thinking about it, I followed his gaze to see the truck moving back from the field. The tires squealed loudly, trying to go forward towards the class of unsuspecting high school seniors, playing soccer.
I looked back at Steven, and then at the truck, connecting the pieces together even though I knew these kinds of things weren’t possible.
“*How?”* How was all of this happening. It must be the concussion, this wasn’t possible.
*Telekinesis* was an old skill, something that only the *Pure Tallys* had been capable of, when people were born with numbers higher than 100. It had been centuries since a *Pure Tally* had been found. They had been hard to miss, with so many Tallys they would stretch past any article of clothing they wore. Many of them wore gloves and head coverings to prevent people from being able to see their true number, to prevent people from knowing the true amount of power they had.
Wordlessly, Steven sat up just to enough to free his hands and pull up his left sleeve.
An **8**.
His arm had no marks, only a single digit number.
“*Eight?*” I asked, I had never seen a number before. But it was black, and in the exact spot that Tally marks usually started.
He rotated his arm, still looking at the truck, and said one word.
“*Infinity.”* The *Compel* from his voice was so strong, it knocked me out.
\--
Not my best work, this prompt kind of made me scatter brained.
Edit 1: Changed "inert" to "innate" in 3rd paragraph
Edit 2: updated version on r/JP_writings [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/JP_writings/comments/agbkkp/high_tally_part_1/) | (I didn't exactly follow the prompt, sorry in advance)
"You're obviously hiding, like, a two, no, a zero!" I teased. I peered curiously at him. "What number *do* you have though, seriously? Just tell me and I'll stop bothering you."
"No you won't. You'll just bother me more." Arthur insisted.
"It can't be *that* bad."
Arthur sighed, and rolled up his sleeve.
I choked.
He didn't have any tally marks.
He had an infinity symbol.
"Told you."
"Is that... what? Is that fake or something? There's no way that- what does that even *mean*?"
"I don't know."
"How can someone have infinite success?" I pondered. "Does that mean you'll be infinitely rich? Know everything there is to know? Rule the world?"
"What? Is that what success means to you?" Arthur sounded almost... disgusted.
"Yes? What does it mean to you?"
"Success means happiness."
"Oh. It means that for me too."
"You think wealth, knowledge, and power will give you happiness?"
"Yeah? I tend to view things in a materialistic way, leave me alone."
"So you think that if you were super rich, super knowledgeable, and super powerful, you have to be happy too?"
"No, but it's not like I can really hope to be happy."
"Anyone can be happy!"
"If you view the world through rose-tinted glasses, maybe."
"Who's the one here that apparently has infinite success?"
"Maybe it's not infinity, maybe it just means you have no tally marks because it means zero." I suggested. Arthur just stared at me. "Okay, so maybe that's stretching it, but it's possible. You can't be sure that it means you'll be infinitely successful."
"Well, you're sure that your number means you'll have that amount of success, right?"
"Yeah, but that's different. My number is..." I looked away for a moment.
"What is it?"
"Nothing."
"What's your number? I showed you mine, you should have to show me yours."
"Well, you know how everyone has somewhere from one to a hundred tally marks tattooed on them, right?"
"Well, aside from me, yes."
"And how having only one means they'll be homeless, poor, hated, generally miserable beyond imagination, and a hundred means they'll be famous, rich, and beloved by all, probably make some sort of important contribution to society?"
"Yeah, and? Do you have a low number?"
"I... have a neutral number."
"You have a 50?"
"No, I mean, in terms of numbers in math, only one number is neutral. I have *that* number."
"You... don't have a tally mark? Not even one?"
"That... explains a lot."
"Yeah, I know. Explains why I'm such an asshole, right?"
"No, I mean it explains why you hate yourself so much."
"Sure it does." I shrugged. "I got unlucky, what can you do?"
"The tally marks don't dictate your life. Maybe this means that you'll determine your own success, that your future isn't set in stone."
"I doubt it." I looked up wistfully. "I'll just enjoy life while I still can. Once it gets miserable enough, I'll just kill myself, I think. It's not I'll contribute to society anyway."
Arthur looked horrified. "That's not..."
"Moving on!" I smiled. "What kind of career do you want to go into? Like, I want to know if you'll be a super famous comedian, engineer, what kind of discovery or contributions will you make? Maybe you'll be immortal and go into every field, that could explain it."
"We're just going to-"
"Yes, we are." I cut him off. "Also, don't just ignore me, answer the question, man!" I pouted.
"I... okay. I'm not sure what field I want to go into, to be honest. Some sort of scientific field sounds nice, especially since I'm guaranteed success, so if I go into science, I'll make a significant discovery, right? Or maybe I'll try to be a celebrity and be beloved for infinity. I don't know, there's a lot I could do. What about..." He stopped himself. "Let me at least check if you have any tally marks." Arthur suddenly insisted.
"Do you not trust me?"
"It won't hurt to try." I glared at him. "Come on, please?"
"I..." I looked away. "... fine. Maybe you can do something, Mr. Infinite Success."
He pulled up my sleeves, revealing thousands of red tally marks, scars that were clearly intentionally made, some of them looking recent, some looking as if they'd been there for years. "What are these...? Did you do this to yourself?"
"Some of these."
"Wait, then who's giving you the rest?"
"Take a wild guess." I sighed, pulling down my sleeves, before checking the time. "I got to go, it's late."
"Wait, you can't just leave after revealing *that!*"
I looked backwards. "I can, and I will!"
I ran out the door, and disappeared into the night.
*Tonight seems like a good night to die. After all, Arthur has an infinity symbol. That means even if I die, he'll still be successful, he'll still be happy. My death will have had no effect. My death means nothing.*
*I mean nothing to him.*
"Goodbye." I whispered. | 2018-12-27T20:21:40 | 2018-12-27T16:33:21 | 2,098 | 29 |
[WP] Pokemon have become self aware. They have discovered that they don't need us, we need them and they are PISSED. You're a trainer who has treated your partners with the utmost respect, often putting them before yourself. Your team appears to be the only Pokemon not taking part in the Revolution. | “Why can't you be more like your sister?”
It was a question I got a lot from my parents, teachers, and sometimes I asked myself the same thing.
My sister was a world class ranked Pokemon trainer. She had traveled the world and boasted a Pokemon collection of almost every type of Pokemon there was.
I, on the other hand, hadn't made it past the second gym one town over. Now, it wasn't that I wasn't a good trainer. In fact, my Pokemon were all pretty strong. I just wasn't good at the whole competitive battling thing. I mean, don't get me wrong, my Pokemon loved battling as much as any other, but competitive battling got super cut throat. I had seen the brutal training sessions my sister had put her pokemon through, and steroid use was pretty much required to get past a certain point. I couldn't bring myself to put any of my pokemon through that.
“Squirtle! Squirt!” I was startled away from my thoughts by my squirtle, Blue, tearing past me.
Ah, Blue. There was another example of my failure. Every one of my sister’s pokemon was fully evolved. Those who didn’t want to evolve were evolved by force. But when Blue’s time had come to evolve, I had taken one look into his sad eyes, and I knew I couldn’t do that to him. He didn’t *want* to evolve into wartortle, but he was willing to do it for me. So I told him to stay as he was. I couldn’t be happy knowing he was unhappy, even if it meant giving up my dreams of becoming a successful trainer like my sister.
*"Why can't I be more like my sister?"*
Lilly, my Ninetails brushed past me, racing off after Blue. I smiled. Now, Lilly was another story. When she had evolved into ninetails, she was absolutely over the moon. She had spent a full week parading her tails around the house, waving them in everyone’s face. My mother had scoffed and told me I missed out on teaching her some high level moves by letting her evolve too soon, and I had "ruined her", but Lilly was so excited to evolve, I couldn't bring myself to make her wait.
It wasn’t until Moonlight, my Umbreon ran past me that I noticed something was off. Where were they all going?
I stood and walked in the direction they had gone. They were sitting together with my other Pokemon staring at a poster nailed to my front door.
“ATTENTION: All pokemon are now decreed to be free to do as they please. Any human who has previously claimed the title of “trainer” or otherwise held ownership of a pokemon shall hereby be brought to the nearest Pokecenter and imprisoned in a pokeball, where they shall await trial. Signed, your new king, Mewtwo.”
I felt the blood drain from my face as I read the note. I glanced down at my friends, who were chattering amongst themselves. At once they seemed to come to an agreement and Moonlight ran inside the house. He returned, holding a box containing the piece of paper I received at 11 certifying me as an official pokemon trainer, as well as my one gym badge and a few empty pokeballs.
*Poof* Lilly breathed out a small fireball and the contents of the box dissolved into nothing.
“You...you guys are protecting me? But why? My sister and I, we've dedicated our lives to catching Pokemon."
Blue shook his head and nuzzled my face. The message was clear. “*You are nothing like your sister.*”
| When the Pokémon started to speak words with meaning, that should have been a sign that the end of humankind was near, but it was ignored. When the Pokémon began to learn how to manually create fire, people thought nothing of it.
Now, it was too late. Pokémon were now rebelling with their newfound intelligence. Some humans have even submitted to the Rebellion as slaves in order to avoid death... And there was a lot of death.
Yet, somewhere in the mountains, a young teenager had been taken to an obscured area for protection by his own Pokémon. This boy was a special case. He treated his Pokémon as equals even before the monolith appeared, and his team remembered.
As dawn broke through the trees, the boy yawned and crawled out of the small cave that was now his home, only to be greeted by his friends. “Good morning, Kyle. Did you sleep well?” an Elektross asked him as he stretched. Kyle returned with a smile, “I could go for a cushy mattress, but I’m more thankful that you guys managed to find this place. So, I can deal without one.”
“K-Kyle?”
Kyle looked into the small pond by his cave to see a small Wishiwashi poking its head out of the water. With a calm tone, Kyle replied, “Yeah, buddy?”
“D-De-Decidueye and S-Salazzle went out to get food... I just thought y-you-you should know!” the small fish said quietly. Kyle just smiled and stroked the Wishiwashi with a finger. “Thanks for telling me.”
That’s when Kyle felt a light nuzzle from his Lycanroc. Although the canine Pokémon was intimidating, it being Midnight form, the pup was always so sweet. Looking up at Kyle, the Lycanroc gave him a smile, “I’m glad we never joined the Rebellion. You’re our best friend forever.”
The boy smiled, tears welling in his eyes. “You’re all my best friends, too...”
—
I used my team from Moon because I’m brain dead :\ | 2018-05-31T11:48:01 | 2018-05-31T10:50:28 | 324 | 91 |
[WP] People gather around a camp fire to tell the story of a legend, who actually sits among them. | “You guys know about Nightshade right?” Kim asked, readying a bag of sugar she’d brought just for just these occasions. The fire lit the faces of Kimmy and her friends as a cool ocean breeze made embers dance across the sands of the moonlit beach.
“Who? The super hero guy? I heard it was bull” Steve asked.
“It wasn’t bull!” Sue interrupted. “I think he’s real. He’s keeping us safe.”
“I can believe that some weirdo is going out in his underwear fighting people.” Steve admitted “but I think all that crap about him being immortal is just that. A load of crap. The guy’s just super buff, or lucky, I dunno.”
Isaac was staying out of the argument.
“Guys chill out. It’s my turn to tell the story. *I think I met him once, before he was Nightshade.*” Everyone calmed down and looked at Kim. “I was about 16 at the time, and I was walking home from dance class.” She threw a handful of sugar on the fire and the flames spouted as she began to tell her story.
>It was like 6:30 and this was the middle of fall so the sun was going down fast. Dad was either at the bar or with “the guys” and mom was running around trying to get a bunch of things done. I waited half an hour for her to pick me up but figured out real quick she wasn’t going to come for me. Home wasn’t too far away and I started walking. I had to go through this alley when about five dudes pop out of nowhere and start sweet-talking me.
“Two guys.” said Isaac.
“What?”
“Two guys, last time you told this story it was two guys.”
“Okay okay fine.”
> These two guys start sweet talking me and one of them comes at me and tries to grab my ass
“Your arm”
“Shut up Isaac.”
> He tries to grab my arm and the other guy is saying crap like “aww yeah got a fresh one” and “yo I’ve got dibs on the-” when all the sudden this other guy in a mask runs up and smacks the guy right in the face The guy on my arm lets go and gets ready to fight when the new guy just runs up and kicks him right in the nuts.
“Didn’t he sweep the leg?”
“Geez Isaac shut up and let Kim tell the story.” Sue yelled. “You’re so annoying sometimes!”
“Yeah let her tell it, it’s not your turn” Steve rolled his eyes.
“Well, I mean yeah, it was the leg, but kicked in the nuts sounds cooler okay?” Kim admitted.
“Fine.” Isaac sat back and listened as Kim continued the story.
> He takes both these dudes down and just looks at me and says “Run!” but I can’t move and I’m freaking out. One of the dudes gets up and pulls a knife and stabs my hero. He flips out and starts wailing on the guys until they both just book it running away. He falls over and I can see he’s bleeding pretty bad. “Hey are you okay?” I asked, and he just looks at me and laughs “I’m fine.” He pulled his hand away from the knife wound and it was healed. He ran off up a building and I went home. Couple months later he’s running around as Nightshade and I know it’s him because the mask was almost the same, but now he’s a full blown super hero with a costume and everything.
Kim leaned back, satisfied with her brilliant storytelling while Steve and Sue gushed over how dangerous it must have been. Steve maintained his skepticism, and said it must have been someone else or she just couldn’t see the wound because it was dark.
“That’s it?” Asked Isaac.
“Yeah why?” said Kim “Did I say something wrong again? I’ve told this story like a million times, *sorry* I sometimes get stuff mixed up. Geez man.”
“Why’d you leave out the part where you flashed him and gave him your number?”
Steve Sue and Kim all turned and stared at Isaac. Sue looked like she was going to chew him out, Steve was going to make a joke, and Kim was blood red from embarrassment..
“Where did you hear that? That didn’t happen.” she said.
“No I remember.” Said Isaac “You told this story all the time last year, I must have picked it up back then. You said you flashed Nightshade and gave him his number and he never called.”
Kim’s look went from embarrassment to horror. “No. That didn’t happen I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah!” Steve spoke up. “We all know Kim’s a huge prude.” Sue smacked him. “What? It’s true.”
“You totally flashed a dude in a mask that you just met and you gave him your number. You begged him to walk you home and when he wouldn’t you practically cried.” Isaac started pulling out his wallet.
“Stop making things up!” Kim shouted.
Isaac pulled out a piece of paper from his wallet and handed it to Kim. In neat, girly writing it said:
> Call Me X O X O 555-200-1056 -Kim
Story time ended shortly after Kim threw up. It seemed to be the appropriate response to realizing that for the past two years shed’d been fantasizing about her older brother.
2/16/17 | "I don't care for this one bit. This Man, this *Green Ghost* should never have come."
Around the barrack's fire rose a chorus of murmurs. They were guardsmen, retainers to House Alathir itself. None of them ranked higher than Sergeant, and none of them wore armor. The city of Ath-Nor was deep within the Kingdom of Alathirion, surrounded by other, more militarized strongholds. Ath-Nor was a city of merchants and artisans, not soldiers. War had never arrived to its gates, and in the peace which tenuously gripped the land Ath-Nor had grown fat and prosperous.
Though its armories were full to overflowing and its defenders many, looks could be deceiving. Those armories, filled with countless weapons, ammunition and armor, had been neglected. Blades were dull, and armor rusted. Muskets lacked replacement parts or else powder for their use. Though thousands made up the city's guard, they were noticeably cut from lesser cloth than their brethren in the outlying fortresses and garrisons. Many had never seen action or else were recovering from debilitating injuries. It was a common joke among the warrior caste that the guardsmen of Ath-Nor was a soldier's stew, green vegetables and old meat.
"It is an insult against us," another voice raised. "It suggests we cannot be trusted to fulfill our duties, that we are somehow unworthy."
A third voice which belong to a slim archer from the Third Legion spoke up.
"So it's true then? The Green Ghost is here in the city? I thought that was mere widow's talk."
"Aye, it's true. I saw him with my own eyes down by the Market of the Crystal Fountain. He was wearing the green cloak of his Order, and had his saber sheathed at his side," a corporal said. "The Princess was with him."
A long pause fell over the assembled. The stories, of course, had already filtered down through the four castes from the poets and corner-musicians. Of how the Ranger had saved the life of the young Princess Faealena and had taken upon himself the duty of escorting her through the war torn states. He had been awarded the honor of becoming her bannerman, her closest adviser and confidante.
"No matter the Princess' misguided decision, that outsider is nothing more than the viper held close to the seat of our lord. He vanished before the eyes of a dozen Royal Guards, disappearing in cloud of ash and choking fog. He is the one who captured the 26th Legion's banner at the Battle of the Broken Wave, the one who executed General Tosina in cold blood. That *Scathalith,* that *Flint* is a demon in the guise of a Man. We would do well to deal with him before he threatens our lord and his family."
"Actually, I think that's a rather unwise decision...." a voice said from the shadows across the room. They spoke in a flat, nasally accent. "Your *Green Ghost* is quite loyal to your Faealena, and through her her family. I'd be more concerned about your treasonous words."
One soldier rose from his seat so quickly that he knocked it down onto the floor.
"Silence, impudent dog! I should have your head for speaking such lies! Enter the light, that we might see what kind of creature dwells in the shadows."
The voice chuckled, and out of the gloom came a cloaked figure draped in green. A worn and battered saber hung at his waist, and when he pulled the cowl of his cloak from off his head it revealed the plain features of a Man.
"At least one of your stories was true- though I won't say which one," said Captain Hilary Flint. | 2017-02-16T10:26:03 | 2017-02-16T10:04:44 | 85 | 20 |
[WP] Wrongly imprisoned individuals who are later found innocent are given a Crime-Credit equal to the number of years they were unjustly held. This non-transferable credit can be used to engage in any combination of criminal acts to the value of the time owed. | Free. The word had little meaning. So much time in the dark.
Year 0 I was tumbled over hiprocrasy of a judge trying to bury his coked up mistress.
Year 1 was a brutal. Beatings, humiliations and loneliness. Sexual abuse. Sick punishment from men who actually committed sin. Maybe they wanted to feel like they made a difference; punish the child abuser, win a redemption token. Maybe they just liked being monsters. I won't break.
Year 5 was silence. No family for a long time, but no friends more recently. You manage your cigs well you can fly under the radar. But commit to group and you are now ally and enemy. I am innocent and refuse to take sides. I won't break.
Year 10 is void. Lawyers don't come around anymore. They forgot, forgot about you and all the crimes you never committed. The world has moved on. The girl you "touched" has a kid and drives a minivan. But your cell hasn't moved on. The paint on the wall and stained institutional cieling tiles stare daggers through still. They know your innocent. And they don't care. They are your warden more than the CO's holding the billy club. But I stare back, and tell them I am innocent. I will not break.
Year 13 is. No word can describe it. A dying judge confesses, knowing he will never face your retribution. A soccer mom tearfully admits to hazed memories and a pay off. And as quickly as you are railroaded in those steel beams are you carted out. The boys hollar as you pass " 13 years for rape, you gon have a good time tonight!" " get one of those college pussys and show her a little misappropriated justice" they slam on their bars and hollar like this is a triumph. A credit to become a true villian. To find that soccer mom and re-enact that grisly fiction she concocted. To show her the pain and humiliation her lies rought. To get even. To get vengeance.
Year 13 day 2 is brutal. I see sunlight and smell fresh air. I am on the outside yard looking in. But I am still in prison. I am still locked away under years of abuse and sadness and emptiness. I look down on my release paper and see my crime credit. I hold it out in front of me as my cab arrives. And I let it go. Crumpled and torn it falls into the trash. My whole body is filled with rage and sadness and pity. But I stare at the willow across the road. It survives because during a storm it bends to the wind. But it never breaks. And neither will I. I am innocent . I am unbroken. And now I truly am free. | Prisoner 502749 had been in jail for a long time. When they found him in his home, covered in blood and surrounded by his family's bodies, it looked like an open and shut case. Despite being only 12 years old and his claims that he was only covered in his family's blodda because of desperate attempts to revive them, he was convicted of their murder and given a life sentence without parole.
It was only 40 years later that the truth was revealed. A deathbed confession by a local police officer told of how the son of a local judge had actually killed the family of prisoner 502749. The judge bribed and threatened to get this boy convicted and had personally served the especially harsh sentence. After this revelation 502749 was released and his name, William Tomlinson, was returned to him.
Within weeks he was back in the courtroom, 2 counts of 1st degree murder, the elderly judge and his son. The murder was brutal, many could barely stomach the details. The courtroom was shocked when Tomlinson pleaded "not guilty".
"Tomlinson your crimes while brutal and unthinkable only earn you a punishment that has already been served, you are free to go." | 2015-09-18T06:46:51 | 2015-09-18T05:43:22 | 68 | 36 |
[WP] You arrive in the year 1000, and all you have are the clothes on your back, a laptop with the entire Wikipedia library, and a solar charger. | I woke up, scratching my beard. It had been three days since my arrival and since my last shave.
*Note to self. Bring a razor next time.*
He still had no idea where he was, no local currency and no real goods to share. While villagers shied away from him, I didn't understand with their fascination with a particular lake, haunted by a witch of sorts. Asking for directions, I made tried to make my way over to the enchanted body of water only to find a terrible surprise.
Approaching the situation with an open mind. "Lindsay?"
"Nice beard dork." She was decades older than me from when I last saw her. "You think you were the only one that knew about Dad's machine?"
Her grayed hair was thinning out, but she looked well. Her figure was thin, but by no means was she emancipated. Her cheekbones protruding out, I was still stunned by her elderly age. "How did you get here?"
"Same way you did. You left the coordinates in the machine. When you disappeared, we thought you had given your handgun a blowjob. That's when Dad revealed his machine."
She was boiling a broth, something awful smelling and then some. "And you followed me." My stomach growled at the sight of the soup. It might not have the aroma of a Michelin star restaurant, but damn did it look good.
"I set the age three decades before you to make sure you knew how to get back. If you want to." A potato splashed as she chucked it into the soup.
"I can't go back. Not after what I put them through." Shaking my head, I just thought about how Mom and Dad would have felt. She was stirring the broth. *When did she learn how to cook?*
"For thirty years, I have prepared. I know you don't want to come back, but at the same time I can't let you live on your own." She tasted the soup, frowning. She sprinkled a few more leaves on it. "You'll need a new name to survive."
"How about Lionheart of Duke Forthsworth?" I smiled at her scowl. "Didn't think that through." I thought of the legends about her, thinking of what to say. Then it just came out. "So, people think you're a witch."
She grinned devilishly. "Of course." Stirring the pot a few more times, she continued. "Appears out of nowhere, no house to be seen. Sometimes even doles out more than a bad bowl of soup. Sometimes swords."
"And has a young humble farm boy come to claim his birthright, begin the English dynasty as we know it?" I giggled at the thought that my sister had been working towards a flipping *fairy tale.*
"No, he's a few years away. But you should consider growing your beard out. Might help the prophecy." Doling out the soup into two bowls, she handed me one.
"May I ask why?" The scrap of facial hair that lined my jaw was already irritating, I couldn't bear to think why it would be desirable to have *more*.
"Because the locals know me as a witch. They'll know you as a wizard. What with the sudden knowledge from your Apple Mac." She took a bite of an anonymous mouthful of soup. "Like I said before, better think of a name."
I looked at her suspiciously, already knowing the answer to my question. "Who do they think I'm supposed to be?
Her last glance filled me with dread. "Merlin, of course." | I should have prepared more. I didn't though it will work on the first run. And the return mechanism is not ready yet - and never will be now. I do have most of the required knowledge and a good memory of my own plans but even with all that knowledge I'll never be able manufacture, or in that manner, create the machinery to manufacture the delicate and microscopic components of the machine. Not in my life time.
But first I need to ensure the safety of the laptop. I could dig a hole and hide it but the ground is damp and I don't have plastic bags. And it could rain any time.
Anyone interested in part 2?
Edit: Part 2
I'll just hide it under the coat. Damn! My clothes! I don't want to draw attention.. Think think.. Dirt. I'll pretend as a beggar. First I need to get rid of the shoes. I'll dig here.. Shoes are gone, hope nobody ever find them. Now let's get dirty.. Ok but something is missing.. I need to wear the clothes. I'll rub it with this rock. A little hole here and a little rub there. Looking good. Were there socks in that time? Let's check.. There were but not machine knitted and definitely not for beggar status. Off they go.
I'm walking 10 minutes and my feet are already hurt. I'll just rip the bottom part of the coat and wrap it around feet.. It still hurts but a little less.
Ok. I can see the village. I hope the people are nice. But what should I do? I need shelter but I don't have any money. It's probably some silver and gold coins. Lets see... Silver and Cooper also. Wait a minute!!! The silver mine 10 kilometers to the South. When did they found it? Lets see... They found the first nugget only 200 years from now. That is great! I can later go there and look for some nuggets to get me started. For now I'll try to find some shelter and food in exchange for some work they might have for me.
To be continued? | 2016-12-27T16:27:44 | 2016-12-27T12:31:19 | 90 | 21 |
[WP] The more evil you were on Earth the higher your rank in Hell. When you get to Hell Satan himself resigns his position to you, but you don't know what you did. | (One week until arrival)
All Hell was awash in rumor. Somebody big was scheduled to arrive at the Gates some time soon. Somebody big. Like bigger than Hitler big. Satan hadn't been seen for some time now. The paper speculated that Satan was firing his cabinet members left and right to accommodate the amount of evil this newcomer had. But absent from what the rumormill had confabulated, absent from all of the speculation of the news, and absent from the intel gathered surface-side was a name.
(One day until arrival)
I've been in charge of the Hell-Scape Intelligence for almost a millennia. I've gotten used the waves of evil the Human race washes itself with; they're cyclical. But there was no indication from any of my operatives that anyone of this caliber even existed at this time, much less was about to die. You see, there are no World Wars any more. Disease had been cured about a century ago, and these two factors alone had slowed the entry of the hell-bound significantly. With high-technology and the slow approach to utopian society, we were beginning to develop counter-altruism measures to return the balance of evil vs good on the surface. But apparently my reports were flawed. This new person coming shows me that evil is alive and well on Earth.
Satan has requested my presence during the first meeting with the newcomer. I cannot wait. I haven't been this excited for a long time.
(One day after arrival)
"And," said Moe, "they paid me to do this, four nights a week! It was the time of my life."
A palpable silence hung in the fetid air of Satan's conference room. Satan looked at Moe and let out a heavy sigh; it looked like Satan might cry if Moe hadn't spoken up.
"I'm sorry for going on for so long with my life's story," Moe stated. It had been almost eight hours of non-stop evil, and even though this was Hell, we were getting a bit disgusted with it all. Satan sat up and straightened his horned shoulders a little.
"I have to resign." Satan said. "I can't do this. Moe, you are the kind of evil Hell needs these days. As the Prince of Darkness, I am amazed and enlightened by the sheer evilness you posses. The fact you were able to get away with it - no - get PAID for it for YEARS is frankly the kind of cunning and malice I like to see. I humble myself to you. The position is yours if you want it."
"I... I'm... I'm flattered, my Lord. I accept" Moe stuttered.
At this point my curiosity was burning a hole through my forehead. I needed to ask Moe - I needed to know with what words he ascribed his tortuous and most fowl deeds. I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. A regime change on the most grand level. Satan himself stepping down. Too many things happening at once - I couldn't think. One last question need answering. One last question! I need to know! I MUST KNOW!
"WHAT DID YOU CALL IT, MOE? WHAT DID YOU NAME YOUR EVIL ACTS ON EARTH? I MUST KNOW!"
"Ah," Moe smirked, "That is simple. I called us The Aristocrats." | "Wait. A condom? I'm now the ruler of Hell because I had sex wearing a condom."
Satan looked like he was going to laugh and cry simultaneously. "Yes. Oh!" He paled suddenly. "I mean, yes, Lord! Please don't punish me, the lapse was unintentional!"
I waved absently. This is ludicrous. "This is ludicrous. And I don't care about titles. Call me Steve." "Yes... Steve!" replied Satan, looking entirely confused.
"So, I was supposed to father the Messiah with Marie, and birth control is a sin? Wait, wasn't Mary a virgin when she gave birth to Jesus? Wouldn't this be the same?"
"The Bible was incorrect in that matter, Mas... Steve." Satan hastily corrected himself. I guessed punishment was swift and severe in Hell. "Joseph and Mary did indeed have marital relations and conceived the prior Messiah. They never said anything about the matter, and her virginity was assumed."
"Hell." Satan looked at me questioningly. "Sorry. And then I went and crashed in a snowstorm, and the Messiah was never fathered." Satan simply nodded.
"Well then. I guess there are some changes that need to be made... Um, I can change things, right?"
Satan shook his head. "Not to any significant extent, Steve. Our mandate is from God, and we must abide by it. For that matter, despite having to serve as ruler of this domain, you must still be punished, on your off-duty hours, as per required. Luckily you are only a second circle violator."
"Wait - second circle? What does that meeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAANNNNNNNNNNN...", I screamed, as I was blown out of the chamber and down one of the hallways. | 2016-12-19T14:53:10 | 2016-12-19T14:52:55 | 45 | 27 |
[WP] Your childhood bully once said you were nobody. Unbeknownst to him at the time, he had a reality-bending superpower. Now he's the world's strongest superhero, everyone calls him The Truth, because his word is the absolute truth... Nobody knows about his past, and Nobody will make him pay. | I am the Truth. A God who has no mysteries. The universe bends itself to my will, I merely speak to have, whisper to destroy. I scream to forget and nobody can deny me.
Had I known about my powers before my history project, maybe I wouldn't have messed up the true mysteries of the pyramids, but I like my version better. I am the creator of the Martians who helped the Egyptians.
I am the creator of our modern space age and now spaceships are as affordable as a modern suburban home and space travel is cheaper than plane tickets ,fuck those scalpers.
I am the reason everyone has access to all basic necessities, nobody will go thirsty, nobody will go hungry, nobody will have to suffer from the crude cruelties of the old world. Everyone has the right to the internet, everyone has the right to pursue their dreams and opportunities on some basic equal footing, but those who create biases and make things "unfair" will not be shunned, it is an accomplishment to be able to provide more and as such this behaviour will not be condemned.
I am the reason families can see eachother no matter where they are, because if I can have everything, I'd like everyone to have a little more something, so teleporters and free interspace and after life video calls for the win!
I am the denier of climate change, the composition of the earth's atmosphere is always at it's prime. I am the creator of the hollow earth, the existence of surviving dinosaurs is my doing.
I am the creator of the after life, now all of human kind, all our souls, regardless of who we are or were, have somewhere to go; be it heaven, the ultimate hedonistic paradise where your God given land is your God given world, just for you to taste what it's like to be God; or hell, where you can spend centuries with the best psychiatrist in the universe and undo the evil in your heart and mind before you're released to an infinite paradise.
I am a being of inifite redemption, nobody can wrong me, nobody can stop me, if I make a mistake I simply utter words of regret, if I'm about to lose, I simply mutter words of victory.
Nobody is greater than me, nobody can overcome my desire, but I am a benevolent God. Nobody exists in cruetly, nobody will suffer unreasonably. Of course I've tried simply removing suffering from the equation, but that takes out the zest of existing, and makes the people's heavens quite bland.
Humans were made to suffer, they were made to overcome that suffering and simply not suffering would make happiness boring, so exist as you may, have your freewill, and once you're done and dead, enjoy your ideal happiness in my ideal world, where everyone can be like me in their God given land, but nobody can go beyond the confines I've set for them with my power. Nobody can interfere with my grand plot, and if someone does, their free will crumble, nobody can resist, nobody can overpower me, nobody can outlive me.
And so as fate would have it, I met Nobody. A pitiful man from my past, one I've taken advantage of because I was a more aggressive child in the cruel confines of the dreaded old world schooling system, and my powerlessness at home, my abuse, morphed me in to one of the biggest monsters in existence, a highschool bully. They were times of wedgies, from the hilarious hang-from-the-coat-rack wedgies to the sadistic atomic wedgies. I was the textbook bully and my cruelty created another monster, just like my father did to me. A monster that threatens to overwhelm me, threatens to reveal an irrelevant past for some type of redemption for their tattered soul, a monster misguided and focused on ideals that no longer matter.
I spent eons in my universe creating and destroying, and this man, having been called Nobody in my long forgotten past, faced the pain of my poorly worded statements. He was a husk of a man, long dead, he escaped the confines of his heaven with the powers I had given him and all he wanted was revenge. But he did not have the wisdom I did, he did not know what he could do, how in his fit of rage, he could end me, and I felt something I haven't felt in a long time, fear.
But such an emotion is unsightly for an ultimate being so I did what I knew was right, I brought forth my humility and I apologized.
We've been friends for eons, he's a God in his own right simply because I am weak to him according to my Truth, but I could solve that like I do with all my older contradictions, a clean wipe, but I chose not to. I let him rule with me for our sense of making the world a better place was in great synergy, and I finally had someone I could truly call my friend.
Nobody is my friend. | ___His name is The Truth, but I knew him as Daniel Beckham, back when I could still know things. Now I’m just a Watcher.___
_News reporter on the radio:_ “protesters in France are keeping the president hostage because they’re angry about his stance on climate change”
\*sigh* ‘I guess it can’t be helped, time to fix this mess.’
#####Half an hour later in a bar:
‘I don’t know man, it feels wrong to do this. I’m helping people, I know that, but it’s all just so meaningless.’ ‘Hey barman, another whiskey please!’ \*crackling through the phone:* ‘maybe you should see a therapist, you don’t have to worry about a secret identity like most of us.’ ‘I’ve tried that already, but none of them understand my problem; my memories aren’t part of the real world anymore. I mean, you never had a lizard tail until I imagined you had one in 5th grade.’ ‘What are you talking about? I’ve always had a lizard tail, I told you it’s because of a fortunate birth defect.’ ‘No it’s not! You don’t understand how it feels to know the truth that isn’t the truth anymore. It messes with your brain. Sometimes I feel as if I don’t have a superpower, but just a terrible curse.’ ‘Don’t say that man, you have the power to change the world whenever you please, that’s incredible! I’d take that over a regenerative tail any day of the week.’ ‘You don’t get it, it feels as if this world isn’t real, as if my memories are the real world, but I know that’s not true. It’s making me go insane! It all started with that kid in 5th grade, Patrick was his name, you knew him.’ ‘I have no idea who you’re talking about.’ ‘Of course you don’t, I called him a nobody one day, then he went home to cry, and he never came back to school, he had never come to school in the first place, we just had a spare table in the classroom that year. At least, that’s how everyone remembers it, but I know otherwise, he’s still out there, in one form or another.’ ‘What kind of nonsense are you talking about? Maybe you are indeed going crazy, I’d really look into that therapy thing, you need it.’ ‘Maybe you’re right, I’ll think about it. I gotta go now, speak you later.’ ‘Later.’
#####On a bridge somewhere:
‘There’s only one way I can find out if he’s truly still out there, I need to tell him that I’m sorry, I was a real asshole back then.’
___I watch Daniel come to me, I know he’s sorry, but I don’t know if I’ll forgive him, I can’t know anymore.___
 
___
This is one of my first works here, I’ve done a few others before, but not many, so feedback and constructive criticism are more than welcome! Thank you for reading! Also I know the formatting is weird, I’ve tried to change it but Reddit is working against me today. | 2021-11-23T07:27:02 | 2021-11-23T07:15:26 | 355 | 45 |
[WP] You've become an immortal being. Living throughout the ages you begin to notice that the souls of your companions or adversaries reincarnate and always seem to be drawn to you. After countless lifetimes, someone remembers.
Edit: This got so many responses! There's a lot of great post. | Our eyes locked across the crowded, smoke-filled room of the Kandahar tea house. He sat with a pack of his Bedouin brothers around a hearty meal, while I enjoyed my steaming beverage alone. I instantly recognized him despite his dark skin and smoky eyes; in his last incarnation, he'd been a blond Russian with eyes like the arctic ice. Though external appearances change, the soul peeking through is always a constant. It was the Traveler again.
He bowed as he approached the table, and I gestured for him to sit. Neither of us spoke for a moment, but I could tell he was troubled. "Have our paths crossed before, friend?" he started. "I've met many in my journeys, and I never forget a face. And yours..." Words failed him, and he waved a hand like he could conjure the phrase he was looking for out of thin air. "Do we know each other?"
I sipped my tea. Aye, we'd met many times. I first knew him as Mandan of Thrace, and we served together in the army of Alexander the Great. Even then, his spirit refused to be chained to one place in the world, and so we traveled for many years together. We fought for countless kingdoms as soldiers for hire, never remaining for more than a season's campaigning. Eventually he met his end in a desolate clearing in the Himalayas, and I continued on. Since then, our kindred spirits had met a dozen times and traveled the world over. He had worn many names, so I simply referred to him as the Traveler.
"We may have," I answered.
"This may sound absurd," he whispered with a glance around the room to make sure no one else was listening. "But its like I can see another life. I have distinct memory of you on a whaling ship, somewhere far, far north. Does that...."
His voice trailed off as he saw my astounded expression. *He remembered?* Our last travels together had been in Iceland, on a creaking old blubber hunter. "What else do you remember?" I finally managed to gasp.
We spoke until my tea was chilled and the fires in the hearths died down to embers. The tea room had nearly fallen silent; the few remaining occupants were mostly sleeping over cups of wine. And the Traveler's trading caravan companions had long returned to their camp. He gave me broken fragments of our times together, and I supplied the missing pieces until his mind was made whole again.
We departed in the morning, together once again. I'd forgotten what it was like to be able to speak freely with another person. To tell them of my thousands of years of experiences. To reminisce about our lives together. For the first time in millenia, I was free. In Thrace, he remembered the warrior he had once been. In Constantinople, he knew his life as a wandering scholar and priest. In Volga, his life as a river trader. In Nanjing, as one of the Emperor's closest confidants. A worldwide tour of our past lives.
The Traveler grew old. In exploring the wild frontiers of the Americas, his old joints failed him and he was sent tumbling down a rocky slope. The sickening *crack* of his leg echoed through the canyon. I tried to nurse him back to health, but the gangrene spread after only a few days. I'd almost forgotten that despite the memories, he was still mortal.
He struggled to raise his head to look me in the eyes. Sweat glistened off his skin, and fever clouded his gaze. "In the next life," he wheezed, "let's skip this part of the tour.See you again soon, my friend."
When his breathing stopped and his chest lay still, I closed his eyes for him. "Until next time." | Revenant was a word that the ancient Frenchmen coined back in the nineteenth century. Nearly seventeen thousand years later and I still see 'em kicking around. They ain't after blood nor flesh. Hell, not even revenge like the legends say. No, they just crop up in my peripheral vision every now and again and spook me with a level of anxiety that only a specter from a man's past can present. They ain't there for long so they're not cause for prolonged worry. When you've been around as long as me, you come to expect some familiar faces. Repeat features and similar voices are a common occurrence when you're timeless.
I've never had much interaction with them though. They got close to me sometimes in trains or in queue but we never spoke. They all looked at me with the same bewilderment. The same wild and curious eyes that a newborn casts upon their creator for the first time. A look of love and surprise and then, eventually, one of anger. The kind of eyes that are unforgiving and indignant.
That all comes with the territory. When you're an immortal like me, you can't stay in one place too long. I'd gotten over how selfish it was hundreds of years ago. I'd meet a new woman and bring some children to bare, but you know I couldn't stick around long. It used to eat at me, you know? I miss all of them and I loved them all the same. Is a man expected to be there to watch the death of every person he ever loved? It was just easier to move on. Safer that way, too.
Mankind never did settle the stars but we found ways to harvest their power. We'd been draining the sun for nearly a century and the weaker the sun got, the higher we'd build to get closer to it. I was walking along a lift-road when I saw a man no older than fifty, sitting on a carbon weave bench overlooking the ruins of Manhattan some five or six miles below. He immediately stood up and pocketed his new-holo and looked at me with kind and startled eyes. I set a gaze of innocence upon him that I hadn't experienced since my first go-round the Earth. He moved toward me with utter confidence and put his hand on my shoulders and spoke.
"My son, it's been so long." | 2016-08-29T08:06:50 | 2016-08-29T08:05:01 | 305 | 64 |
[WP] You are an NPC. The Player has entered your shop/house/lair | The first time I met him, it had been a sunny day in the middle of the seven-hundred and fifteenth year of Faulk. He was younger then, brighter--whatever lack in the weapons and shoddy clothes he had was made up for in the ambition that coloured his eyes and in the way he so carefully counted his coins before handing them to me. He wasn't the first person to walk into my shop and surely he wouldn't be the last, but as I handed him his set of potions (all fifty tied up in a leather bag), he was the first to say 'thank you' before leaving.
And all the others hadn't said thank you before.
--
The second time we met, it was sunny again. He entered my shop and the weapon at his hip was bigger now, longer. It wasn't from anywhere in town, certainly, and I imagined it was something that came from whatever faraway area he might've travelled to become stronger. His clothes were different; they were heavier now, made for defence and protection against the elements rather than simply to hide his nudity. This time he bought mid-potions (all fifty tied up in a leather bag), and he counted his coins faster than he did the first time we met. I handed him the bag, he took it, and he said 'thank you' with a sheepish curve to his smile.
This time, I had the ability to smile back.
--
The third time we met, he was dressed in armour, brilliant and blinding and glittering from the orange of the fire in the room. He had a shield and a sword and power in his stance, and when he took his helmet off it looked as if he'd seen many things. He had something rare to sell today--something from the depths of a cave no-one else would dare to challenge--and while I fumbled with the first sac of spider eggs I'd ever handled in my life, he made his order. Between the two of us we exchanged high potions, my most prized and most effective creation, and he handed me his coins with a more mature edge to his eyes I hadn't quite witnessed before. Something stretched between us: a moment, a pause, a breath of air, and for some reason I felt as if perhaps he had more to say. I couldn't speak beyond what I normally said, couldn't say anything after I finished my 'thank you for your patronage', and though I wanted to ask, my lips wouldn't move.
He looked at me with something drenched in nostalgia, both tragic and fond all the same, and when he addressed me again I found myself hating that all I could respond with was a 'how may I help you'.
His gaze fixed onto something specific on my face I couldn't put a pin on: was it the beard? The thick brows? The smears of charcoal from all the time I spent before a cauldron?
He smiled, said 'nothing', and then 'thank you'.
He held the bag of high potions--my greatest creations, my magnum opus, the best thing you could buy in town--in a gloved hand.
"Goodbye," he said.
And all the others hadn't said goodbye before.
---
The fourth time we met never came.
EDIT: Whoa, thanks for the gold, anonymous! This is my first submission ever and I'm literally sitting here floored. Thank you, thank you! | 'Welcome, sir, to Todd's-'
The man walked straight to the counter and, without a word, dropped the entire contents of his Bag of Holding on it.
'H-how can I help you?' I said, looking at the wild assortment of objects- rings, swords, a piece of some magical beast's anatomy (don't ask me *what* piece), and so on.
'I wanna sell this stuff.' He said. 'Except for the bag, of course.'
'Uh...I don't really *need* a goblin-forged iron pot sir. Or a..what is this, ogre? femur. I'm a weaponsmith.'
'This one's a ring of water breathing.' He said, ignoring me. 'I have one already. It's at least a couple thousand gold pieces.'
'I...can't afford that, sir! That's more than I make in a year! And I wouldn't know what to do with it, the only water in the forest is the river! There's no large body of water for miles, no one would buy that thing!'
'This is blood from a Fire Giant. Great for alchemy. I know 'cause I once killed one for an alchemist, got a handsome reward. Magic Axe. Sets things on fire from time to time.'
'Oh.' I said, looking at the greataxe hanging on his back.
'This is a very nice shop.' He added. 'Good wood in this area. It would be a shame if it were to catch fire. Hey, I know, you could use this Fire Giant blood I just sold you to get an alchemist to put some Fire Protection around the place!'
'That...' I sighed, holding back my tears. 'That's a great idea, sir.' | 2015-11-04T08:18:08 | 2015-11-04T07:55:59 | 202 | 41 |
[WP] A girl grows up thinking that all doors are automatic, but it's actually the work of a polite ghost. | # Soulmage
**"But don't all doors do that?"** Meloai asked, taking a step towards the abandoned cabin. The wooden door swung open with impeccable precision, and I could have sworn the hinges even oiled themselves as they moved.
"...No, Meloai," I said. "Doors do not normally open themselves as people pass."
"Really?" Meloai frowned. "They did all the time when I grew up."
"No offense, Meloai, but you grew up in a dead nobleman's creepy-ass extradimensional basement," I said. "I'm pretty sure that your definition of 'normal' is pretty different from human standard."
Lucet kicked me in the shin. "Hey. Be nice, Cienne."
"This *is* me being nice. Look, if we've had some nobleman's ghost stalking us for the past couple of months, I feel like that's the kind of thing I deserve to know about." I took a step forwards and shut the door; it didn't open again.
"Oh, see, now you've broken it," Meloai said, grumbling. "Look, I obviously turned out okay, and I spent twenty years with this kind of thing happening. Don't we have more important things to worry about? Like, uh, getting enough food for you guys to eat?"
"Well, hang on, maybe one of those problems can be a solution to the other." Sansen, by virtue of being older than Meloai, Lucet, and I combined, was the de facto leader of our little group of adventurers. "I've seen people come and go in my time, and I knew the late Lord Tanryn personally. I don't think this is the nobleman's ghost."
"Then... who is it?" I turned to Sansen, frowning. The old man had forgotten more than I'd ever know, and I trusted his judgement.
A faint smile spread across Sansen's face. "I think it's his old butler." He cleared his throat. "Meloai. Did your ghost ever set tables for you?"
Meloai gave him an uncertain nod. "I... think? That's the thing where all the silverware flies into place, and the tablecloth straightens itself out with a *whoomph*, right?"
"...In this context, sure," Sansen said. "Did he—did the ghost do the little thing with the three types of forks? The one with two little tines on the left, the bigger one in the middle, and that delicate, long, pointy one on the right?"
Meloai nodded enthusiastically. "See? It *is* normal for tables to do that."
"Oi," I muttered. "Well, I guess it's not the weirdest thing we consider normal nowadays."
"Yeah, that's ol' Mairel alright." Sansen's old gaze stared into the distance as he remembered. "He was my first crush, back in the day. If there's still enough of him left to remember how to wait tables and grease doors... well. Indulge an old man for a moment, will you?"
The three of us traded looks, then nodded at once. We may have been an eccentric little group, but we were tight-knit. We trusted each other. "Whatcha need, Sansen?" I asked.
His requests were fairly simple. We cleared out the front yard of the abandoned shack, smoothing over the dirt with our feet and hands—and as we did, something... else... joined us. Something that barely remembered how to speak or think, but still knew how to set a dance floor. Within minutes, we'd cleared a square of land, with Sansen standing in the middle.
And the old man began to dance.
Wordlessly at first, the waltz was an invitation. He took the lead, and empty air followed. And then, all at once, the air wasn't empty anymore. There was no flash of light, no thunderous miracles, but Sansen's steps became more sure, his weight more freely shifted, as he leaned on a partner who wasn't there but had been, once, long ago.
Meloai began to hum to herself, a wordless childhood lullaby that she must have heard when she was growing up, and the cadence of the tune matched the waltz to perfection.
The old man and the ghost finished their dance, and I felt a whisper of wind rustle around the impromptu dance floor.
Then the miracle was over, and suddenly, Sansen was holding nothing but empty air. He let out a long, contented sigh, memory coursing through him.
Then he opened his eyes, smiling.
"You wanted food, kids?" He stepped forwards, opening the door to the abandoned shack. Behind it, impossibly, incongruously, was a fully-set banquet table, resplendent with rich foods from an era long past, with three delicate forks set precisely by each setting. "Seems like there's something left of Mairel after all."
And the four of us ate gratefully, sustained by the memory of a ghost of an old man's friend.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-one other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. | "Polite?" I ask, "Some may call it creepy."
"How so?"
"You ever shut the bathroom door and... Well I don't want to say it in front of a lady but I think you know what I'm getting at."
"I...."
I can see it on her face as it starts to sink in. This dame has been putting on poopoo/peepee shows for years. Judging by that look, she ain't happy. Then again, when is a broad ever happy? I mean that's why I'm even in the office so early. I slept here. Throw me out, will ya? She knew what marrying a private dick would involve. Following targets, stakeouts, interviews.... She wasn't complaining when I bought her that mink stole. ahhh....I know the money hasn't been coming in lately but that's exactly why I was out. Working. She's my gal though and besides, who else is gonna love this old, cold fish? I'll pick her up some meatballs from Luigi's tonight. That always.....
"Excuse me?"
.....puts her in a better.....
"***EXCUSE ME?***"
"BAH!! What!......Wha!.. uuhhh...oh...oh, sorry....sorry there. You were saying?"
"Ok! Is this something you can handle because this needs to......"
Something I can handle? If this lady only knew. I was in the Great War, the big one. Had no fear. Fear will getcha killed or worse, captured. .... and we were men back then. We knew those Krauts were gonna get most of us but did we run? Yeah, we ran.... Right at 'em. Johnny was the first to go and the first death I ever saw. Right in the head. He was dumb but I still felt bad. Then Charlie... Then Choppy. ***BAM!! BAM!!*** Right in the chests. But I didn't turn around, not me. Back then I wasn't afraid of nothin'. I just didn't know any better. I was a fathead. A yuck. As I moved closer, it.......
***HELLOOOO??!***
"AH!....ahhh....I.... who....oh. Sorry doll, I was just thinking about...the.....uh.....your case."
"And? What are you going to do?"
Was this dope crazy? Door ghosts?......In Pittsburgh?........In July? Ha! Not since Wilson was destroying this great nation...or maybe it was Taft. Besides, I saw her open the door herself. Maybe she is crazy. Then again, somedays I think all broads are crazy. Not Margaret though, the one that got away. Don't get me wrong, I love my wife, and I'm loyal too! But Margaret never did leave my thoughts. We were just kids, 9th grade...or was it 10th? Ah, what does it matter? We were young and dumb...... and in love. I remember exactly what she was wearing the first time I laid eyes on her. It was.......
***HEY!! HEYYYYY! HELLOOOO??***
*knock knock knock*
***ARE YOU IN THERE??!***
"AH!!.. WHAT THE?!!!...NO!!... please.... No hitting...no more...I.... where?..."
Suddenly a voice bellows from the other room.
"EMMA!... Stop messing with grandpa, please! Do you need something to do because I'll..."
"No mommmm....."
She looks at me with that evil grin.
"Play with you later.....grandpa."
She shuts the light off on me and I hear her laughs fade down the hallway. Ghosts? No. I've got real evil to deal with. Just like that time in Detroit. It was 1942, maybe 3. Bruno and I had just.... | 2022-06-12T21:09:47 | 2022-06-12T21:02:25 | 98 | 10 |
[WP]Walking into your local drugstore, you jokingly say to the employee "I need to lift a curse cast generations ago, what aisle?" He then looked up and responded with "yeah, you look bad, aisle 5 just down the secret stairway." | To say I looked bad was an understatement.
I could’ve sworn I was still feeling the hangover from two days prior, though of course the splitting headache could have been from the one I’d woken up with this morning. I couldn’t tell very well; the booze made days stream together like somebody had magically erased all the little black dividers on my calendar.
But fuck it—it was the holidays, right? If it truly became a concern, I’d put sobriety on my list of resolutions for the new year. A bandaid on a gunshot wound, really, but I was still half-drunk at the time.
The only reason I’d left my apartment at all, in fact, was to buy more aspirin. The damn things went down like tic-tacs, and my medicine cabinet had chosen the absolute worst time of year to run out. No matter, though. It wasn’t a long walk to the drugstore.
As I arrived, and after I’d already cursed out the doorway for jingling at me like I was some commoner, the clerk stared at me a little surprised. Sure, I’d never been to this drugstore before—but there was no way he’d never had a tipsy customer.
Stumbling in and restraining myself from picking something from the shelves of snacks that taunted me like a menacing rainbow, I approached the counter and smiled. Tried to act normal. Or, well, whatever my drunk ass thought constituted as normal at the time.
“Hey,” I said, controlling my tone. “I need something that’ll lift a curse cast five generations ago.”
My exquisite humor is frightening, I know. But while I’d thought the quip was fairly amusing, it also wasn’t too hard to understand. I assumed the guy would just point me in the direction of what advil they had in stock and leave at that.
Instead, his face lit up like a neon sign as if I’d just said some secret code word. He nodded quickly, pointed to one of the aisles, and said, “Yes, yes, you do look rather bad. Aisle five. Just down the secret hallway.”
I slapped the counter lightly, bowed my head, and was off. The fact that he hadn’t laughed had left quite the sour expression on my face. So much so that it took me all of ten seconds to turn around and ask, “What?”
The man tilted his head, one eyebrow raised. “For lifting a curse, right?”
My head rocked up and down, dumbfounded.
“Yes,” he said and pointed to the same aisle. “Aisle five. The secret hallway is right at the end there, you see?”
Twisting around, I squinted down the hallway. If horizontal vertigo is a thing, I got it right then. But I did see the hallway. The door to it was hidden amongst the row of beverage fridges at the back, with one of the doors leading into a dark stone corridor rather than the bottom of another drink I was craving quite fiercely right then.
I didn’t let my urges win out, though. Whatever this secret hallway was, it was important. So, nodding lazily to the clerk again and reprimanding myself mentally in the voice of that teacher I always hated, I walked onward.
Past the shelves. I opened the door. A gust of cold wind attacked me like a flock of seagulls, sobering me up a tad. I stepped in, the glass door sliding shut behind me like the final nail in a coffin.
Around me stood dark, smooth stone. It looked like a cellar. But as I took another step and a row of sconces lit up along the wall, one by one, blue fire beckoning me forward, I knew it was more than that.
My lips split into a wide grin. My eyes widened like dinner plates. And before I knew it, I was at yet another junction. The stone walls expanded at the end of the hallway, growing outward like the arms of an ancient tree.
Just as mystical, too.
Because at inside the room that stretched out, there was more than just stone. More than just torches lit with blue fire; there was a *person* inside, staring at me with keen interest the way my old frat boys used to do when I was on beer-duty.
“Here to lift a curse?” the woman said, standing behind a wide wooden desk. Her eyes glimmered like gemstones.
“Uh, yeah?” I said and then straightened up. My hands made the movement as though I was adjusting a tie—despite the fact that I was wearing the same stained hoodie I’d slept in the last two days.
“Good, good,” the woman said. I walked toward her without much hesitation. “I can see you’re much in need of help.”
I scowled at that and almost told her she didn’t know me, but the way that she moved stopped me. Her walk was almost a hover, the wide dress of hers hiding her feet in shadow. When she rounded her desk to where I stood, she clicked her tongue.
“A terrible case, too,” she said. “The pain in your eyes—has it been a generational curse?”
I jerked my head backward. Then remembered what I’d told the clerk before.
“Yeah. Five generations.”
“I see,” the woman said. “It must have been very hard for you. It afflicts your state even now, doesn’t it?”
I opened my mouth but didn’t have anything to say. Her nose wrinkled at my breath, but her smile didn’t waver. Nodding to herself, she took my hand in hers and spoke something under her breath.
“Woah,” I said. “I’m all the way down, but a dinner first, at least?”
The chuckle that left my lips then was just as nervous as it was of drunken joy.
“May you heal in time,” the woman said. Something changed inside of me. My limbs felt lighter, my mind clearer, my breath fuller.
“I break your bond,” she continued. At once, thoughts spawned in my head: memories of my childhood. The bottles. I faced the experiences all at once, but somehow I wasn’t scared.
The woman’s eyes met mine, still gleaming.
“*And I set you free.*”
I blinked as her words hit me like a runaway train. When I peeled my eyes open, I was no longer in the room. There were no walls of stone, no blue fire, no woman. Only the open air.
The jingle of the drugstore door startled me. I gasped and gazed down at the parking-space markings beneath my feet. Paces and paces away from me, a man drinking from a bottle squinted at me.
“What happened to you?” he asked and took another swig.
At once, I found myself disgusted by the beverage in his hands. I no longer yearned for it, no longer even felt its effects.
“I… just got a curse lifted,” I said.
And I suppose that was true.
---
/r/Palmerranian | I laughed good-naturedly but he didn't even give me a smile. He went back down to reading an article on his phone and sighed, bored. I stayed in front of him for a few more seconds until he said,
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" He barely looked up from his phone this time.
"I... Uhh... sorry, you said I looked bad? Did you mean like acne or something?" I said, raising my chin as far as my self-consciousness would allow, which was about half an inch to display my red neck.
"What? No, the curse. It looks like you should at least get it checked out. Aisle five, secret stairwell, you can't miss it," he said, almost sounding like he cared.
"Uhh..." I wrung my hands some more.
"Fine, I'll take you there," he said, turning his phone off in a huff and marching out from behind the counter.
"No, you don't have to--"
But he was already walking down the aisles, not looking to see if I was following, which for some reason made me more inclined to chase after him. I caught up as he was turning into Aisle 5 and walked behind him close enough to whisper,
"What do you mean curse? What kind of--"
"I'm *not* a curse doctor," he said, irritated. He pushed on a price tag that didn't have a label and the space in the shelf collapsed into a clean set of marble stairs leading down into a basement. I stared with wide eyes as he stepped aside and gestured to it, bored. I looked to him, then the stairs, then back to him.
"Is this where I'll... find the curse doctor?" I asked slowly. He put on a condescending smile and bobbed his head, nodding like a teacher to a child.
"And I just go down there to get to the curse doctor?" I asked again, slowly squirming myself away from the staircase. He gave me a pained look.
"I'm sorry, I don't think I actually need this--"
"Get inside already," he said, annoyed. I didn't want to be a bother and walk away after I had already made him do his job, so I quickly began running down the steps. I heard the beginning of a sigh that was cut off when the wall closed itself back up behind me. I yelped and continued downward, afraid of everything around me.
When I made it to the bottom, I saw a room in front of me with a patient's table and a desk that a man sat holding a test tube in front of his thick eyeglasses. He snorted at it and took violent notes, then whipped his head to look at me. I froze in place.
"My God, what a terrible curse," almost the second he laid eyes on me.
"It's bad?" I said both as a question and a declaration with a cracked voice.
"Quickly, quickly, let's get you checked out," he said with such urgency, I couldn't help but follow the order. He patted the patient's table and I sat down on it. He began making long, slow strides around me as he looked me up and down. I began to shrivel up, embarrassed to by everything and nothing.
"No friends, right?" he said, more as a statement of fact than an inquiry.
"Uhh.. right," I swallowed.
"And your jokes. Never landing, right? Worst timing ever, but you try them anyway? You're the only one to enjoy your jokes?"
"You'll never know when I strike gold!" I said, smiling to myself.
"Intriguing, just terrible jokes," he nodded to himself, stepping past me again. I frowned as he continued.
"Well, it looks like the curse has been a part of you your whole life and you just adapted to becoming a part of it. I can get it off with some Antiperdedor if you aren't allergic," he said, going back to the test tubes and pushing a few aside to look at bottles of pills.
"Sorry, I don't understand... what's my curse? Sounds like you're describing my introvertedness."
"Astounding, you even begin your sentences with apologies," he said, holding up a bottle of pills and nodding to himself, bringing it over to me.
"I don't think being a bit socially awkward is a curse?" I said as more a question than a statement.
"Not at all!" he said handing me the pills. "Social awkwardness, introvertedness, totally normal! You're a just loser."
I stared at him nonplussed.
"I'm sorry?" I said, trying not to apologize, but doing it anyway.
"You're a big fat loser. Just a secondary person no one wants to spend their time with. The pills will fix that. One a day for a week and you'll just be all better," he said, gesturing to the exit. I stared at the Antiperdedor pills as I walked to a wall that opened up to the exit of the drugstore.
"This will make me able to make friends and go out and stuff?" I said with hope.
"Oh, no. You'll still be a socially awkward introvert, but at least you won't be a loser anymore," he said as the wall closed behind me.
___________________________________________________________
For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | 2019-12-27T19:57:10 | 2019-12-27T19:56:06 | 109 | 48 |
[WP]The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don't stay dead easily. | Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. It’s been nearly a century since a formal recruitment, voluntary or not, anywhere in the world. People have shown up by the thousand for weeks now. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. Nam…
"Aren’t you a little young for this?"
"I’m eighteen."
I take his information and send him down the hall. I don’t need much convincing, even if he couldn’t be a day over fifteen. He’s old enough, if he wants to go, I won’t stop him. Isn’t even the youngest I’ve had today. It’s been nearly six months of this, hundreds or a thousand processed a day, every day. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. I used to say more, used to thank every person that went down the chute, look them in the eye for the few moments they were in front of my desk. That lasted maybe three weeks. What was that, twenty-five thousand people? Thirty? I don’t particularly want to know on second thought. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. They want us to look them in the eye, sure. To thank them for showing up. Reassure them they’re a part of something greater. They want us to, but they want numbers more.
It’s all a numbers game. That never changes. At my station, that’s the number of warm bodies I can log and send down the chute every day. That’s about the most technical station in the process, actually. Engineering just has to strap engines to an aluminum tube, set a launch window, and send it on. Thousands of volunteers, stuffed in the tube, jetted off faster than a human has any business going.
It used to be more complicated. Lots more. Space for air, space for food and water, space for showers for god’s sake. Takeoff had to be managed, limited to what a human body could take. What was that, ten G’s? fifteen? Well, fifteen once you trained your volunteers. That was a whole chore in itself. Training for zero g. Training for takeoff and landing. Training for a hundred systems breaking in transit. Training to not go crazy in the two years you were in transit, to keep muscles from shrinking in that time. There were literally a thousand things cut from the process since the early days of space travel. All engineering had to worry about was how many bodies could fit in a plain metal tube and how fast could we get that tube on its way. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall.
Process volunteers, load them in a tube, launch. There used to be a fourth step. Having tubes of a thousand volunteers killed by launch forces or suffocate in space seemed too brutal, too calloused. The first week, it was injections. Then gas for another few days, that was a PR nightmare though. After that, an engineer suggested that hypoxia was about the best way to go anyway.
Of course it was an engineer. Why have four steps, five if you count loading bodies in the tube, when you could have three. Then they didn’t mind close quarters, didn’t mind the lack of oxygen, didn’t even come back until after they were well into space. Hell, they didn’t even need to land. That alone took weeks off the trip since they didn’t have to slow down to zero. As long as they got down to about three hundred miles an hour, about half the ship would make it. Not great, but these weren’t a wave of shock troops. They were a horde. A thousand undead, five hundred surviving impact, and five hundred more the next hour and every hour after that. Six months now. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. Thank you for coming. You’re how we stop the menace. How we keep Seattle from happening again. Six months today. A ship every hour. 4380 ships. 4.3 million people. About 2.2 surviving the impact. Their first ship was ten thousand monsters. Shock troops that wiped Seattle off the map. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. The first ship would be landing today. These recruits will get to see it on broadcast before their own launch. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. Happy hunting. | Humanity has always been a prideful race we had earned it after all from traversing our oceans and conquering the planet and then solar system to fighting and taming the Z virus that had resurrected the dead. The first races we met were the Za-Khan and the Predatea. They welcomed us into the Galatic neighborhood providing us with a essentially an orientation that wouldn't have seen out of place from an university or a business. They included maps with drawn out borders.
The Za-Khan explained that the Galaxy was a place of peace and that many civilizations didn't even have militaries. The Predatea even suggested humanity begin to wind down it's military. Once the honey moon phase was over Humanity plotted it's first conquest they were going to seize the hundreds of planets that the Predatea didn't even bother to colonize. Hundreds of Earth like worlds just waiting to be taken.
As the special operation team approached the first planet an automated Predatea beacon warned that the planet was not safe. The team leader laughed not safe for Predatea maybe.
After landing just 3 miles from the only space port on the planet the team started through the forest towards it. A twip noise was heard as what could only be described as a mass of vines grabbed four member's of the team ripping them apart and placing the remains in little trenches that only now did the team notice bones poking out from. Unfortunately the dead men continued to scream as the heads were still alive but no longer attached to bodies.
This screaming brought rustling noises as the team stared in shock. Two Predatea civilians stumbled out from the forest and quickly brought them back to Human authorities apologizing that they didn't know the Humans had arrived on the planet.
The Predatea explained that many of the world's were preserves for the most dangerous life in the Galaxy.
Two years later humanity still building it's largest military ever receives a message from the Za-Khan sending a compliment to humanity. It read "Nice military you have there" humanity responded with "Thank you". The military was deploying to the mission of taking the Predatea worlds with weapons designed to combat the wildlife. It had been a long 5 years and so at the rallying point everyone was nervous when the Za-Khan fleet showed up. It sent a message "To the Victor goes the spoils". They quickly destroyed the fleet with weapons developed over 100 thousand years. That day humanity learned three things one the reason so few species had a military was to avoid having the Za-Khan practice on it and two the Za-Khan was a peaceful species that loved war like humanity enjoyed MMA. And three the Za-Khan were overjoyed at the discovery that humanity could be killed and then it would get back up. | 2019-08-28T14:32:43 | 2019-08-28T13:34:01 | 50 | 18 |
[WP] They aimed at each other in silence. Neither of them wanted to pull the trigger, but they both knew that one of them had to. | I stared at her, more importantly, at the gun in her hand. It was pointed at me. I would have been upset, but my gun was pointed in her direction, so we were even. Tears were starting to flow down her face, as the moment stretched to its breaking point. She didn't want to pull that trigger. I knew that, because I didn't want to pull mine. The man in the corner sighed, leaning forward.
"One of you has to shoot the other. I don't care which. That's the only way for one of you to prove it." He sat back, safe behind his bulletproof glass.
"Do you remember?" I whispered, hoping he couldn't hear me. As he didn't react, it seemed that his glass also muffled sound. Or he was just being patient.
"Remember what?" She whispered, at exactly the same tone and volume as me.
"Do you remember the summer? The water pistol battle we had?" As I spoke, the hot day came back to me. There had been a standoff— much like this one— though the ammunition hadn't been nearly as dangerous. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.
"I remember. It was fun. We lost, I think."
"Yes, but before we lost. Do you remember what happened—"
"What are you two doing? Get on with it!" The man interrupted me. I took a deep breath. This needed to be fast. I had to get her to remember, to agree that it was the best course of action.
"I remember what happened..." She paused, tilting her head to the side. "But do you think that's a good idea? It will be difficult. And technically, what he's asking is the right thing to do." Looking at her, at her eyes that were as familiar as my own, I trembled. I didn't care if her existence was illegal. Didn't care that I should have pulled the trigger when I first entered the room.
"It might not be a good idea. But it's the best we've got." Watching her closely, I saw the minute traces of acceptance. And together with my clone, I turned, running for the man in the corner.
With one shot, I broke the lock on his booth. Falling to the ground, I shoved the door open, as another shot rang out. The man slumped, bleeding from the neck. An alarm sounded, but I was already up, grabbing his ID card. My clone had sliced off his forefinger, knowing we would need it to get through the doors. I grabbed her hand, and we ran for the door. It was time to escape. | ##Dual Regrets
I stand with my back to him as the crowd watches me. My second looks at me with fear in his eyes. My hand shakes as I draw my gun.
Take a breath. I have to be calm. If I miss, he'll get another chance to hit me. I need to win to keep my life.
"Begin."
Taking a step forward. Images from my life wisp by my head. Playing in the fields outside the manor. My tutors educating me. My first kiss.
I look to my left to see my opponent's wife crying. I have no one to live for. Perhaps I should throw the contest to him.
No, I can't do that. My life is more sacred to me than his life simply because it is my life. It is a selfish justification, but with matters such as these, are those invalid.
"One."
Why was the duel arranged in the first place? Perhaps there is time to back out.
"Two."
No, I can't back out. My honor would be stained, and I would be a pariah. My hands are still shaking.
"Three."
Well, no time for doubts.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2022-07-06T16:37:22 | 2022-07-06T16:14:08 | 72 | 15 |
[WP] Death is just a predator much higher on the food chain than we are, and our perception of it is as limited as an ant's perception of a child with a magnifying glass. | *Wow, well isn't this quite something?*
You blink, as if you can't quite believe what you're hearing.
*Yes, yes, you're not imagining it. I'm, "speaking" to you I suppose is how you would understand it*
"B...but," you say out loud and a couple of the other specimens stare to look at you in confusion.
*Now, now. There is no need to speak out loud. I will be able to hear your thoughts. Your kind comes along so rarely, I would hate for you to get taken in to some prison and electrified*
"Electrocuted actually," you say, this time in your head. Then you shake your head, as if you can't believe what you just "said." "Wait...I...you..."
*Use your words, now*
My mocking tone momentarily angers you, clearing your thoughts. "Who, no, *what* are you?" you say, again, in your head.
*Ah but you know already, don't you? You were just thinking about it*
You blink and frown. "I was thinking about....something." Your frown deepens. "I know what I was thinking about, I am thinking about it right now, and when I do, everything sort of goes blurry and I feel like I'm watching myself in third person...but I couldn't tell you what exactly I'm thinking about..."
*Precisely!*
My sudden excitement makes you jerk. Sometimes I forget how sensitive you folk you are.
*Apologies for that, quite rude of me. But regardless, what you're feeling, there is no way to describe it in your language. Your language is bound inherently by the three dimensions, by a limited scope, which is all most of your kind is capable of seeing.*
"Limited scope?" you retort, "what sort of bullshit is that?" You're angry, understandably; after all, I've just insulted your species.
*You know full well what I mean. Look around yourself, your fellow people, this...transport that you're in. What do you see?*
Your eyes widen, and you look around, your head jerking from left to right, up and down, out the windows, *beyond* the windows. You are like a child who has just been born into a new world. In a sense, you are exactly that. Then you look at me. There is no three dimensional direction, you just *perceive* me. You open your mouth to speak.
*Stop. You will just confuse yourself by speaking in that tongue of yours. You now know what I say to be true. You no longer just see, you* ***perceive.***
"But..." you stammer, "I'm no philosopher! I'm just a guy bored on my commute to work. I was just thinking pointlessly about stuff!"
*Throughout history, there have been very few who've crossed the barriers you have, and in an objective sense, they are the most capable of your species. Yet not a single one makes it in your history books. To arrive at this thinking, you cannot be thinking with a purpose, the very nature of Ascending to this thought is to stumble upon it.*
You give this a moment of thought, then nod, agreeing. Then your frown deepens. I know what you're about to ask.
*Yes quite right. There really is no point to it all. And no, you will never be happy going back to your life.*
You do not protest, you are well past such silly things. You know it to be true. Instead you set your jaw. "I will undo it all then, forget all of it. I just want my life back!"
*Which is exactly what everyone else who's made the discovery has, said, your species or otherwise. They all say the same exact thing within moments of first Ascending.*
"Has anyone done it?" you ask, and for the first time fear creeps into your voice.
*I've been trying for as long as time existed. No avail.*
"Then...." Again, like clockwork, I know what you're going to say.
*You'll kill yourself?*
"You think I won't?" you say, again that anger rising. It's funny how even after Ascending, certain traits still remain common.
*Oh you will try, we both know, but you know too that nothing will happen. You are now the same thing I am, Death itself. You will wander like I do, like a handful of others do, throughout time and space, killing as needed, breeding as necessary. Giving them the release you wish you could achieve. I believe your kind calls it artificial selection.*
At first you're sickened, aftereffects of the old reality. But then you speak, and your voice is calm. "To find someone capable of Ascending beyond us," you say.
*Precisely. Only they will put an end to our suffering.*
Everyone else has left the transport, but you're still sitting where you were, looking the same, but fundamentally changed, likely forever. You look around, trying to get one last glimpse of the world that was once yours, but its too late. You can no longer see it as it once was. For you, it is already gone.
*For what it's worth, I'm sorry* | They had made up names for her. "The Grim Reaper" was her favorite; that one came with its own mythology. The story went that when it was a human's time to go, they'd see manifestations of the Reaper, coming to collect their souls and escort them to the afterlife. The black robe and scythe had become very much a part of her iconography, and she had embraced that. In reality, the scythe was the favored weapon of her people, and the black robe just made her feel cool. Humans knew, of course, that it was logically impossible for the Reaper to collect *every* dying human soul, but they ascribed that to the supernatural, something they tended to do with most things they didn't have the capacity to explain.
The truth was that human souls were delicious. The mundanity of the real reason Kat'til was hunting that day was almost funny to her. She spent most of her time on Earth, though occasionally she would share her kill with her brothers and sisters throughout the galaxy.
Tonight, she found herself in a city that humans called Oss-tin. It was quite a lively city, and it was a night that saw the streets of Oss-tin flooded with people. She scanned the street from atop a roof, assessing the richness of the feast of souls set out before her. Humans were mostly frail, but in large groups, they could wreak havoc on Kat'til. She needed to choose carefully.
A man stumbled out of a bar, filled with the libations that she understood this part of the city was famous for. His aura glowed brightly.
He was ripe.
Kat'til waved a hand in front of her face, transforming what would be a ghastly appearance to any human into a pleasant, charming face. The idea was to lure him into one of Oss-tin's many alleys and side streets, striking him down while he was alone. She jumped down from the roof, landing in the roaring crowd without making a sound.
She marched right up to the man she'd spotted from above, whose hands were on his knees. This one was going to be sick. She moved out of his way just in time to watch him expel the contents of his stomach out onto the street. A hand flew to Kat'til's mouth to keep her from laughing. She reached out to him.
"Let me give you a hand." He looked up at her, immediately taken with her new guise, and slurred some form of assent. Kat'til draped his arm over her shoulder, guiding him to the alley beside the bar he'd just fallen out of. Once she had determined they were sufficiently alone, her disguise dissipated. The man's face went completely white.
"Oh, god. Oh, shit. Is this it?"
Kat'til nodded. "This is it. I can carry a message to your family, if you'd like." She would do no such thing, but it typically calmed down her prey enough to make her job easy.
"Just... just tell my parents I love them, and sorry I'm such a fuck-up..." He let out a choking sob, putting his head in his hands. Kat'til's heart fell. She always felt bad if they started crying. But she had a job to do.
"I'll tell them. Now kneel." The man did as he was told, and Kat'til raised her scythe, bringing it down on the man's neck. No cut was made, though a white mist began to seep from his body. Kat'til opened a pouch she was carrying inside her robe to collect it. The soul was rich in nutrients.
She had done well. | 2018-01-18T10:02:16 | 2018-01-18T09:58:05 | 4,667 | 250 |
[WP] You possess the ability of persistent lucid dreaming. Accompanied by a strange man/woman, together you build a world you revisit every night. One day you see them at a coffee shop. You immediately recognize each other. | "Today, love, this nation is ours. For now, and forever," I told Maya, gripping her hand and smiling with excitement.
She jumped up and down, giggling with glee, and drew Arakh from its sheath. Blue streaks of light danced across rocks as the sun gleamed off her majestic sapphire sword. Without even waiting for me, she'd taken off.
I sighed with exasperation, leaping from the cliffside with Shisu slicing the wind behind me in a blur of jade and gold. *She's always so god damned hasty.*
We cut through flesh and fur as the Verküth army swarmed us pointlessly. They were but putty before our might and blades, and we were sculptors.
"Ah, that was too easy," Maya groaned, covered in thick black blood.
"Well, you designed this one. Don't complain."
She sneered at me and walked toward the slain King's broken convoy, retrieving a golden scroll from his body. We looked to the south, where the sun was setting over a sea of bodies and blackness.
"Tomorrow, I won't go easy on you like this," I told her with a sly smile. "I've got a few ideas that don't involve the measly Verküth and a basic slashing mission. We didn't earn this scroll."
"Come on- it's fun once in a while, isn't it?" She laughed and walked up to me, kissing me goodnight. Or, well, good morning, I suppose.
------------------------------------------------
I awoke in my bed to the sound of an alarm's screech and stretched. *This world is so boring and plain by comparison. Fuck work.*
Even worse, I'd dreamt too long, leaving me poorly rested for the day.
Lunch break couldn't come fast enough for me. I went over to Harry's for a club sandwich and coffee, like I usually do, when I saw her. We locked eyes from across the room and immediately recognized each other. There was no doubt in my mind.
"Hey, Dianne! Long time no see," I joked- we worked in the same department. "You look pretty tired. Long night of partying?" I winked.
"Very funny," she replied, rolling her eyes. "But in a sense, something like that. Pretty intense dreams and stuff. Now get back to work, lazy."
I looked at her quizzically. *I wonder if...*
*Nah. Don't be silly.*
I dragged about the rest of my day as I always do, swinging my pen around in daydream, wishing for nightfall.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/43mjo9/wp_you_possess_the_ability_of_persistent_lucid/czkbwjv)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/43mjo9/wp_you_possess_the_ability_of_persistent_lucid/czlsv0t) | Surprise registers in her eyes as soon as she notices me. It only takes seconds for it to turn into turn into definite recognition. That look intensifies. I'm at a business lunch. One of the others is saying something. I can't get up without causing a scene. *She knows! It's real*. I'm thankful I didn't cry that out.
I think about the walls she built for me. In our city, in our world. I think about scaling them, eager to meet her. I remember the walls of her palace, her fortress really, smooth at first but suddenly growing out footholds for me as I will them into existence. I climb just like Romeo about to declare his love.
She always stops this playfulness when I reach her. I like to think she prefers the conclusion to our game more. As do I.
She has learnt to control her expression when I first thrust my knife into her but it quickly and always changes as I go in for the second, third, sixth delicious thrust. As her face twists painfully and her cries grow more and more animal like, I wake up. I am never satisfied.
Johnson is saying something to me. I answer. When I look at her again, she is gone. What have I done? Have I done something?
--------------------
Okay guys, this is the first time I'm doing this and English is not my first language. Go easy on me!
| 2016-01-31T23:21:09 | 2016-01-31T22:46:36 | 435 | 18 |
[WP] Drilling into the ice sheet of Europa, it is revolutionary when we discovery not only life in Europe’s oceans, but also intelligent life. After numerous communications and translations, those aliens ask if we could bring them to the surface to see the beauty outside their confined environment. | "Our apologies. Can you please repeat that last part?"
The team waited anxiously as the drone quietly analyzed the code that was being translated between each party.
Life it seems, did in fact exist on planets other than Earth.
The investigation of Europa had unexpected consequences. Despite all previous knowledge otherwise; there had been signs of life. And to stress things further, absolutely no one had expected to get response to the signals their equipment emitted.
Thus, years after the first arrival to this planet, everyone was in awe at being part of such an incredible discovery. There were tears. Prayers. Talk of what the future held.
But the answer to their latest question. It changed things.
"Bring us to the surface.... We wish to see to see the stars." The drone translated.
The ship orbiting the planet erupted into a variety of activity at such a statement. Some immediately sprung into action, preparing to find a way to bore deeper into the mines the robotic forces had previously dug. Others debated the possible politics around meeting a new sentient species.
However not everyone was sold.
"None of this makes sense." Natasha pointed out.
"Which part exactly?" Theo responded.
"For starters, if they've lived here all their lives. Eons, and centuries, and... You understand." She said stopping to wave her arms slightly. "Why would they need *our help* to get to *their surface*?"
"Maybe..." Theo considered, "Maybe they... Maybe they aren't as advanced as we think. Maybe there's a technological barrier they've yet to overcome."
"What barrier Theo?? We're in a space station circling one of Jupiter's moons at thousands of miles an hour." Natasha rattled off. "And *they're talking to us*. We didn't call them. They found our equipment readings and then they found us."
"We haven't been to the surface except for maintenance procedure." Theo pointed out. "Several teams on a rotating basis. But you're right."
"Morrison is planning another manned exploration. I think they're going to try to meet them."
Both of them seemed to consider that possibility. It didn't help that the international response had been so positive after such a revelation. A lot of people were blind to the consequences, or so it seemed.
"That's a bad plan." Theo reacted.
"Listen. Somebody here has to agree with us." Natasha promised, "But we have to get them on our side."
"I still have to get Carlo running again." Theo pointed out. The service robot was still laid across the table as smaller drones tracked its software calibration.
Natasha nodded, "Do it. We need all the help we can get."
"Where are you going?" Theo asked as she started towards the next sector.
"I'm going to talk with Morrison." She called back. "I'll see what he knows."
Neither one of them had said it to each other. It didn't need to be said.
They were in trouble.
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | (sorry about the formatting — on mobile)
Scientists were ecstatic — a revolutionary breakthrough, they reported to every news outlet with air time, life on another planet. Intelligent life, at that. They’re peaceful. All that’s left to do now is bring them up. We’ve sent an elite team to meet them.
“It’s all bullshit.” Gary Watts hollered at the screen, about to throw his beer bottle before thinking better of it. “You’re all gonna fuckin die, they’re lying!”
“Easy, Gary.” The bartender chuckled, sliding something iced across the counter. “Can you blame people for being excited? Aliens! I mean, Jesus!”
Gary shook his head.
“Jesus ain’t got nothin to do with this.”
Around him, the world celebrated. But Gary Watts, once an esteemed scientist at NASA, privy to every top-secret conversation revealing there was no real information about these aliens beyond their word, knowing full well seventeen astronauts, young and full of hope as he had once been, were being led to the slaughter, threw back his beer and slammed the bottle on the counter.
“You’ll see.” He said quietly, although no one was listening. “You’ll see.”
At 5:23AM central time the next day, Gary, still at his favorite stool in the corner, was proven right.
He had approximately 20 minutes of vindication before the rockets hit. | 2020-03-12T06:33:35 | 2020-03-12T05:37:01 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | From the highest rank that any soldier can dream of, to being another guy on the streets. I’ve amassed a great fortune in my time as a royal guard while the old king was in rule. It’s been a good 25 years in the army, ever since I enlisted at the ripe age of 16.
I’m old now, old enough to be able to feel my own mortality. I can remember the day Paul, the old king, took me in when I was starving. To repay him I told myself that I much serve this kingdom by capturing country after country. I ended up unifying the entire continent with the king. Truly the glory days of our prime. The king and I together were often called monsters by enemies and even some of our own footmen. Those were good times.
The new king is ignorant of the world. In fact, most royalty are, no matter the country. Race plays no factor in what you can see but instead what you can learn, but there’s a limit on how much you can learn. I had gone around the world, leaving no stone unturned so that I could teach the old king so he could continue being the “wise” old man he was. I was a key factor in his decisions and I took pride In that. Of course everything is always kept privately so no one really knew I was the closest person to the king. But then the king gave me his very last order. When he dies, when the crown prince takes control, should the prince ever act out for his own interests instead of his country’s, I am to put an end to the prince’s plans. And if I must, I will take a blade to his heart if I have to.
The old king loved his sons and daughters, but he loves his people more. He says, “A land with no people is nothing but a wasteland. But a land with caring people is a civilization.” As a result he always did what he could to make the lives of the people more confortable. I’m proud I could be his sword and shield. But now I must commit treason to the highest degree if the current king becomes corrupt. For the glory of Visti’ital and the honor of Paul Visti’sia, I will keep an eye on the current king as the former strongest soldier.
For now I shall find myself in my small home and relax a little with my family. Sending kids to school is expensive you know... | The old king and I were pretty close friends. I introduced him to most of the playmates within his harem. Comprised of but not limited to Vicky Vallencourt & Suzy Crabgrass. Some nights, we’d play uno together. He knew I would let him win and for me? Honestly. I liked it. He could see how I liked it so... no longer was I there to please his majesty, I was there for me. Someone who had the keys not to the Royal palace, but to his own character. Had the king been not of royal blood he would of admired this in me- instead I was merely found amusing which never quite sat well with me. And now? I think that may be all I’ll ever have been. For, there’s nothing to be of me now. Not without him. | 2021-02-28T06:52:14 | 2021-02-28T01:37:57 | 44 | 14 |
[WP] You hate your boring call centre job. Every day idiots call you up with stupid questions they could easily figure out themselves. Yes you have to shoot them in the head. No there is no cure if you're bitten. It's a few years now into the zombie apocalypse and this is the Call Centre of the Dead | *A new employee finds a note under the desk of his new job at the "Zombie Hotline". Parting advice from the previous occupant at the desk.*
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to work in a call Centre for taxes before this you know?
But there's not much use for that when everyone who pays taxes is dying from stupidity & carelessness. I start my day at 9AM and the usual calls start to trickle in:
"Um hello...my husband went down to the living room...I heard a blast...(tears)...I think he's one of them...will I get infected through the air?" caller 1 hesitantly asked.
"If you stay in that house ma'am, the air will be the least of your problems.." I replied.
Genuine advice streaked with dry sarcasm, my trademark style. It's the only way I can get through the day now. But as time passes, I get fewer and fewer opportunities to showcase what I've cultivated over the years. We were flooded in the beginning- from 9 to 9 , the pay was good and the questions were straightfoward...
"There's a horde coming towards me!!!! What do I do ?!?!!? " a caller once asked.
"Roollll over and *diiiie*.....hahahaha" I once replied.
My supervisor didn't like that line one bit. The call was recorded of course; for quality assurance purposes.
Yeah, Yeah I was an asshole but don't judge me. If you worked this job day in and day out for years- you would feel the same way. If you've ever worked customer service you know exactly what I mean, that first week when you feel motivated, telling yourself that you're gonna treat "everyone equally" and give everyone your "full attention"- what a joke. That racket maybe lasts a month until the cold hard reality of it all sets in. And it *will* set in, I promise.
But if you have to call in to figure out how close you are to death, what am I suppose to do? Are you telling me that you don't know when death is coming towards you- one must fight for their life or run for their life?
Am I supposed to tell you it's gonna be okay?
**Because it's not.**
Our mandate was to help you get through the chaos, to provide a calm voice of reason. Little did you realize, all the tactics we give you - increase the odds of your death 100x. This was always the plan...
*To lead the idiotic masses to their deaths , like buffalo off the cliff.*
It makes it easier to build a new society when only the strong, wealthy, and powerful remain. This was always our agenda dammit, but *you* were never allowed to know that...
I wasn't supposed to know it either. If you are reading this, it means I am dead. In enough time you will learn the sinister secrets of this program and you will either become no different than the "brain dead" you are trying to save people from or you will have so much rage and frustration that you take the other way out...
By the elevator, there is a handgun in a glass case. They will tell you it's for a last resort defense if the undead make it inside the building. However, *that gun has fired more bullets for suicide rather than self defense.*
When the time comes, use it wisely.
Welcome to your *final* job kid, I can promise you that...
\-----------------
*A story by CryptoBombadil* | INTRODUCING THE CAST:
JEN: The often misguided, easily manipulated manager of the Call Centre of the Dead.
MARVIN: A father. He had just been hired at the Center before the apocalypse hit.
JILL: A ten year old child, Marvin's secretary who plots his murder.
OLIVER: A bully who pushes around everyone else.
ALSO STARRING:
DIA: "Are you discriminating against zombies?"
(MARVIN and JILL sit at desks next to each other, with the latter clutching a knife behind her back. OLIVER'S chair has been rolled away from his desk, and he is reading a magazine.)
JEN: (Entering the main office) All right, everyone! We have a new employee. (waves hands excitedly) Yay! Go team!
DIA: (enters) Hello, team. (drool drips out of the corners of her mouth as she stares at JEN)
OLIVER: (exasperated) Jen, she's a (emphatically) zombie! Are you crazy?
DIA: (offended) Are you discriminating against zombies?
JEN: (shaking her head) For shame, Oliver.
DIA: (huffing) Call me Chef Dia, instead.
MARVIN: (conflicted) You mean chief?
DIA: (pausing) Sure.
(An awkward silence follows. JILL takes the initiative to enter her office again and slam the door. DIA tentatively walks over and sniffs OLIVER, but seems disgusted and recoils. She moves over to sit beside MARVIN. JILL scoots away from her.)
MARVIN: (tentatively) So...
(JILL suddenly stabs at MARVIN, but he dodges and the knife clatters to the ground.)
JILL: (deadpan) Oh my, the knife must have slipped.
MARVIN: (terrified) U-uh, just make sure it doesn't happens again, okay?
JILL: (shrugs) | 2020-05-12T08:55:39 | 2020-05-12T06:31:01 | 104 | 13 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | When the rapture happened there was a pretty big uproar. Anarchy, riots the whole shebang. People were scared, and they should've been. But then after, they started to get used to it. Then people started being born with weird birthmarks, and usually developed powers based on that mark. Most had constellations. My friend, Jace, he had Orion. That made him extremely strong, and able to see what he wants no matter where he is on the planet. Which is crazy. Me? I've ways just had a circle. Just a plain small blue circle on my forearm. Because of that I get bullied. I never use my power, my dad told me not too right before he died. They assume I'm weak. They assume I don't have a power.
Oh how wrong they are.
I'm tired of being the object of their torture.
Of being punched by those with strong constellations.
Even poisoned by the serpent ones.
I. Am. Done.
They will finally realize why I never use my circle. My power.
My Black Hole.
They try to punch, to poison, to do anything. But nothing escapes gravity. Nothing.
They have hit me for the last time.
As my former friend Orion throws his punch, smiling, laughing at my pain with the others, I reach out my hand. My head tilts up, lip split, black eye, and finger broken.
I reach out my hand, and say "I'm done." He stops laughing, and looks at me with a cautious look. He should be much more than cautious.
From my palm springs out a purple/black energy writhing in smokey tendrils, around Orion. His eyes widen and he screams. Whether out of fear or pain, I don't care anymore.
I'm tired.
His body fold in on itself with a sickening wet crunch, and turns completely black, glowing purple. The others are standing back, fear in their eyes. Good they should be afraid. Their weak Constellations won't save them now.
I'm tired.
I grab what used to be Orion's body, but now black hole, in my hand as my fist closed around it, about the size of a baseball. I look up at the others "I'm done being Bullied."
I'm tired.
I throw my Ball at them and as I do they try to run, but nobody can outrun gravity. It connects, and his body fold in on himself too, combining with Orion, to make the ball about the size of a softball.
They made me do this. I never wanted this. I just wanted to be left alone. I'm so very tired. So. Tired. My vision goes black with my body still moving. I'm done. | I’ve never activated my sigil in public. It’s not a cool power anyway... that was what I thought.
But in a world where everyone has their own talent manifest, I just didn’t fit in.
That’s why the bullies found me to be an easy target.
“Look it’s Shit ring!” I heard Warren yell as I tried to ignore him.
That’s right, a big fat brown circle, not even where it’s subtle smack dab on my forehead. Zeroface, talentless, shit ring...
Warren sported a black brand of lightning on his fist. It’s cool and he knows it, especially when he zaps people.
I ignored him, and he strides to catch me.
“Let me go!” Inadvertently, I shrink from him whilst he continues to tease me.
Suddenly, his face blanks, and the look of shock washes over him. Moans escape his mouth uncontrollably.
I realised I have accidentally triggered my sigil. He was having an instant orgasm, and he won’t be able to stop until he passes out.
I turn and ran ...
*Edited for grammar* | 2020-02-26T07:44:57 | 2020-02-26T07:22:06 | 91 | 43 |
[WP] A time-traveller stranded in the middle ages maintains a comfortable lifestyle by using his advanced technology to adopt a guise as the legendary wizard Merlin. He never expected a REAL wizard to show up and challenge him to a magical duel. | As Carl sat on his front porch, sipping from a mug of mead and puffing great clouds of white from his pipe, a furious, bee-like buzz began growing in the distance. He cocked his hear, agitation and annoyance growing in relation to the approaching noise. Cursing and muttering, he went back into his crooked home and emerged with his flashlight and a handful of flares. He climbed aboard the hull of the old Rutherford 18T – the piece that had dropped him into his tearfully unenlightened time, still embedded in his yard from his initial impact five years ago – and waited for his neighbors to approach.
Once a year, almost every year, the citizens of Dunbar, led by the Arch-monk Geoffery, stormed up the hill to Carl’s home.
Even after all this time, the villagers still felt an obligation to at least try to burn him at the stake on a semi-annual basis. It was a token effort at this point, something they could point to when they stood before the great and terrible God, so they could say “look! We tried to do something! We tried to stop his black magic!”
The glow of torches approached through the darkness, accompanied by chanting prayers. Geoffery led the way, chanting his prayers the loudest, his inflection unbearably pretentious.
“Come down here, imposter!” Geoffery shouted up at Carl. “Your magic doesn’t fool us any longer! We know who are you are! We know what you’ve done!”
“What I’m about to do is blow you all into a pile of pink slush.” Carl popped a flare and tossed it them. The unnatural red light choked and sputtered. The nearest villagers stepped back cautiously, hoes and axes lowered menacingly at the mysterious light. But they didn’t run.
Carl frowned. That always got them running the past.
“The next fireball I’m gonna aim for your fat head, Geoffery. I was just sitting here, minding my own business. Go back to your bread and beer and sheep. You don’t want to go around causing trouble and angering wizards like a bunch of vagrants.”
If things got really sketchy, Carl thought, he always had the phaser on the night stand. Technically, he had never fired it before. The idea of doing so now seemed like a disastrous scenario. Sooner or later, battalions of knights and would-be saints would start pestering him daily. He would never get a moment's rest then.
“You’re not Merlin!” Geoffery said. “He’s Merlin.”
At Geoffery’s words, the crowd parted and a dark, robed figure made its way through the crowd. The man lowered his hood dramatically, revealing a bearded man with horn rimmed glasses, wearing a dirty Slayer t-shirt.
“This man,” The new Merlin said, pointing a crooked finger at Carl. “Must go!”
“Hey!” Carl said. “You’re an imposter!”
The new Merlin pulled out a flashlight. Carl brandished his own. They began flashing and swirling their lights at each other. The crowd backed up, some dropping to their knees and praying for God’s forgiveness. Others went raving mad and stormed off into the woods, crashing through the brush. Carl felt increasingly embarrassed at the whole situation.
As they danced and battled with their flashlights, they drew closer together.
“Why the hell did you pick the name Merlin,” the other man whispered to Carl.
“There’s already a thousand Merlins.”
“I couldn’t think of another one,” Carl said. “Why did you pick the name Merlin?”
“Alright, well we can’t both be Merlin. “I guess I’ll take another name. Rasputin? He was a wizard, wasn’t he?”
“No,” Carl whispered, parrying again with his flashlight. “He was a Russian peasant mystic during the early 1900’s.”
“Right. Well, they don’t know that. You take Merlin, I’ll be Rasputin.”
They disengaged and flew back from each other, each pretending to be momentarily stunned. The raving peasants flocked in all directions, lamenting the end of the world. With some terrible acting, Rasputin recoiled with his mob, claiming he would contact with the interstellar wizard alliance for reinforcements.
Carl frowned and recovered his pipe from beside the chair, shaking his head as he watched them walk away. These younger time travelers were always getting carried away with their historical meddling.
| “Merlin, are you in here?”
The members of the royal court always seemed to interrupt me when I was close to beating Candy Crush.
“Yes, what is it you require?”
“Well it appears as if a Wizard from a neighboring kingdom has arrived in Camelot and desperately wants to meet with you.”
Well shit. As a time-traveller, it was easy to fool the common folk into thinking I was a Wizard with my Microsoft Tablets, and fancy laptops. Not to mention the advanced weaponry and medicine, but to be honest it was the Mentos and coke that really convinced them of my “magical” abilities. To fool an actual wizard would be tough though and if I were caught, my head would literally be on the line.
“Send him to my chambers at once.”
“As you wish.”
In the next ten minutes I scrambled to create the perfect magical façade. I put my desktop into “sleep” mode so various colors flashed on and off at different locations. I turned on my favorite Spotify playlist “Medieval Chill Sesh” and hid the speaker so it looked as if the sound had no source. Lastly, I put some coins up my sleeve just in case I had to do any demonstrations. Maybe this would work after all.
“Hello Merlin, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
The wizard was dressed in what appeared to be a bathrobe with the hood covering his face. His voice was strangely familiar.
“It’s nice to meet you fellow wizard, may I ask your name?”
“Maije Stebvos”
“What an interesting name?”
“Yes, it means greatness, which I am. However, my purpose in coming here was not to discuss my superiority, well, it kind of was, but the main reason for my visit is to expose you.”
“What do you mean Mr. Stebvos?”
“I know you’re not Merlin……. Bill.”
The voice became more familiar. At that moment, Maije pulled out from his bathrobe what appeared to be an iPad. On it he wrote “Maije Stebvos.” He tapped the screen and the letters rearranged themselves to spell “I am Steve Jobs.”
“I know you didn’t code that Steve. Did Wozniak do it? Is he behind all this? He’s behind that curtain over there isn’t he?”
“You know what fuck you Gates, you never take me seriously. But you will now after I tell everyone your secret.”
“But then I’ll tell everyone the same about you and they’ll chop your head off too. You didn’t think this through; you never do with these things.”
“Rats, foiled again! Don’t worry Gates, I’ll get you next time.”
Jobs disappeared in a cloud of smoke, but with a lack of vision ran into a wall instead of walking out the door thus rendering him unconscious. When he awoke Bill Gates had already sent him back to his own time. Jobs immediately got to work getting someone else to perfect Microsoft’s time-traveling technology.
| 2015-07-12T07:43:23 | 2015-07-12T07:26:34 | 141 | 93 |
[WP] Your mother has taken over a local crime 'family' but is oblivious to the crime element and thinks its a neighborhood watch group that is misunderstood. | "Uh, mom, I don't think-" I protested as my mother sped round another dingy corner to the "neighborhood watch meeting." Well, that's what everyone told her. My stepdad, a new guy from a big, rich family apparently had a major role. "Nonsense, Karl. It's a normal neighborhood watch that people have looked down upon because it's in South Bridgeport." I sighed, shaking my head and looking around. People covered in dark clothing handing out little white bags of what I presume was cocaine. My cheery mother seemed to ignore this fact. A hidden memory from a few months ago played into my head - my dad telling some guy, "We're gonna hit on the Igors, especially their son Lukas." and my mom getting angry and thinking that my dad was gay. She found a guy and sobbed to him about it, saying that he should hit on him to make sure. And my dad was dead the next day. The car parked up. We got out, and mom walked in, chipper and happy, into the rotten warehouse. It smelled of must, blood and weed. Red flags blared within my head, and the beefy men sat around a table in the foyer didn't help. One screamed at another in Russian, and Lukas stepped in from the darkness and barked a command, and they shut up. My mom layed into a large, wooden throne like chair. My stepdad muttered in Russian, again. Thank god for Duolingo - I understood a few words, mostly "She's my wife and if you disrespect her you won't be alive". I sighed. Igor grinned and grabbed a chair. He switched to English, "Now, as you know, the Pyerrossi family's oldest isn't around anymore so that makes me in charge. Listen to June, she'll tell you about what you've all done." I slinked into a white chair, looking tiny compared to the men around me. I'm only fourteen for god's sake! My mom coughed and began, "So, have you seen those troublemakers at number 62? Bunch of teenagers, they need dealing with." One of the guys next to me tried, "How about we get them expelled or worse-" The new leader cut him off, "No. We get them a job. Anyone want to take them on?" and a short but stocky guy yelled, "I need runners at the docks and down the beachfront!" My mother said it was perfect, keep them out of trouble to do some cross-country. Lukas smirked at that. And then I knew that the leader messed up when she said, "I want all your children put to bed before next week. Stop them from messing about. Lukas, take Karl home."
​
The clean-cut, suited Lukas Igor got in an expensive Tesla. He sat there in silence before asking me, "Do you know what's going on here?" I nodded. I then panicked, wondering what the mob boss would do.But he raised his hand sharply, held it up for a minute, and then ruffled my hair. He sighed, "Pyerrossi - Kurt Pyerrossi, your dad, he was the head of the Italian mafia in North West Bridgeport. That's why you had a bad upbringing but still lived in the Toll District. He killed my father, my mother, my brothers Alexzander and Sergei and my sister Yeliziveta. I only got away because of your mother. Don't tell her it's a gang and you'll go far. You're an Igor now - my insurance. If anything goes wrong, you're in charge. Oh, and your mother - convince her to leave of her own accord. There's a good boy." | Gino didn't know whether the red on Agatha's dress was little printed hearts or bloodstains, but in either case it complimented her shoes nicely. The other Domanelli brothers might have agreed, but they were all dead, bleeding, or both. Gino was the last chore.
Agatha lowered her Beretta to his forehead, drawing back the hammer with a wink and a little kiss sound.
A man learns something about himself when he sees death. Gino had always thought he'd curse and spit in death's eye, but when he looked up at Agatha that evening, he knew only horror. "Wait waitwaitwait!" he cried.
She smiled, "Let's get you tucked in sweetie," when Agatha spoke there was nothing but dead calm in her eyes. Those were the eyes of a machine, Gino thought, *not a woman.* "Nighty night," she said.
The door to the warehouse burst open with a shattering clatter, police stormed in shouting, chaotic light filled the air. A second later, Gino was looking up at Agatha, with three FBI agents holding shotguns to her head.
"It's over Mrs. Davis. Drop the weapon."
She nodded, a bit sadly, dropped to her knees and let her Beretta fall to the concrete floor with a metallic clatter.
"I'm sorry, this isn't the Naperville Community watch meeting?" she said, blinking.
There came then five seconds of pure shocked silence. "I'm sorry?" Special agent Culotte said, his shoes slick with the blood of Chicago's top crime syndicate.
"I thought this was a neighborhood watch meeting, It isn't?"
The agent shook his head, "No ma'am, this is a crime scene. Eleven people are dead."
"Fourteen!" Someone shouted from the back room.
"Fourteen people are dead," Special Agent Culotte corrected.
Agatha looked truly shocked, "Well I guess that's a big whoopsie-doo on my part!"
Everyone had a good laugh at how a simple misunderstanding can develop a life of its own. One of the officers offered to drive Agatha home, while the rest stuck around to clean up the scene and beat Gino to death. | 2019-04-18T03:58:03 | 2019-04-18T03:55:56 | 89 | 56 |
[WP] You attempt to explain width to a 2 dimensional being, and then a 4 dimensional being attempts to explain treingth to you. | “So, how many sides do you have?”
“Four.” The square wasn’t exactly wrong, but not right either.
“No, you have six.”
“What do you mean, six?” I touched the large, flat sides only visible from the third dimension. “Ouch! Hey, that’s my insides! How’d you get there?”
“I touched your fifth and sixth sides.”
“But I only have four!”
“You know what might help?”
“Tearing up my heart?”
“No. Ew. No. If I tried to show myself in your plane.”
“But, but how?”
“Like this.” I stepped into the plane. It didn’t really feel weird having another universe travel straight through me. The lack of dimensionality probably helped.
“I see a very weirdly changing shape.”
“Well, yeah. I’m not a polygon. I’m a collection of curves all stacked on top of one another.”
“On top?”
“The third dimension! You have length and depth, but no width. Width would be a bunch of squares stacked to form a cube.”
“What?”
“Here, let me try again.” I grabbed a piece of paper. “I’m holding a rectangle in my hand. You can’t see it yet, but I’m going to move it through your plane. You’re going to see a bunch of lines, but if you stack them, you’ll get a rectangle.”
“Good luck.”
“Alright, I’m dipping the corner in.” The square became visibly amazed at the line changing size before it.
“Is it possible to learn this power?”
“I can sure try to teach you.” The square was about the size of my palm. If I hit it just right, maybe I could rotate it.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to show you.” I lay my palm flat against the square and push.
“Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Stop it!” I pulled off. “Where was that coming from?”
“I tried to push you out of the plane.”
“And it didn’t work, did it?”
“No.” I was almost ready to give up, when I heard another voice.
“Hey, you!”
“Who was that?” The square looked scared. “Did you bring a friend?”
“Uh, no. No I didn’t.”
“I,” bellowed the invisible creature, “am here to show you all the wonder of treingth.”
“Oh, so we have width, and now treingth? How painful can today get?”
“What’s treingth?”
“Here, let me show you.” I suddenly felt a searing pain everywhere.
“What are you doing!?”
“I’m rotating you so you move treingth wise. What else?”
“Well it feels like I’m about to explode. So there’s that.”
“See!” The square never went away. “Now you know how I felt!”
“And you’re spinning around on an axis to face different directions all the time without even realizing that said axis is another dimension!”
“Wait, you mean this axis?” The square spun itself around. A lot.
“Yes, that axis. How else are you supposed to stack all the squares together? We’re not making a blanket here!”
“See?” The voice was back again. “Now you’re getting somewhere with the square.”
“Okay, but which direction have I not considered. I can rotate on three, but they all have dimensions.”
“Ah, but you’re missing the fourth axis of rotation.”
“The fourth?”
“Here, allow me.” It started pushing. Hard. I could feel myself moving, but not in any recognizable way. Was I still the same shape as before? Surely I had to be, but surely there wasn’t a fourth dimension until there was. “There, see?”
“I, uh, I don’t know what I’m supposed to see.”
“I rotated you halfway along the fourth axis.”
“Sure, you did.” I looked down, but something was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. “Wait, what did you do to me?”
“I rotated you.”
“I’m inside out!”
“Do you want to be put back?”
“Of course I want to be put back! I don’t like that I’m literally inside out!” The push was back, and I eventually came back to the form I needed to be in. “What happens if you come into this dimension?”
“Well, let’s find out.” At first, there wasn’t much. Then there was a series of completely misshapen light brown curved solids. They made no sense, but that was to be expected at this point. “And if I continually rotate those around the fourth axis, I’ll get a full image of you?”
“Basically, yes.”
I would have liked to come up with a witty reply. Maybe some snarky comment. Sarcasm would have been preferable. But before I could even process what the brown thing could have said, I blacked out. | Imagine a dimensionless point, right? Now extend that point perpendicular to itself, and Bam, you have a line. 1 dimension.
Extended that line perpendicular to itself and Bam, you've got a square. Extend the square perpendicular to itself and now you have a cube.
Extend the cube perpendicular to itself and now you've got a tesseract on your hands.
What do you mean this isn't the time for this shit. Yeah, I'm high as fuck, why you asking? Look, these stupid ass birthday parties are the only time I really get to myself. I work twelve hours a day, and, wait, why do I work so much? The wife is sick, I've got to pay for someone to take care of her when I'm at work. Which is expensive. Then between Tommy and her, I get, hold on, let me smoke another bowl. Fuck. It's the only way I can relax any more. Anyway, as I was saying, you drag a cube perpendicular to itself and you have a tesseract. You'd be able to move through and see all of the 3d space, the same way you can see all of a poster at once. Speaking of posters, guess what I just got. The Beatles. Signed. With George Harrison, too. You should give a listen to Temporary Secretary. It's proof that the Beatles really were more than the sum of their parts. Okay, sure, I can hold on to your tickets. What was I saying, oh yeah. Dialysis three times a week, bedpan, like, eight times a day. Well, we're not quite ready to move her to hospice just yet. She can still live at home with assistance. I want to be there for her, you know, but it's exhausting. Tommy is always acting up. He's obviously scared, too. I'm always talking to the school about his behavioral problems. Yeah, as soon as we move her into hospice, I'll probably sell the house. Doctors give her two years with the chemo, but, like, hellish two years. She's getting one of those voice things implanted next month, that way she'll be able to talk. Oh no, she's not totally dependent, at least, well, I think she's given up. She stopped pt, said it was just too much. I get it, but that's even more work. I have to work extra hours to pay for the day nurse, which is expensive, and then I have to pay the nurse for those hours and oh my God, I need another bowl. No, I haven't started dating again. Till death do us part. Believe me I need some pu-female attention, Clare is too weak. Oh God, that's gross. No, she has no sex drive. I wouldn't be able to find time, anyway. I'm trying to sell the house, to pay for some of this, but her family is giving me hell, they think I'm just trying to get as much money as I can. You know. Before, well, you know. Ah, but look, your daughter is about to dive into the ball pit. | 2019-09-22T11:15:20 | 2019-09-22T09:49:58 | 250 | 71 |
[WP] Starting at the age of 10, humans are given companion animals that develop along side them. These animals can range anywhere from a goldfish to a horse to even a dragon. The only catch is that they are assigned based on your behavior during childhood. | Garry awoke, but didn't open his eyes. He sat for a while, listening to the annoying sound of the clock on the wall, ticking and tocking out of sync with the beeps of his heartbeat machine. The heartbeat machine was annoying too, but at least it served a purpose. Clocks shouldn't tick that loud. He would have thrown it out the window if he could get up. But he couldn't. So instead he listened to it.
He wondered if Blue was in the room. Blue usually made a lot of noise. He didn't like being in a small room. He would probably prefer being outside, climbing to the top of the tallest tree he could find. Usually when Blue was in the room, he was pulling down curtains, or tearing apart cards, throwing stuffed animals, or breaking important hospital equipment. Orangutans didn't understand when you told them not to do something. But human boys did. Garry wished he didn't understand, or *he'd* be the one pulling, tearing, throwing, and breaking.
He opened his eyes, and pressed the button on his bed to sit up. Blue was there. Laying upside down in a chair, with his finger in his bottom lip, looking extremely bored. Blue was a terrible companion. A few weeks ago, before the accident and before Garry turned 10, Blue would have been great. They would have played all day long, climbing trees and laughing with each other. Now that Gary would never climb a tree again and probably never laugh again, Blue was useless. If Garry had got a horse like his friend Jamie, or a giant eagle like his friend Sarah, then at least he could ride them and it wouldn't matter that his legs didn't work. Heck, he'd even be happier with a little dog or gerbil or lizard or *anything* else that didn't mock him for not being able to walk or stand or climb. Anything but Blue.
"I hate you." Garry said, under his breath. Realizing Garry was awake, Blue grabbed the arm of the chair and swung around to his feet. He shuffled on his knuckles over to Garry's pile of birthday/get-well-soon gifts by the window. He picked up a heavy square box, and flung it at Garry, hitting him in the head. Garry rubbed his head, eyes watering, forcing himself not to cry out. If he yelled the nurses would come. He hated the nurses more than Blue. He grabbed the box and hurled it back at Blue. It missed. The throw put Garry off balance however, and he fell half-off the bed, completely useless and unable to get back up.
"Get away from me!" Garry exclaimed as Blue shuffled up to him, the box under his arm. Garry threw a lame punch at Blue, missing the ape and causing him to dangle further off the bed. Instead of fighting back, Blue lifted Garry back into place sitting up on the bed, and swung up onto the end of the bed, laying the box on Garry's unfeeling legs. Garry picked it up and made to throw it across the room, but Blue grabbed it from his hands and set it back on his legs.
It was a chess set that his aunt had sent him for his birthday. As a kid, he had always liked playing on rainy days when he couldn't play outside. He was pretty good too. He didn't feel like playing since the accident though. He didn't feel like doing anything. He tore the package open aggressively. "Oh you think you're so smart, eh? You're just a stupid monkey!" Garry took out the board and tore open the little plastic package with the pieces. "Look! See? It's just a stupid game!" He grabbed the black queen and held it out in Blue's face. Blue immediately grabbed the white queen and placed it on the board. He then proceeded to sort through all the pieces, picking out the white ones and placing them in the correct starting position on his side.
Garry sat frozen, his mouth agape, staring at the orangutan setting up the pieces. When the black ones were all set up Blue looked up at Garry. Despite himself, a smile creeped up the corners of Garry's mouth. He shook his head, dumbfounded, and set up his own side. The moment he was done, Blue moved a pawn forward. Garry let out a small laugh of disbelief and moved one of his own pawns. Blue moved quickly and deliberately. He shrieked and waved his arms when Garry captured one of his pieces. He laughed and pointed when Garry made a bad move. When Garry got the checkmate on Blue, he blew a big raspberry and knocked over all the pieces, then proceeded to set it back up from the beginning. They played again. And again. And again. On the fourth match, Blue beat Garry, and proceeded to jump up and down and laugh in his face. Garry couldn't help but laugh along with him.
"You know, maybe you're not such a stupid monkey after all." He said with a smile, as he set up to play again. | Jensen was a sweet and rambunctious boy born and raised in the southern most tip of the Gilded Peninsula. Barricaded by impassable mountains and surrounded by the frigid waters of the Adelphin Sea, the insignificant village, who was largely forgotten by the rest of the world, were as tight knit as any. The summers were short there, the winters were incredibly long and strenuous, bearing temperatures that reached well below -70 degrees during peak months. Because of this, the gifted animal companion each human received at the age of 10 was so paramount to survival, children were molded into disciplinarians at a young age, feeling very little pleasure and harboring a work ethic that would surpass most adults around the world.
What this would result in is a large animal that innately absorbed the same type of mentality and the same type of desire to listen and to execute. Many of the children in the community would end up being paired with a lone wolf who would hunt on command or a fierce polar bear that dwelled on every word from their master. Given the terrain and the inevitable hardships accompanied with their way of living, anything less than a powerful animal resulted in death.
With all that being said, we now go back to Jensen. Sweet, shy and a tad bit ornery, young Jensen was the antithesis of anything disciplined. He walked clumsily around the village, often tripping on just about anything due to his lack of attention to his surroundings. In school, he would be asked to answer questions and usually ended up mumbling something inaudible because he had not been paying any attention to the lesson at hand.
His downfalls were glaring and there was not a person in the village who didn’t carry the assumption that he would soon die when he was set off at sixteen to start the great hunts for the community. Now, as you can see, all that has been described of Jensen was derived from an outsiders perspective. No one, but Jensen and the God’s who bestow the gifts of animal companions, could realize his kind heart and willing soul.
On his 10th birthday, the local villagers crowded around Jensen’s home, as they do for any child turning of age, to see the animal that would be accompanying Jensen as he walked out of his cabin to show the world of his new best friend. People were giddy with excitement to see the failure that was on the horizon. Wagers were resonating through the air and laughter ensued.
*10 pounds of whale oil that it is an arctic hare with three legs*
*15 pelts that it’s an Skua… with CLIPPED WINGS!*
The crowd continued to erupt in quick succession, almost matching the tone of the crashing waves on the jagged rocks below.
*Quiet everybody! I hear the door. He is coming out*
The crowd grew silent as Jensen turned the door knob and began to walk out of the cabin. He came out sluggishly holding his mom's hand, his feet dragging while bearing a gentle smile.
He looked to the crowd and spoke with the utmost confidence.
*A thousand pounds of gold it’s a white dragon*
He pointed to the top of the highest mountain peak off in the eastern horizon. And there it was, the highest honor for any human, the ultimate gift from the God’s. A dragon and given the terrain and where they live, Jensen had acquired the fabled Snow Dragon, an elegant beast dawning crystal blue eyes and a vibrant white an imploding star would have trouble matching.
| 2017-01-13T12:14:27 | 2017-01-13T11:57:37 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] Dark Lord received a prophecy that a young ophran from the nearby village will end his reign. Instead of attempting to get her killed, he adopted her. | "Father!"
The old man, sat at his favourite chair by the fireplace turned his head towards the little girl who stood by the door. He gave a slight nod to which the little girl began running in earnest towards him.
"So how was school today?" the old man asked, putting off the ember in his golden pipe.
"Oh! I almost forgot–" the little girl stood at attention and bowed heavily towards his father, "–long live the Dark Lord Azul! Long may you rule!"
***
After a few days of rest, the Dark Lord Azul began his preparation to travel. This time around, he would pack slightly heavier than usual. Of course it’s only expected when you were to travel with another VIP – his adopted daughter Fey.
Initially he had not wanted to bring Fey along. He’d felt it was unnecessarily taking a risk, what with several rebellions popping up every now and then as well as the long arduous travel they’d need to take.
If anything he’d be happier to leave her here with several guardians.
"Are you ready to go, dear?" Azul shouted down the hall.
"Uh, just a second!"
Azul was weary. He never liked leaving later than scheduled, as it’d push down other itineraries and cause problems. He also wanted to make significant progress by the time the sun would set. Even a Dark Lord was not immune to the dangers lurking in the dark night.
All of a sudden, he heard a loud thump. Then a screeching sound grated his ears.
*What is that little girl up to…* He thought to himself as he investigated.
"Wha–Just what are you thinking, young lady?"
"I wanted to bring Naga along, but she doesn’t seem to wanna budge!"
The young girl was pushing as hard as she could. But she had not moved nor was Naga – the little dragon that she’d made a pet out of.
Azul was utterly at a loss for words.
*I should have gotten myself a 'wife' to take care of her, after all…*
"Let’s leave her be, Fey. Don’t you think she’ll get homesick and–"
"B-But what about me?! I might get homesick too!"
*Ugh, it’s like debating a wall…* Azul thought to himself as he petted both the little girl and her dragon.
***
In the end the travel was uneventful.
He’d thought there’d be danger lurking everywhere. In fact, he was so wary that he had brought about six regiments with him – two mounted and four infantry – with a backup carriage just as a precaution. But nothing actually happened.
If anything, the biggest problem came not from outside of the carriage but inside.
"Waargh, are we there yet?" the little girl tugged on her father’s luxurious robe with vigour.
"S-Stop it," Azul snapped at her, "it won’t make the horses ride any faster, no?"
The girl skulked and began to roll around the carriage floor. Of course this was not out of the ordinary. A child would not be able to restrain themselves too well when forced with almost no stimulation around her. The only thing that might calm her down would be if Azul simply entertained her. But right now his mind was on another different matter.
"I’m booooored!"
"Go play with Naga, you brought her along so might as well–"
"But Naga is bored too, father!" the girl shook her little dragon’s drooping wings as if trying to make a point.
The Dark Lord Azul had many powers. One of which was to actually 'control' a mind of a lesser being. He had used this several times to attain victory over lesser foes, such as goblins, orcs, and even animals who had gone berserk. Now, it’d be nice if he can simply 'control' her adopted daughter – say to make her stop whining or behave better – but alas a human is not a lesser being after all.
Instead…
*Naga, I command you to entertain the young lady Fey!* Azul sternly instructed the dragon in his mind.
The little dragon looked his way. Instead of a robotic-yet-submissive gesture, the creature merely stared half-interested and yawned.
*I see, a little dragon is still a dragon after all, eh?*
Azul resigned his unfortunate fate to any higher being out there. No matter what, he had to endure it for a bit further. Yes, if he could simply wait it out he might even succeed in his long-awaited objective.
"Sire!" a shout came out from outside of his carriage.
In response, Azul slid open a small compartment beside him. From the opened gap, he could see a man dressed in a wicked dark wooden armour galloping his steed next to him. As if on cue, the armoured man bowed slightly before continuing on.
"Our scouts had indicated we are near–"
"By how much longer?" Azul responded briefly.
"I’d say no longer than 5 minutes, sire!"
"Very good, make the appropriate preparations, Captain. I want to make it short and sweet."
"Acknowledged!"
In just a few more minutes, Azul can finally fulfil his long-awaited objective. He thought of the countless battles he had won. He thought of the men and women who had given their lives for his sake. He thought of the blood he’d spilled on the ground to make it this far.
Then he turned to see the little girl beside him.
*My dear, daughter… Even if you are not my daughter by birth, our fate has been sealed together. I hope you’d one day understand that–*
Then the carriage ground to a halt. After a few moment, a gentle knock signalled the end of the journey. Azul smiled and put his gauntleted arms around Fey’s small shoulders.
"Father, what is going on?" Fey asked as she stared blankly at her father.
"It’s alright, young lady. You’ll be fine…"
"B-But–"
"It’s fine, you’ll see."
A bugle rang out loudly outside, then a drumroll began to fill the air.
"Presenting, His Majesty the Dark Lord Azul and the Young Dark Lady Fey – his rightful successor to the Dark Throne! Please proceed to your stations!" an announcer heralded their arrival.
As soon as another servant swung the door of the carriage open, a loud celebration erupted. Cheers echoed in the distance, countless small colourful papers fell from the sky like snow in winter. Then a large sign…
**Happy birthday, Dark Lady Fey! May you rule in your father’s stead, in time!** | The foster care worker gaped up at me.
"B-but sir, its typical to actually meet them first."
I tried, somewhat successfully, to soften the trained muscles of my face into some semblence of a smile. I think I failed.
"She is my destiny. I am, as you can no doubt tell, childless. My future is entwined with hers." I mentioned the name of my fortune teller, seeing his eyes darken in recognition.
The negotiations took almost a fortnite, and finally I met Nancy. She, my prophesied destroyer, was a wickedly smart 4 year old who had more energy than I could summon on the solstice. We strolled the grounds as she, like all little girls, pelted questions at me.
"What's your name? Where do you live? Why are you in a cape? Why's your cane a dragon? What crystal is that he's holding? Can I have lunch? When are we going? I want to go now." Relieved my plan was working, I ushered this ball of energy towards my carriage. When I had her inside, I tapped the side with my stave and the horses obeyed my will and carried us away. on the ride I explained that I was the Lord of Helsteshere, and had no heirs, so I wanted her to become my daughter. "Call me dad when you're comfortable, I requested of her," as I ushered her out of my exhausted carriage. I had created food for us during our ride, so she had immense reserves of energy. I swept up the drive as she ran around, getting visually excited.
"WOW! This is where I get to live?! " she exclaimed as my butler, Dave, opened the door for her. I chuckled and silently indicated to Dave that she was mine. His eyes twinkled but his face betrayed no emotion. He knew, of course, that this little human was destined to destroy me.
As Nancy grew, her intellectual prowess became clearer until she asked me, "Dad, can I learn your power?" I hesitated, remembering that prophecy from 18 years ago, as she had been born. I couldn't say no to my heiress though, and relented. "Ok," I assented, "I will show you how to channel the energy of the world to do your bidding. But…" I trailed as I realized what she must do, "there is a ritual you must complete to begin." I raised my stave and showed her. "This is the symbol of my power. It is only given to you after you have given to the Everlasting Forest, and your journey must be your own. I will provide your crystal, but the forest must provide your stave." She nodded, and the very next day left before dawn. She returned after a solstice had passed, with a stave that surpassed the beauty of mine.
She eagerly began to learn, but refused to tell me what the Forest had demanded from her. Shivering, I remembered the toll it had taken from me, and understood her withholding of it. She fervently studied, mastering all my knowledge and expanding upon my methods using the library and her own ingenuity. Her progress astonished me, and we began to plan to become lord of all there was.
She, one day, asked, "Dad, can we awaken a dragon? It's been done before, but it took 3 of us mages, and they could not control it. Do you think it could be done?"
"Yes, believe we could do it on a solstice, for together we have more power than that foolish plan they followed." I replied.
"Theres still the problem of control." She remarked. I nodded assent, waiting for her clever mind to come up with a solution.
"I have an idea that I think would work, but we could kill it if my plan doesnt work, right?"
"I have already killed a dragon. And, you could as well, probably even without my help." I said slowly, wondering if she would explain. I was disappointed when she didn't.
"Then let us plan. I will study to see if I can streamline the process, and when a solstice approaches we will act."
Upon her 52nd solstice, as midnight struck fear into our domain, we raised our staves together, transforming the mountain we tread on into our eternal guardian, the dragon. As the dragon awoke, its mind seemed to turn its attention onto me. I began to feel disembodied as Nancy began to chant faster, and I realized her chant was, and is, transferring my mind into the dragon's, smothering its fierceness with my own vast power . Even as I became aware of her plan, and I began to scream, it morphed into the roar signalling that Nancy's era of leadership had began.
I'm so proud of her. | 2021-03-24T08:30:50 | 2021-03-24T08:30:35 | 1,374 | 328 |
[WP] A small town discovers that the long abandoned mines beneath them are larger than previously recorded - and seem to be growing.
A small idea that came to me before bed, wanted to see where everyone's creativity takes it! | **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Let me know if you get a strong impression from the MC in this one. I'm trying something new!
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>**SUMMONING THE UNKNOWN**
Ava frequently disagreed with *"The Adults"*, much to their chagrin. They called her a difficult child, they called her pig-headed and ungrateful.
She was neither. Well-perhaps a touch stubborn, but she *knew* when she was right, and was never willing to concede when she knew better.
Everyone said that metal was 'inorganic', that it was a dead substance- no life, no potential for growth- what we had was all that had ever existed.
Ava knew they were wrong- because she could *see*.
Every living thing carried an aura, and metal- at least, the metal that came from around here- was *alive*. Its energy was subtle, but persistent.
Being a pre-teen was also disadvantageous- though Ava was incredibly sharp for her age, they still refused to take her seriously.
This was the third time she had been sent out into the hallway during Science class- for being "disrespectful".
Adults had such fragile egos.
Leaving the rest of the class with busywork, the teacher condescendingly squatted down to Ava's height as she sat on the hallway bench.
"Listen, Ava- you have to understand that, as adults, we know better. Everything you're arguing against has been proven time and time again by the scientific method. Metal is not alive- it doesn't grow, eat, feel- nothing. It's time we moved past this. And- heck, if you can't take my word for it, go ask Nolan. He's the grade above you, and he's planning on becoming a geologist- he should have a few methods in that little lab of his to demonstrate the point. No detention this time, but for your homework, either prove to me that metal is alive, as you say, or write a paper explaining how Nolan proved this notion wrong, okay?" The teacher left.
Honestly, Ava couldn't have even told you what they looked like. They were just...fog. Unimportant people, dispassionate, unambitious- all of the things Ava disliked. She never made eye contact with those types, just in case she caught their...disease.
Ava trudged home, disdainful of the sweat that was building from the late spring heat. She had never lived this far south until two months ago- and the difference was very significant. She preferred a cooler climate.
Reaching her home, she found the front door open- there was no separation between the the house and the outside world aside from a thin sheet of patterned silk. It was not surprising, but she disapproved regardless.
"Mother, must you keep leaving the door open?" Ava asked, spotting her mother lounging on their Bohemian-style sofa. She was dressed as she always was- flowing clothes, adorned with spiritual stones around her neck, her nose in a book.
"Relax some, my love. This is a small town- very safe. Did anything inspire you at school today?"
"...After a fashion." Ava said, reluctantly. She rifled through a few drawers before finding the local yellow pages. "Is the phone still plugged in?" She asked.
"No, love. As soon as my hours are done for the day I put the phone on top of the fridge."
Ava was aware that their home was lagging in modern comforts- cell phones, internet connections- but on spiritual grounds, her mother had seen fit to reduce or eliminate most of those sorts of things. Ava liked it better that way, anyway.
Returning the phone to its perch, she used the yellowpages to locate Nolan's family name- Miller.
She called three Millers before she landed the right household. It was a small town- but apparently Miller was a disproportionately common last name.
"I'd like to speak to Nolan, please." Ava said.
"Sure, sure," responded an enthusiastic adult male's voice. "Nolan! *Nolan!* Ugh- one sec." He sounded perhaps eighteen? Nineteen?
The sound of active metal machinery grew louder until Nolan's presumed brother was in the presumed garage. "*Nolan!*" He shouted again.
A muffled response- the phone exchanged hands- "H'lo?"
"Hi, Nolan. We haven't met, my name is Ava, I'm from the grade below you. I was wondering if you could prove to me that the locally mined metal is inorganic." A brief pause from the other side of the phone. "It's for my science class." Ava added quickly.
"Oh! Uh, sure, probably. Come on over. You know the address?" Nolan asked.
"I do. Thank you." Ava hung up. She had taken to memorizing the town's layout via long nightly walks- a sort of meditation for her. Their mailbox had their names written on it.
"Going out." Ava announced, strapping her mini-boots back on.
"Back before dark, please!" Her mother called after her.
Trying to balance haste with her dislike of sweating, Ava arrived at the Miller's home.
The garage was quieter than before- but not silent. Nolan was sat upon a short stool, and he appeared to be scrubbing a rusted metal pole using steel wool.
"Hi, I'm Ava." She stuck out her hand.
"Nolan!" He said. "Sorry, dirty hands."
"I don't mind."
They shook hands, and Ava looked in his eyes. The perquisite energy she always liked to see was there- Nolan had bright green eyes. His aura was perhaps a bit under-developed... muddled oranges and reds, lacking definition, but plenty of creativity and passion to be seen.
Nolan disengaged and looked away. "Right- well. Science class, yeah?" He turned to his garage- it was well-stocked with a wide array of metalworking machines and materials. "My Dad is an engineer, so he likes indulging my hobby. Thinks I'm going to take over the family consulting business."
"Do you plan to?"
"I am thirteen years old." Nolan said firmly. "I will think about that *later*. For now I'm just having fun. So, for your project-"
Nolan led Ava through multiple pseudo-experiments; he demonstrated that metal could not reason, was unable to feel emotion, and he tried to show that metal could not grow.
Ava was more certain than ever. "This metal was mined from around here, right?" She asked.
"You bet. Support local businesses, Dad always says...even the ones that are technically shut down. The owner's son still makes a profit off the purchase, you see, even if the mine hasn't been used in forty some-odd years."
"Nolan, I am willing to bet you *anything* that by this time tomorrow, I will have doubled your amount of metal by making it grow."
Nolan raised an eyebrow. "Five bucks."
"Deal." They shook hands again.
Ava grabbed a normal metal plate and placed it on a frequency-based vibration machine. On it she laid down a half pound of local metal, and set the vibrations to 432hz- an auspicious frequency, if her mother was to be believed. Ava also gathered her personal energy and 'gifted' it to the metal on the plate- an exhausting process, but necessary.
"Leave it just how it is, and I'll come back tomorrow." Ava said.
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Ava returned the following day, and, with Nolan as her witness, she placed the .98lbs of metal on a scale.
"Five bucks." Ava said gesturing with her hands in a 'gimme' fashion.
"You said you'd double it. That is point-two pounds shy." Nolan said, not reaching for his wallet.
Ava rolled her eyes. "Pedant."
"How did you know?" Nolan asked.
"You don't seem very shocked." Ava said, avoiding the question.
"I checked on it at 4 A.M. this morning. Kinda cheating, but..." He left his sentence unfinished.
"I... I had a feeling. My mom always taught me about spiritual stuff. I can have...intuitive knowledge. Sometimes."
A mischievous glint grew in Nolan's eye. "So-what if you and I made some really big resonance pads and put them in the old mine?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Neither of them had been expecting to summon an Ancient God that day.
It happened anyway.
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Part II? If you guys want it I'll put it up on my subreddit, r/Nystorm_writes (I know there's a typo, there's a funny story to that...) | “Come, George, it’s this way,” I said.
George was my dog, and my best friend! I had other friends too, like Johnny and Chris and Leo and Diana; they were all human. But George was my best friend, and he was a dog!
Everyone found that funny. People always said mans best friend was the dog, but they never meant it the way I took it. George and I we’re more than a boy and his dog; so when George told me he wanted to check out the mines, who was I to say no!
He had been eager to hop into their mysterious depths; he would’ve been barking at them for weeks now— there was an entrance near the park we played at.
But that entrance had been blocked off for ages, George and I couldn’t enter that way. Lucky for him though, I knew of a secret entrance!
There was hole in the middle of the forest that I stumbled upon one day. I frequented the mines to the extent I knew them better than a mother knew her child.
The curved and spun in such fanciful ways; but they were too small. They had been used decades ago but no value was found in them, so they remain there, never expanded to their full potential.
George and I traversed my favourite pathway of the mines, I called it the “wave”. It rose and dipped in such sinuous patterns that I wished my bike could fit down that hole.
Makes me wonder what the miners were thinking back then. The only down side to wave was that it was a dead-end. It went on for quite a bit but it would ultimately end with no subsequent path, forcing you to backtrack to its beginning.
But it was a fun path.
George and I were playing tag, I worried that he may trip over his feet through, the lighting wasn’t too strong; such damp lamps.
We ran up and down the waving ground like a cartoon character would. It was so much fun.
But it wouldn’t last much longer, wave would be reaching its end soon enough.
“Ruff! Ruff, ruff!”
I heard George’s barking from up ahead, he had ran off in front of me no to long ago.
He must’ve reached the ending. I know, I know boy, it’s sad isn’t i—
“What the..?” I said.
When I reached George’s backside, I was at a loss for words. The path, wave, split off into two directions. One that I assumed lead to other pathways, given its direction, and one that lead the opposite direction. An area of the underground that the mines hadn’t touched yet.
All the previous tunnels seemed to be gathered on the eastern side, this one seemingly lead quite far to the west.
George was barking at the dark tunnel the same way he barked at the entrance. Yes, dark tunnel. There was no lighting in this one.
“I...I don’t know, boy. That’s a little spooky if you ask me,” I said.
George paid me no mind and continued his barking. The dark cave frightened me quite a bit. It’s sudden appearance was strange. Did they start construction on them again? Oh well, if George wanted to go, then we would!
“Only for a short while, ok George?”
I switched my phones flashlight on and George immediately took off to the ends of the lights reach. The pathway was narrow and shorter than the others. Though I fit fine underneath it’s ceiling.
I can’t even remember how long we walked that path for. For some reason I was dragged deeper and deeper into its depths. The worry I had moments prior seemed to vanish from my mind.
I turned to look behind me but could no longer see the light on the other end.
It had grown progressively hotter too. The air felt damp, like the suffocation of a mid summers day.
“Hey George,” I said. Out of breath from the endless walking and from the airs constrictive pressure.
“Let’s head back now, this tunnel probably goes on forever. Maybe they’re connecting another town to ours through it. Let’s go back, yeah?”
George ignored my pleas yet again and pushed onward. I was beginning to doubt his care for me.
We must’ve walked for at least another hour. My clothing was now drenched in sweat and George was running out of steam too.
Just when I was at my limit. “Is that...?”
I looked as far as my eyes would allow to try and validate what my brain was telling me I saw. There was light. Not much deeper into the tunnel, at what I assumed to be its end, there was a opening of light, dim light.
After another five minutes or so, George and I reached the light. I nearly fainted when I saw what the light held within its reaches.
Wave.
The pathway wave. It’s not as if we came from the second pathway that connected to wave; we came from the one we first started off on.
“Hey, George? Did we turn around back there?” I asked. I knew we didn’t, but we must’ve. That tunnel ran straight. It didn’t have any turns or curves or ups and downs. How did we make it back to wave?
George took off in an instant. Running towards the secret entrance. He started barking excitedly when he reached the hole in the ceiling.
I was exhausted, I couldn’t even chase after him and was forced to saunter at a turtles pace towards him. I pushed George up and out first before climbing out of the mines myself.
It was definitely hotter now. The air felt so heavy on my body and each breath felt so strenuous on my lungs. The sky also appeared red. Everything felt a little red, now that think about it.
“Were we gone for that long?” I said, huffing. My body was on its last wind.
I expected George to take off again but was surprised when he huddled up to my leg.
“George?” I said.
The rustling in the bushes caused both George and I to jump in fear.
Then something emerged from the bushes.
It had red skin, the same as fresh blood. It had fur covering its lower half and hooves in place of feet. Horns, small ones, mind you, poked from his skull in the shape of a crown.
I wanted to cry.
“Did you come through the tunnel?” the creature asked, ecstatic.
I nodded my head reluctantly. George whimpered at my side.
The creature roared in excitement.
“My first visitors! I’m so excited.”
He ran up to us with frightening speed. I didn’t even have time to react. He grabbed me by my hand and shook it with so much vigour I feared he’d release the pee I was holding in.
“Welcome, you two! Welcome to hell!” | 2020-08-23T12:52:23 | 2020-08-23T12:23:38 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You are a hunter in a world where supernatural is regulated yet largely unknown to the public. Vampires receive blood bags from the government, and werewolves get medicine to help them through full moons. Your role nowadays is tracking down wannabe "hunters" and giving them a reality check. | For centuries my family has hunted the dark creatures of the night. Werewolves, vampires, demons, anything we could get our hands on and drive a blessed silver blade through the heart of. We took pride in that and our role in serving in humanity. But, well, overhunting became a serious problem, and once monster populations started to decline, we were told by the government to stop. The monsters were seeking asylum, relying on humanity to sustain itself, and in return they would help us in what ways they could.
A few decades later and being a hunter means a much different thing. Nowadays we don’t hunt monsters much - except in a rare few exceptions, and even then we usually let them take care of their own. Nope, most of what we do is taking care of our end of things. We also don’t work for the goodwill of the humans; we’re government employees. Yearly salary, health benefits, the whole works.
Pretty good gig, if I do say so myself. I get to cash in a nice paycheck and all I need to do is take care of those few who aren’t on the up and up.
Usually it’s kids who stumble on something they weren’t meant to. They’re confused and scared, so if I sit them down and explain it’s all good. Send them back home, and their worried parents will have them believing it was all a dream by the time they hit middle-school.
People like these two, however, were often a proper pain in the butt.
“I think we’re getting close,” the one to my left said. He was in his early thirties but already mostly bald. Built like a starving rail, and I worried that flashlight he was holding might snap his thin wrist with its weight.
“Yeah, it’s getting darker. Vampires like the dark,” the one to my right replied. He was about the same age as the other one but bulkier. Little more hair too. “Isn’t that right?” He glanced back at me, and I shrugged. I mean, yeah. Vampires like the dark in the way anybody likes the absence of something that would painfully kill you.
It’s fine, better than the alternative.
“But shouldn’t we have stakes? Or at least a gun like you. I don’t think these will do much,” the bigger one continued. He lifted up the flashlight he was holding and I had to glance away to avoid the blinding beams.
“Hey, watch it. Keep it aimed ahead.”
“Right, sorry.”
“And stop asking so many questions. Do you trust me or not?” I tapped the badge on my chest, the one shaped like a sword and hammer. It marked me as a genuine government-sponsored hunter.
It was also enough to get this guy to quiet down a bit. Good timing, too. They were getting close to their quarry, and I mine.
We can hear ripping from up ahead through the trees. Tearing, slurping. A vampire feeding. “It’s here,” the thin one hissed to me, and I shook my head. These amateurs couldn’t sneak up on a deaf and blind sloth.
“Yeah, quiet.”
“Sorr-”
“I will feed you to the vampire if you say sorry one more time.”
“Sor-right.” Calm, calm. Find your zen.
We stepped through the brush and saw him - hunched over the prone form of a ripped-apart deer. His hands were coated in gore, his mouth too, as well as most of the rest of his unclothed and pale body. Two crimson fangs peeked out from between stained lips.
The two idiots raised up their torches to blind it and yelled at the top of their lungs. I raised my hand.
“Hey Al. How’s it going?”
“What the…Helsing, is that you?” The vampire raised his hands not to fight, but to cover his eyes to see.
“Yeah, sorry to interrupt your meal. You know you can’t be chowing down in public like this, though. These locals saw you the night before.” The vampire looked to the deer, then to the idiots, then me, then back to the deer. His expression grew more sheepish by the second.
“I prefer it fresh, so…I couldn’t help myself, I’m sorry.”
“I know, but you know the rules. I gotta bring you and these two in, give you all a slap on the wrist and a stern talking-to,” I let out a sigh and put my hands on my waist. Only now the two sensed something wrong, turning together to face me.
“Wait, but…! We have to slay him before-”
“Before what? He eats another deer? Relax, Al’s harmless. You two, however, are a real problem. You can’t go around harassing monsters with stakes, you know.” I settled a hand on my hostler - full of non-silvered bullets. “Now if you’ll all kindly follow me.”
Al quietly complied. The two humans complained the entire way there.
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!) | "You know you just committed a hate crime right?" I commented as I walked up behind the idiot redneck standing behind the now-burned vampire. Her burning pale form, remnants of pale blonde hair, and gasoline, graced me from over three kilometers away while I was enjoying a Wednesday drive around the hills. The sound of autumn leaves being crushed beneath my feet filled both our ears, while the autumn winds caressed our tanned cheeks.
The Sun glared down upon our hilltop, and laced the forest with its golden rays.
"I ain't no libtard like y'all!" he screamed back as he turned. His coked up red-eyes and methamphetamine blasted teeth graced me with their putrid visages as he kicked the vampire corp-ash piles mostly- down the cliff edge.
"And well... torture. Since you stood their grinning like a fool as she burned in the sunlight. Not that you should be concerned with either."
He blinked back.
"Really?"
"Yes. Because it's 4:45PM on a Jaunary day and you just killed a Coven Lord's wife."
He staggered back.
"I-I-I ain't afraid of no leech!" Yet his face drained of color all the same.
4:46PM. The winds sing of dusk.
"Allow me to share with you my knowledge of these blood sippers. Since I am an actual Hunter," I said as I approached the man. My steps echoed throughout the hilltop as I slowly neared him.
His eyes widened and I could see all the little blood veins in his drugged, terrified mind.
I stopped, and my eyes were two and a half inches from his.
"Vampires are superhuman sanguinares. At an absolute minimum, vampires are eight times faster, stronger, and resilient than their human counterpart. Except, during day light, where they are only equal to humans. And of course, this strength multiplier waxes and wanes depending on blood intake."
4:47PM. Even from here, the Sun's rays were almost completely dim.
"What else can they do?" the addict asked as he began shaking catatonically. He started looking around. The first sign of intelligence from the drug addict.
"Speak through thoughts with each other and other willing participants."
The addict suddenly thrusted his arm into his jacket as I spoke, and drew another needle before injecting it into his right arm. He looked vigorous within seconds as his pupils dilated before sharpening
4:48PM. The Light has been snuffed.
"I WILL TAKE ON ALL THESE LEECHES BY MY-"
A pale hand reached out and caressed his cheek, before the addict dispersed into azure dust.
I manifested a cigar with my magic, before placing the lightning-lit tobacco product between my lips.
I took a long drag before breathing out and replying
"My apologies ma'am, but my lethal reactivity to vampiric biomass made it impossible to intervene."
Azure flames erupted, before an albino woman of knee-length snow white hair emerged forth from within the inferno.
Just three inches from my face her burning ruby irises and silver pupil bored into my soul. Possibly literally.
**It is fine. Some pain. Nothing beyond,** her hair cascaded in the winds, like snowflakes dispering from the mountain peaks.
Her mouth never moved.
"Ah. So how long till the missus 'reconstitutes'?" I asked.
She grinned.
"Bark up a different tree, mongrel." | 2022-06-26T11:43:38 | 2022-06-26T11:35:21 | 624 | 134 |
[WP] You're an immortal that has lived for centuries. One day you meet another person in a bar who says, "Hey, remember me? Britain, 1800's?" | "Oi, remember me? Britain, 1800s?"
"No."
"Aw, come on now. Don't be like that. We spent a whole bloody week together! Running to and fro hitting every bank in the south! It was a good time!"
"It was... I was going through... I don't, don't get up to that sort of thing anymore, and I'd like to leave it behind me."
"Like fuck I'm taking that for an answer! I thought we were friends!"
"It's been 200 fucking years, man."
"Well I thought you were dead! Didn't fucking know you'd also live forever! How many immortals you meet every day? Di'n't even figure I was one til around 1920."
"That's... an extraordinarily long time to not realize something like that."
"Yeah, well I thought I just got good genes."
"Genes where, at the age of... how old *are* you?
"I was born 'round 1796 or so."
"And it took you until you were 124, with the body of a 30-year-old man, to realize that you might--"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, well we didn't have the modern sciences, I thought I was just lucky. Blagh. How the hell old were you when you figured it out?"
"I was around 55 when I became suspicious. 70 when I knew something was definitely off. I can't remember a single moment where I simply acknowledged being immortal... so perhaps around now."
"Well. You's got the sciences to figure it out these days, you're probably a lot younger, haven't seen as much."
"I was born in what I guess you'd now refer to as Classical Greece."
"What year?"
"A specific year? I guess nowadays it would be called.... gimme a sec, gotta do the math... 428 BC."
"Oh, bugger off."
"I cry every time I think about where we could be today if we didn't lose so much... I remember... the Library of Alexandria.... and, when the ink of all the books of Baghdad dyed the river black... the Bonfire of the Vanities... even as recently as Nazi Germany! Such a shame... I've often thought of writing things down, but... what use would it be? Nobody would believe a word I say. I couldn't even forge a contemporary account because of carbon-dating. If I wrote it all down... it would only be useful to me. And I already kn-- oh, he's gone. Well, all right. Chaire, then." | I was standing in the busy bar kitchen holding a bloody rag to my hand. It was taking a long time to stop bleeding, a very long time.
I had moved from bar job to bar job for years, if anyone was to ask I would have told them my age was probably around 4400. Nobody ever asked. People sort of sensed there was something different about me, and nobody ever asked.
I stood in that kitchen for an hour, nobody told me to go back to work. I should have been worried about the bleeding, but I think I wanted it to bleed, and then I served that neat neat whisky.
She said to me cooly "Hey, remember me? Britain, 1800's?".
Quick as a flash I stabbed her through the eye.
Level up. Nice! | 2018-11-23T18:44:59 | 2018-11-23T11:23:01 | 206 | 39 |
[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 sat outside of the lounge, arms-crossed and face puffed. It was yet another day at the V.E.N.O.M hideout, where I just sat there and took a barrage of jokes and insults while boiling water for their afternoon tea parties. Viper hissed from the lounge, turning the flatscreen TV's volume down. "Hey Re-boil, get us another round of tea!"
**Here, you can insert the annoying laughter of those idiotic superheroes as I got up off of the uncomfortable loveseat and walked over to the sink to fill up five more goddamn mugs for their tea.**
"It's Rebecca," I muttered quietly. I angrily finished filling up the mugs with water and reach my shaking hand out to begin boiling them slowly. Those assholes can wait a little longer for their tea. "Rebecca, I want peppermint tea this time, with a few drops of honey too." Enigma laughed in his gentle yet raspy voice, along with the other superheroes.
Necro chimed in after, lifting his rotting wooden staff into the air, black mist swirling the spheroid shape at the top. "And I'd like some Chamomile tea please, but hold off on the honey for me." More laughter. More temptation to boil them into a swimming pool of blood and brains.
It was Oceanu who added on to the torment next. She laughed and chuckled, and I immediately knew that she was about to pull some bullshit. Without any warning, the tea in one of the mugs began swirling around intensely before beginning to splash out of the mug. Moltino cackled as they all laughed histerically, "Hey, Re-boil! You might want to clean that up!"
*No. Leave them alone. Don't think about them. Don't look at them. Don't listen. Just let it be.*
*Let.*
*It.*
*Be.*
Let it be. That's what I've been telling myself for years. Everyone in the academy saying I was never going to be a superhero. That I would grow up to be a useless hero to society; a hero nobody wanted. But if I was going to be something nobody wanted...I was going to be a villain. I turned to them and they stared at me, holding back their chuckles. "What? Snake got your tongue?" Viper stuck out his tongue and hissed at me. His slimy fork tongue, which split down the center, curling down under his chin and then retreating into his mouth.
*That's it.*
I whipped around in my stance and shot my hand right at Viper. The laughter from the group died down as they sat there, confused. A small rumbling sound could be heard coming from none other than his sleek, scaley stomach. He began shaking violently, his body thrashing around as he gripped the table for support. He stood up, lunging at me with his fangs on display.
But he didn't make it too far.
*Splash.*
A wave of blood and boiling water splashed over me. His organs and intestines fell to the floor, bubbling and bursting in a pool of blood and water. Oceanu let out a terrified scream, her body jolting violently. She was 90% water, giving her the ability to manipulate its forms and to control it. Now, she was a puddle of 100% pure regret and slushed body parts. Moltino stood up from straddling his chair with a look of pure anger in his eyes. "You little bitch...I'll teach you!" He charged at me angrily, but I simply raised my hand right as he went to charge me, a fireball sitting in his callused hand. *Splash*. His 6'7" body crumbled into a puddle of organs and boiling blood and water right before my eyes. Necro and Enigma were the only two of the original five left, cowering at the table and fearing for their lives.
I looked at them with poison filling my eyes, slowly raising each of my hands towards them. Enigma stuttered, begging for his life. "N-No, please! We didn't mean it!" I could feel him trying to enter my mind and take control, so I made it quick. His body exploded from the center of his chest, his eyes rolling back and going white as he fell into Necro's lap. Necro screamed and pushed Enigma off with his staff, looking as green as the vomit that was sure to spill out if I didn't kill him. I walked over to him at a slow pace, giving him time to scramble out of his chair and back up into the smooth brick wall. He shook his head vigorously, trying to sympathize with me. "Come on, Rebecca, those were j-just harmless jokes!"
"Harmless jokes? HARMLESS JOKES?! I've been waiting to retaliate against you imbeciles ever since I got hired as your damn intern. You know what that word means, right? Intern? It means that I'm supposed to be learning from you all. And what have I learned? That I'm a worthless, pathetic, waste of a superhero!" Spit flew from my mouth onto his face as I gripped his throat tightly and kicked his staff to the floor. It slammed down and cracked a bit, causing him to grow weak in my grip. He was the son of death, who had become a superhero to prove that death could be a good thing.
But in this situation for him, the one thing he sought out to prove was good was now his inevitable fate. I smirked and looked into his deep, pitch-black irises. "So I've decided that I'm not going to be a superhero. I'm going to be your worst nightmare."
I grinned in a completely sinister fashion as his neck swelled immensely in my hand, the water in his body traveling to his throat. He choked and scrambled for his staff, desperate for any sort of help as the life slowly drained from his eyes. His neck burst in my hand, blood and boiling water spewing at me. I ducked and let it fly past me onto the massacre of superhero bodies behind me. He sank to the floor quietly, his eyes slowly peeking up at me one last time. "H-Have...mercy..."
But supervillains...
we have no mercy.
We have revenge. | Day in day out I help these people and I am treated no with no respect. "Hey Microwave!" "Hey lamo powers!" Yet still they expect me to slave away for no pay. You can't be a superhero without a support team but very few comics or shows even care about this. Whose's the one to patch these vigilantes up when they are damaged so they aren't risking their secret identity at some hospital. Whose the one who has to deal with all the calls about property damage and other collateral damage. Who incessantly gets asked to make coffee without so much as a thank you. Me!! Well I'm tired of it!
I was doing a wikiwalk( just browsing random Wikipedia articles) when I came across a military device called an [ADS](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Active_Denial_System). The idea behind it was using a specific band of Microwave radiation to heat the outermost layer of skin. So insanely painful that the body automatically goes into flight mode to get outside the effects of the device. Also completely non lethal. It may hurt like there's no tomorrow but the most you well get of it is a burn if metal is in close proximity to your body. I heard the crash of a door to return me to the world of annoying superheros. You'd think they would have learned to shut a door quietly especially if they want to keep their lair a secret but in all my years of working for them I have never seen them shut a door quietly nor help someone without expecting repayment.
Flame man always tries to mate with everyone attractive he rescues. Question mark man always tries to extort money from people he rescues. Power man bribed his way into public office. The List goes on and I have been documenting it for years. Ungrateful creatons. They get to list lavishly off government funding, private funding, and sponsorship deals and this is how they treat people? They all sit down at a round table(Question mark man really likes Arthurian legend) and start talking. Not even a minute in to the retailing of the days events power man say, “Where’s the coffee? Hurry UP!”
It was like a switch clicked in my mind in that moment. “Hey, you know I heard some noises earlier while you guys were gone? Should you really be caring on like this if the base is compromised?” Flame man just starts laughing and says, “Only idiots go into crime. There is no way they would be smart enough to find us.” “Ok, well I’ll go make the coffee,” trying to sound jovial while suppressing a cackle. I walked to the archway of the next room and heard screams of agony and pain. I turn back and a dozen superheroes are writhing in pain. After a few minutes the pain let up and the superheroes immediately wanted to relocate. No one mentioned my prediction.
We moved again and again. 20 or so times, I think; I lost count long ago. It kind of got boring after awhile but was useful for a change of scenery. IT would be fun if it were a game of cat and mouse but they never suspected a thing. The new place we were moved to was contracted by the government and they spared no expense. It was a bunker but it was nice one. Shielded externally from Electromagnetic radiation with lavish décor: whats not to love? It had been almost a year since the game had started and nothing had changed.
Flame man loudly proclaimed, “I know a great dive bar we should go to tonight. Superheroes drink for free!” Power man looks inquisitively, “Last time you were drunk didn’t you beat up a bunch of randos.” Then he started laughing. “It was fun! I’m in what time?” 11 PM was the reply and one by one all the heroes agreed they would be there. Not one of them invited me.
Well if this is the best the city can find in the way of honorable superheroes we are doomed. Maybe a better class of criminal will draw out the virtuous. So I became a better criminal. I let every criminal know in the city where the superheroes would be that night, on the condition that they could harm and maim but couldn’t murder the heroes in exchange for the location. Every one heartily agreed and by 11:05 all the heroes were a mangled mess. Several minutes later bubbling could be heard and then several minutes after that there were several pops. The carnage was a site to be hold and never has something brought more of a smile to my face. The public outcry was intense especially a list of the heroes misdeeds was leaked; martial law was declared. No longer was I called the microwave but now I was declared the melter!!! Well it’s a step up at least. The public is really unimaginative with its names for heroes and villains. | 2019-07-30T17:09:56 | 2019-07-30T15:50:47 | 65 | 10 |
[WP] The King is a shapeshifter. Every day, they walk among their people in various forms. Everyone in the kingdom is super nice to strangers for fear of accidentally disrespecting their ruler. | Today was the worst day of my life.
My wife had torn into me the moment I got home the previous day. She ranted and lectured for hours about coin, or more accurately, my lack of it. She kept me up for hours past my usual bedtime. When I awoke this morning, my left leg was numb from having slept on it wrong. I tripped climbing out of bed and split my lip on the floor. I had barely got dressed by the time my wife started in about finances, again. Of course, none of that was enough to make it the worst day. No, that happened midmorning.
That's when I got word that my best friends had been found in his bed, dead after he failed to show up for work.
So I was in a pretty dark place when the fool shoved me over.
"Out of the way!" he shouted, a few seconds after I caught myself. The audacity shocked me. Politeness to strangers was usually a given in the kingdom of Aunir. Being ruled over by the latest in a line of shapeshifters who spend part of each day among the people tended to have that effect.
I watched the man's broad back jiggle as he shoved through the crowd in the market. As I regained my feet, my shock was replaced by anger.
This fat, entitled slug thought himself above everyone else. To him, I had committed an offense by daring to walk where he intended to pass. I was almost seeing red, as emotions that had been roiling under the surface of my mind found a release valve in my anger at this pretentious pig.
I darted off after him. No thoughts were in my head, only the red tinge of righteous indignation, grown into a rampaging beast by the pain of the loss of my best friend. It took a scant few seconds for me to catch him. He was angrily haranguing a street urchin who had apparently had the audacity to sleep on the stoop of the small shop which he was currently unlocking.
No words slipped my lips. I spoke with my fist. For the first time in my adult life, I struck another man with a closed fist.
I can't really explain it. A fistfight was virtually unheard of in Aunir. Just like everyone else, I'd been raised to always, _always_ treat everyone with the upmost respect. _Especially_ strangers. Striking the king was an offense punishable by hanging, and you never knew who was secretly the king.
But that day, after all that had happened, I lost it. I beat that fat slob bloody. I warded off all but one of his own blows, and the one that made it through served only to enrage me further.
When I was done, he lay curled into the fetal position, covered in blood and reeking of piss. I stood over him, panting, as the realization of what I had just done washed over me. I barely noticed the city guards arriving. The king could be anyone, so why had this man felt like he could do as he pleased? The king could be anyone, but of course, that day the king found himself in a fistfight.
A few hours later, I sat in a courtroom across from my erstwhile victim and listened to the judge describe the penalty for striking the king. Death. By hanging. A sentence that could only be commuted by the king himself. And that was _not_ about to happen.
So tonight, there will be a hanging. It will precede the funeral of Galen, the king's closest advisor.
I'll have to be sure to instruct my headsman to use the thickest rope he has to execute that fat fuck. | **Excuse me, are you the King?**
What? No. Me? The King?
**Because if you are, you have to tell me. It's a law, I think.**
Oh, I get it now. The shapeshifting. No, I'm just a 40-year old man wearing a cardboard crown from Burger King.
**Ah.**
Yeah, not a real king. Sorry.
**Well, now I have to ask, and don't take this the wrong way, but what's up with the crown? Do you have a learning disability.**
Yes.
**I don't even know why I asked. Then again, I also thought you were the king thirty seconds ago. All because of that dumb, stupid... hat, crown thing. Whatever. But maybe that's just it, it was wrong for me to think just cause a guy has a crown it makes him a king. (shakes head) What's wrong with me?**
Sorry, mister. Say, why are you looking for the king anyways?
**He fucked my wife.**
Golly!
**I mean, he fucked her AS me, and my wife has no idea that happened. But I know, because he sent a singing telegram saying so.**
A what?
**Singing telegram. It was a thing in the 20th century. Someone shows up and sings, well, normally I mean they sing happy birthday or get well soon, but this one shows up singing a song called "The King Fucked Your Wife" to the tune of "Mack The Knife". They also showed me a picture of him next to her in bed post coitus, another of him using my toothbrush, and finally helping my daughter answer a math question.**
Sounds like the King sucks.
**He does! And you're not him, right?**
No, sir.
**Me neither. Well, my quest to find the slippery regal shape shifter continues.**
Good luck, mister.
**Yeah, you too, uh, good luck with the brain or, you know... fuck it, I'm leaving.**
Bye! (waves)
(fade to black) | 2019-11-13T17:43:49 | 2019-11-13T17:22:56 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | The selected representative of the United Earth, Amy Sliskin, stood before the Council Of Space Faring Species, reading from a prepared speech. “I am here today representing the United Earth to notify this council that that Ratilkin Empire is preparing for war against us.”
An envoy from the Empire stood across from Amy, a neutral expression on his face.
“The Empire has attacked our ships, and, as of this morning, destroyed a research space station near the space they claim.”
The envoy from the Empire interrupted. “We have always demanded a buffer around our territory, it is the humans fault that we must destroy their vessels for trespassing in our space.
“What they have found, and what many of you have suspected, is that we have no warships of any kind. Not once have we responded with violence to their attacks, we’ve asked this council to condemn these attacks and they have refused to do so.”
“It is typical of humans to run to their betters when in trouble, and the Empire is glad that the council has ignored them. The council knows you humans are a worthless lot, not worthy of it’s time.”
Amy stopped her speech. “I would like you to stop interrupting me.”
The envoy’s snout flared. “Little girl, you should know better than to talk to your betters that way.”
“All I see is a scared little puppy.” A few members of the council laughed, others looked at each other confused, asking if they have heard of a puppy. “Did you know we have little versions of you on our planet? We make them do tricks. Would you like me to show you how we make them sit?”
“You will not…”
Amy interrupted the envoy. “Im sorry, I wasn’t being clear, stop talking and sit down.”
A lone clap came from the Nyler envoy, he had spent some time on Earth and learned of the custom to clap to show approval. Nobody had ever dared to talk back to anybody from the Ratilkin Empire, doing so had led to war in the past, and the Ratilkin Empire always won their wars.
The Ratilkin envoy gathered his things, about to storm out in a very loud fashion.
Amy continued her speech. “The council has refused to do so because they are scared of the Empire, and we completely understand this. The Ratilkin Empire has a military larger than all other species of this council combined, and they will attack for any or no reason. We have simulated war with the Empire, and in most cases it ends with trillions dead on both sides. Many Council members have said they would like to help us, but we can not drag them into a war. The outcome of such a war would be untenable, so we ask for unconditional surrender.”
The Ratilkin’s ears perked up. “We accept your surrender.”
“No, we’re asking for the Ratilkin Empire to surrender.”
“Ridiculous,” the envoy pounded the desk in front of his seat, “we will crush you and enslave you. And any species that helps you will be enslaved as well.”
“I will have to reject your counter-offer.” Amy pressed a button on her tablet, bringing up video of space. “Here’s our counter to your counter-offer, in a few minutes you will see the Ratilkin homeworld.”
“What is this?” Asked the Ratilkin envoy.
“We’re looking at video from a planet currently heading to your homeworld. You have about ten minutes to surrender before we can’t stop it.” The video turned around, showing a gas giant.
“This is impossible, you expect me to believe you can move planets?”
“Of course not, we didn’t move it, I don’t really understand what they did, something about transversable wormholes or something like that. They just opened one up and in it went, and now it’s heading to your homeworld. This is a big planet to, at least ten times bigger than your planet. You won’t even be able to find your planet once this thing hits it.” Amy stared at the envoy, finally he didn’t have anything to say. “Oh, and you’re about to get a call from home, you better answer it.”
At that moment the envoy got a call from the emperor of the Ratilkin Empire. He listened for a few seconds and said something no Ratilkin had ever said, “We surrender.”
“Good boy, remind me to give you a treat later.”
The video feed went blank. “Is it done?” Asked the envoy.
Amy looked at her tablet, panicked. “Oh no, we’re too late.”
The envoy stood frozen in place, not knowing what to say or do next.
Amy looked up from her tablet, jaw hanging. “I’m just joking, we put the planet back where it belonged, everybody’s okay.” She laughed. “Anyway, since the Ratilkin Empire has unconditionally surrendered to us we can do whatever we want. First order of business is fixing up their awful instructure, human only work crews of course, we don’t enslave anybody.” | "Rules for war?" The answer was slow and methodical as the general stood on the bridge. His scaled skin shuddering in disgust. "War has no rules. Perhaps it is time we show these humans just what a superior race looks like. Yes, We shall enslave them."
​
Invasion Day 1 Hour 1
The humans fell in droves, many fell to the initial bombardment. Our translators say we are in an area called Manhattan. Humans are a fairly frail species similar to our own. Granted we took losses but, what was a dozen of my men to the 100 humans that they slaughtered and, the thousands that fled. I admire the weaponry primitive as it may be it's effective simple ruthless kinetic projectiles but, these will easily be avoided.
​
Day 1 hour 2
It seems the humans have warriors of their own. Men mounted on great beasts wielding brutal clubs in blue uniforms proudly charging into the battle to safe others of their species. These men with them bring friends in dark uniforms wearing some form of armor that has made many of our kinetic weapons less effective. Our hand weapons fair a little better but, the humans in this second wave are stronger. Scattered voices speak of NYPD but, we know not what this is. Anytime this is mentioned the men on great beasts show up. The frailer individuals of the species are protected by these warriors and, rushed out of the battlefield. The humans have lost many warriors protecting these smaller individuals. We must leverage this to our advantage. Of our initial 300 troops I am allotting 700 more with which to fight along with aircraft.
​
Day 1 hour 6
These initial Warriors were nothing compared to a much more advanced class of warriors that has just arrived. Something the Primitive human tribes refer to as Marines. These brutes tower over their brethren wearing a cloth that makes them harder to find. Their voices boom over the sound of the primitive weapons they carry and, they ferociously charge, wielding daggers on the end of their kinetic weapons. Our aircraft were briefly effective until the Marines own aircraft showed up. We have suffered 98% loss throughout our fleet. In 20 more hours our own fleets will arrive bringing reinforcements. I must take to the battlefield personally to lead the 300 remaining members of my army.
​
Day 2 hour 5
The humans have won. Today I signed a document stating that me or my species shall never attack earth again. Our fleets arrived but as reinforcements touched down the ships were destroyed one by one. We have lost 10,000 brave warriors. I myself have only survived because one of the warriors forced me to yield after disarming and, injuring me. However, he did not kill me even though he had ample opportunity, instead he restrained my limbs. They broadcast over great projectors that I had been captured and, my own warriors threw down arms rather then face defeat. These humans they negotiate for survival because that is the only way in which their species will survive. They are among the most brutal and, savage races in the galaxy. For all reading this do not engage in war with them you might gain an early victory but, you will lose a war with them. I fear that by invading them we have given them access to the stars as they reverse our own technology. The one called Musk took great interest in our engines. All species run if we wish to survive. | 2018-12-14T17:52:57 | 2018-12-14T16:40:15 | 488 | 214 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | Sweat dripped down my nose, mingling with the blood that poured from my mouth. This wasn't going as well as it could. At least my headphones were still in one piece.
The man that stood before me cackled. I had never quite understood what it meant for one to 'cackle'. I figured it had just mean to laugh in an evil matter, but it was so much more in the flesh. It hurt to hear, almost as hard as the fists and feet that had pummeled me.
"Is this all you can do, WalkMan?" He jeered. "Is this the man that defends his city? Pathetic." He shot a glare at the nearest news crew, making sure to look directly at the camera. "This is what you get for trusting a 'hero'. This is what anyone that defies me will get. Bow before me, or perish beneath me!"
He turned back to me, raising both of his fists above his head, preparing to strike with all of his power. I knew what I had to do.
"Hey Siri" I said, coughing and spitting out another tooth. The bluetooth headphones chirped in response, acknowledging that it had heard my prompt.
"Play Forbidden Loop Omega"
The chirp sounded again in acknowledgement. I stood on my one good leg, bracing a hand on the wall to support the broken leg. The man cackled again.
"So you choose to die on your feet. How noble."
As he brought his glowing fists down towards my head, the music swelled in my ears. I brought up one hand and caught the blow with ease. With one quick motion, I broke both of his wrists.
He boggled at me. "No, NO, NONONONO!" He wailed. "How?"
I met his terrified gaze with a blank expression. I couldn't show any emotion. Not with this terrible noise assaulting my ears.
With another twist, I ripped his arms from their sockets. I heard the gasps from the camera crews as they captured every gruesome detail in stunning 4K definition, if their commercials could be believed.
"Dr Doomsday, you are hereby under arrest." I spoke in an even tone, straining to keep my emotions under control. "Officers, take him away." I turned and strode away, before a reporter or police officer could ask me any potentially compromising questions.
As I strode to the parking garage where my personal car was parked, I fumbled with my phone, desperate to stop the song that was consuming me. Bringing me to a dark place.
"We can do it, if we try" I mumbled along, as my fingers typed my password. The Cocomelon song was almost a greater pain in my ears than sung through my broken jaw and missing teeth.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Or don't. It's all up to you. | "And stay down!" Maestro slammed Songbird down to the concrete.
The hero lay still, dust rising around her. Her headphones skittered across the pavement. A crunch followed, as the villain stepped on them. The beats of Poison silenced instantly.
It was supposed to be an easy battle. Maestro was a new villain in town, having pulled a few low level heists. Robbing the bank was his "big move". She should've been able to shut him down. Fly in on the Olympic theme, switch to Mozart to case the joint, then glam rock for the stunning finisher. Easy.
She didn't know he could control the music. That this had been a trap meant for her.
He had bent the Olympics to a minor chord, crashing her into the building. Mozart had become discordant. And, well, the less said about how weak she was after he silenced the electric guitars, the better.
Well, two could play at that game. She thumbed her phone, fortunately still safe in its case on her belt. It was time to "Let It Go" if they were "Playing with the Big Boys" now. Because she had "Friends on the Other Side", and children's belief made reality much more malleable. | 2022-05-17T09:23:55 | 2022-05-17T08:28:11 | 1,687 | 91 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | The lights on Ambassador Tel’s suspension tank remained static for some time. Like the rest of his species, his- *it’s* - body was a tangled web of translucent strands like a jellyfish crossed with a ball of yarn.
In their home waters, under that warm tropical sun, even a mild current had the strength to tear them in two. This was of course by necessity, forming a crucial part of their reproductive cycle, but left them totally unfit for any sort of non-aquatic travel.
So for one to undergo the invasive process of suspension, giving up months of their life to be cocooned in a steel tank filled with supportive, tear resistant gel had been my first clue to their desperation. On a hunch, I had pressed the issue and asked the Ambassador how their recent conflict had been proceeding.
The indicator lights on the Ambassador’s tank stayed static for nearly fifteen minutes. I was almost to the point of calling one of their aids to check the translation equipment when the lights began to flash and the Ambassador’s synthetic voice spoke.
“Ambassador Stewart, to put it simply, the war has been a catastrophic failure.”
I paused mid sip of my tea, then set the dish down. The directness surprised me, we were so often censored from extra solar affairs.
“Surely it’s not nearly as bad as that,” I responded, “You’re the largest of the local regional powers. You had the clout to keep us unmolested since we were still building mud huts!”
The lights flashed, “No longer, our control has shrunk to less than one hundred cubic light years. All that remains are the Home Waters, several extrasolar depots, and you.”
I felt alarm. A feeling I had not had in a long time.
The lights flashed again, “Before you respond, let me ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“Why do you think we only sponsored your colony on Alpha, as opposed to just giving you the tensor shift mechanism out right?”
The tangent caught be by surprise. I was still hung up on the thought of what type of enemy could conquer thousands of star systems in a few years time.
“When you contacted us, for the first time that is, you said it was imperative that we maintain our own path of technological development, that if we just borrowed, copied, or stole from others we would just blunt our own ability to innovate.”
The tanks lights lit up in a combination that indicated humor, “We lied.”
“Oh?”
“You’re brutal, short sighted, and violent and we wanted you controlled and suppressed so you didn’t burn across the galaxy like a cancer.”
“Oh,” was all that came out from between the surprise and shock.
“We’ve watched you for thousands of years and never once have you come anywhere near what the civilized species of this spiral arm call peace. Even now your General Adi in the South Pacific is butchering his people, and that’s only the most prolific instance of similar acts of brutality across your planet. Even your most ‘civilized’ countries wage war every other decade!”
My diplomatic training roared back to the forefront of my mind, “Ambassador, these condemnations represent a serious shift in tone from our previous meetings. While I respect that we have cultural differences-”
“It does not matter,” the Ambassador’s synthetic voice interrupted, ”I’m here to give you the tensor shift mechanism.”
Confused, and with the beginnings of anger at these shifts in the conversation, I coldly asked, “Why?”
A pause before the lights flashed again, “Because our war is about to become your war. We ask this of you. We offer the mechanisms partly because you will need it and partly in payment.”
“Payment for fighting your war?” I asked, real anger bubbling through.
“Payment for the right to beg your mercy when it’s all said and done.”
Edit: [Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4j4mt2/wp_a_peaceful_alien_race_is_besieged_by_another/d34g067) | The Fothrill had betrayed us.
We Esvenkin was an old race, and yet we were strangers to war. And thus, as the Fothrill army marched through our planets and colonies, we couldn't do anything. And in spite of that, the Council of Elders in our home world could do nothing but quarrel.
"I'd told ye, giving Fothrill FTL drive was a bad idea. They're too young, too unstable a variable to us."
"We're strangers to war, and even the Fothrill merely adopted war."
"We need a race born in it, a force that even the Fothrill would never be able to match"
"That would bring forth a new enemy for Esvenkin."
"Not if we could control them. There would be no second Fothrill, we have to offer alliance that lock ourselves in mutual dependency"
"The only ones are..."
"Humans"
"No! They are too young, even younger than the Fothrill. They WILL betray us."
"Not if we keep the FTL drive technology secret. They will depend on us to provide FTL drive, and they will protect us in return"
"I hope we are right, brother. Those who agree?"
Almost all of the council raised their tentacle.
"I pray to Arthiem that we made the right decision."
The next day, we contacted the human, and Arthiem how we made a mistake. Humans weren't as stupid as we thought. In one of their year, they managed to make their own FTL drive engine without we noticing. In three years, the Fothrill were reduced to one colony, and in the fourth,,,,,,
"Humans ship incoming! A whole Assault-class fleet!"
"*This is human ship Encountrad, surrender the colony or we would attack. We will wait for a standard day.*"
Arthiem damn it. One by one, the recently released colony were captured by humans, until Esvenkin were reduced to one colony.
And yet they didn't stop.
The Dwarrhien, the Gremlin, the Sarwathi, the Drak were conquered by the humans.
We have awakened the race sealed by the Aesir, and nothing could stop them from destroying the galaxy.....
>not my best prompt response, but well, I've done worse.
EDIT: grammar, thanks for /u/Gefroan for correcting me | 2016-05-13T06:44:58 | 2016-05-13T05:58:29 | 941 | 45 |
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?" | “Wait. That’s the curse?”
“Yes. I understand you want this gone as quickly as possible. I am so sorry this happened. I’m going to need-“
“I- can you please repeat what exactly this does? I think I’m hearing this wrong.”
The witch before blinked in surprise at my response and cough and quickly averted her eyes. After a few awkward seconds she picks up a rather large, leather book. She carefully flips the old, delicate pages with great care until she stopped at a picture of an adventurer armed with a broad sword and a cheeky smile. I always loved reading stories, especially fantasy. It was a whole new world for me, I felt ever sorrows and laughs the characters felt. It was as if I was actually there. And I guess I am today. He looked so... alive. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide and such passion within them! He must have been very happy.
The witch handed me this large story book of sorts and went to the cabinet, searching through vials of all sorts of unknown substances. Most looks like some herbs I had never seen but I noticed ones that contained purple hair, blood, dirt, moss, water, feathers, pebbles and some liquid that gave off a green glow in the cabinet’s darkness. *I really did travel to a new world, didn’t I?*
“I am so sorry but you are trapped here until we can reverse this curse. You can no longer go back to your old world. I know this may be tough but I will make sure to get you back to your family! This book entails another human, who just like you became trapped.”
I looked away and said nothing as my throat felt as though it was shut closed. Something clicked in the back of my throat as my eyes began to swell with tears. I didn’t bother looking up.
“Oh, dear. It’s okay! As long as you have that necklace you have hope to go back to your home. I promise you-“
I stopped listening all together at that point. A dark feeling that slowly took over my whole body and suddenly I snapped. I jerked my head up and tore off the cheap, plastic necklace from my neck. I didn’t care that it was ruined.
Actually, I decided I did. I stood up and tossed the necklace into the fire pit, watching the plastic fairy melt slowly into a puddle. I didn’t look at the witch but I could feel her eyes bore into me. I sat down in the floor and watched the flames for what seemed like hours until all that was left were a few burning embers.
How do I explain to her I had no home to go to? That the people who should love and protect me, never did. I have never felt safe in a home until I came into this world. I remembered the many faces I came to see in my time here and how kind and thoughtful they were. People gave me shelter, wisdom, new foods and so many wild adventures from just a few days. I actually felt happy. I had FRIENDS and I felt like I finally had a place I belonged.
Nobody hit me. Nobody called me names or pulled my hair.
The witch never said a thing to me that entire ordeal but finally spoke in a much softer tone than before.
“I am never going back. Never.”, I said firmly.
I finally looked up to see the witch’s wide eyes looking back at me. She gave me a sad smile and sat down next to me. She looked back into the once roaring fire pit and slowly nodded.
“Okay. No going back.”
After a short pause she took out a pair of silver keys with a decorative rose engraved on them. She clasped her hand over mine and gave me a sympathetic look. She gave a half hearted smile then looked back up at me.
“You’re welcome to stay in my home as long as you need. I was wondering if you wanted to help me run the shop, I can even teach you how to make any potion you want. Who knows? Maybe you can be an amazing witch one day.”
I grinned ear from ear and chuckled. She smiled back and leaned in.
“What do you say?”
“I’d like to. I’d love that a lot actually.” | "I curse you and your entire bloodline!" Lycania shouted. Her vine covered shack now a ball of raging flames. It served as a window to her own fury building. They have finally cornered the ancient witch and her last moments alive would be spent scorning the man who made it possible. Ulfur froze, knowing how devasting a witch's curse can be, he wanted to know the details before killing her.
Although she was surrounded by the royal army, Lycania's silver eyes saw only Ulfur, the mage killer. He stood out well from the rest, his body fully covered in silver plated armor. At his sides a crystal blade as tall as a man and a crystal shield to match; Witchbane and Arcane Scorge, weapons crafted with the sole purpose of killing magic casters. Lycania pointed her crooked finger at Ulfur, snarling like a mad beast. "You will turn into an unstoppable monster, full of power and rage. Your life will linger, eternally tormented, and at each full moon, the curse will grow its strongest. No man will match your strength. No horse will match your speed. No animal shall be more savage. People will cower and speak your name in fear." Lycania cocked her head sideways and glared at the rest of the men, finally acknowledging their presence. She let out an ominous laugh. "You can kill me here, you fools. And when I die you will unleash the wrath of an unstoppable demon. No blade will kill him. No bow will pierce his skin. The only thing you fools will be able to do is submit and beg for mercy as your entire bloodlines are infected with his...with mine."
Lycania erupted in laughter again and suddenly motioned the fire from her burning shack into a ball. She flicked her wrist sending the fireball towards Ulfur who had already closed the distance. Arcane Scorge absorbed the magic attack and Witchbane was raised, ready to claim Lycania's head. However, before he killed his last mark, Ulfur had one last thing to tell her. He kept his voice low so no one else could hear. "Your curse is more than I could ever hope for. Thank you, Lycania...and goodbye." Witchbane cleaved through, slicing the witch's head and body in one motion. Ulfur's emotionless, yellow eyes stared into Lycania's and her body fell into two pieces. | 2019-06-25T15:16:52 | 2019-06-25T12:54:50 | 61 | 17 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | The goblins had always lived in the woods. Everyone in Halleshaw knew that. And everyone knew that the goblins steal. Not for any particular reason, it seemed- most of the time the stolen property was found abandoned in the woods unless it was edible. Occasionally they "raided" the village and "stole" people- the villagers humoured these raids. Normally it meant a goblin had gotten stuck in a tree or a hole, or they wanted something they couldn't reach. Once they had the thing, or gotten their friend unstuck, they lost interest in the stolen people and let them walk home.
The villagers accepted the goblins for what they were- an amusing nuisance at worst, like a drunk fox or tantrum prone toddler.
That was until the raiders came.
A large clan of barbarians from the south came, and destroyed everything in their path. Nearby villages were burned to the ground, fields trampled and population decimated. The villagers if Halleshaw armed themselves, farmers and their sons quaking with their home made weapons, the blacksmith sharpening anything he could find.
The barbarians never came.
After weeks of waiting for the boot to fall, a less cautious young lad snuck out to scout for the enemy. What he found, scattered through the woods were discarded swords, lost helmets... but not a single man nor corpse. He was just turning to return to the village when something grabbed his leg. He shrieked and spun...only to see a slightly irate goblin. He relaxed slightly. The goblin pulled at his trousers in the same way they always did. Caution told him not to go. Curiosity drove him forward, as he allowed himself to be stolen.
Unusually, the goblin led him deep into the woods, to a cavern. Straining to see through the darkness, he followed. His "captor" led him to a smaller nook, filled with sleeping goblins. As he got closer he saw they were not sleeping, but wounded. Badly. His captor shoved an armful of rags at him, and pushed him to the left side. The boy was about to question what the goblin wanted, when he saw the helmets.
Hundreds of helmets, piled in the corner, all with the markings of the southern clans. It was then he understood. The barbarians were never coming... the goblins has found them first.
The boy took his rags and bandaged and tended what he could. He was exhausted and covered in acrid green goblin blood by the time he reached the other end of the room. His captor finished around the same time. With a curt nod, he grabbed the boy again, and half led, half dragged him out of the cavern. It had been mid afternoon when they had reached the cavern, now the sun was dawning over the horizon at the break of a new day. The goblin pointed sharply in a direction, then abandoned him, in the way they normally did when they got what they wanted.
The boy went to say something but the goblin was gone. He left, following the goblins indication, and by the time the sun was creating the tree line he was home.
The goblins had always lived in the woods. And Halleshaw made a vow that the goblins would always be safe in their woods. | "Oh no, it's a stack of goblins! *Good thing they're not wearing armor and throw themselves off balance with that large and unwieldy halberd.* Run for your lives!"
And thus began our bi-weekly theatrical offering of food, clothes and other "spoils of war" conveniently lying about in easily accessible places. They're called little pests elsewhere, but ever since we came to our unspoken arrangement, they've been more of a pest control.
I believe it was little Martha, the miller's daughter, who first started to befriend the goblins by leaving some baubles or food lying about. When the goblins came, she'd hide in plain sight and play pretend: "Oh dear, I hope they don't find my yummy cheese and my little doll to play with!" It didn't take long to notice that the mill was rodent-free soon after and nothing else of value broke or went missing.
The little rascals were clumsy at best and right out destructive (unwittingly) at worst, so these little guiding taunts quickly took on as other townsfolk adopted the tradition. "I sure hope they won't wear my old sweater in the winter and stink it up." - "Damn them if they cook that meat, I'd rather see them choke on a rotting piece of raw flesh!"
So far, we've not only been gifted with a less stressful life, we've made it through a famine by "raiding back" occasionally. Striding through their ranks in large steps and loudly proclaiming our needs quickly made them offer things themselves. And now we've got a plague doctor wondering why our town is the only one spared completely by the thing they call "the black death".
"Little pest"... yeah, right. | 2022-05-26T06:21:56 | 2022-05-26T06:13:57 | 2,852 | 642 |
[WP] A classic ‘knight saves princess’ story, but the narrator is utterly insane. | Once upon a time -- 8:37 AM, to be precise ( but the exact year was lost \[ no I don't know who lost the year \] ) -- a beautiful and sad princess with golden hairs and a name of flower, was prisoner of an evil dragon -- though she deserved her fate, because she was a \*\*\*\* and is totally NOT a insertion of my EX, now that I think about it, she doesn't even deserve to be in a story so there is NO PRINCESS in the prison -- so the evil and greedy dragon was guarding his tower.
Fortunately for -- wait, I need a princess for my story to work, so there WAS a princess in the tower, but with RED hairs so NOT like my EX -- so fortunately for the princess, a knight had heard of her distress, and was on his way to save her.
Music!
*At the highest point of the Mount Ka-Lhon.*
*Live a big! A bad! And evil dragon.*
*A legendary beast! Feared among us!*
*That's the story of the Red Princess!*
​
*The brave and courageous knight Hector.*
*Was about to slay it with its armor!*
*And mm... lala la la la!*
*La la lalala and with its horse!*
​
*At the highest point of the Mount Ka-Lhon.*
*Live a big! A bad! And evil dragon.*
*A legendary beast! Feared among us!*
*That's the story of the Red Princess!*
​
*... .... and courageous knight Hector.*
*...*
​
Well, let's stop the with music, the lyrics are not that good anyway.
Lets focus on the story. So, Hector -- the name of the knight ( sometimes people don't understand it, that's why I remind it to you \[ no, that's not my name, mine is Ecthor, that's not the same etymology at all \] ) -- was about to save the princess and kill the dragon -- oh, spoiler, sorry -- where was I?
In front of the tower, Hector summon the dragon: "*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn*" -- Wait, THAT was not on the script! --
I was saying, Hector summon the dragon: "Come here, evil creature!" And the dragon answer "I, *Ph'nglui*, is here to protect the tower, containing *mglw'nafh*, the red Princess, if you want to enter, you will need to kill me!"
Using all its ruse, Hector shot "E4!". The dragon fly and come in front of Hector saying "By *Cthulhu*, chess it is: E5."
And then Hector jump with its *R'lyeh* \-- I mean its sword, sorry -- on the dragon *wgah'nagl* \-- or whatever was its name --, and kill it by surprise!
Then, the red princess, *fhtagn* \-- not sure about the name -- great our hero and they both sing together!
Sing with me, same as the previous song:
​
*At the highest point of the Mount Ka-Lhon*
*Live a big! ... dragon?... la la Iä, Iä, Cthulhu fhtagn*
*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn*
*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh ... the Red Princess!*
​
*The brave and courageous knight Hector.*
*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn*
*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn*
*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn*
​
*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn*
*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn*
*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn*
*Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn* | I was in Innstown, in a shadowy inn,
I met an old man with a beard.
He cornered me and said "I'll begin
my tale, but I warn you: it's weird."
"No thanks," I said, standing my ground,
"I'm only here for a stout."
He picked me up, turned me around
and boxed my ears all about.
As I fell with an "ouch" into a hard chair
he pricked a soft egg with his sword
and I understood I was pickled there
until his old fartship got bored.
"It begins," he began, "with a wandering knight
who went by Messer Carbonado
he wandered by day--yay he wandered by night!
peacefully like a tornado."
I was glued with a glum glue to the hum-
drum tale that the old brave expounded;
upon the seat, my seat it went numb
and shook with his voice that resounded:
"Ser Carbonado had travelled four miles
for hearing a dame was distressed.
He crossed country--o'er brook and o'er stile
all for his valour to test.
He came to a tower, he came to it fast
by whipping his cream-coloured steed
and up at its top like the top of a mast
some fluttering hair he espeed."
I tried not to giggle, and not to give way,
but the half-rhyme was laughably shit.
As he boxed both my arms, I rued the day
that ever I did laugh at it.
"'Fair sir,'" he went on, dusting his sleeves,
"Came a voice down from ever so far.
'Be you a valiant, for this gang of thieves
has chained me high up in this tar.'"
I needn't say what violence ensued,
I hardly escaped with my toes--
but even his violence was hardly as rude
as that he did to English poetry and prose.
"'Come up, dearest knight', came the voice down,
'And soon you shall have your reward,
for I am the lady of yonder town;
my father its fiefdom and lord.'"
With narry a thought, rushed in did the knight,
breaking the door with his lance
and flurried he fleet up many a flight
in the hope of a forming romance.
But at the top step, his footing it faltered
and his eyes grew ever so big;
his hopes they were dashed--conceptions altered:
there stood I in a wig!
Oh I bashed him and bashed him and buggered him fair,
then I dashed out his brains something gnarly.
I boiled his bones and I ate him right there
with some bread that I made out of barley."
He laughed and he laughed; his mad hollow eyes
danced like a flame that grows long
and suddenly (much to my surprise)
I found myself laughing along.
--But don't edge away, dear friend, lovely stranger;
I'm really just pulling your leg.
Sit down on this stool, you are in no danger--
let me buy you a beer and an egg!
| 2018-12-21T05:38:00 | 2018-12-21T04:22:30 | 64 | 12 |
[WP] You have just returned to your camp after being bitten by a zombie to say your goodbyes. You are surprised to find the national guard giving your friends a vaccine. The world is saved. However, the vaccine only works on the healthy. You lost at the endgame and these your last 24 hours. | It doesn't hurt. I thought it would.
It's a novocaine sensation. I think of my arm being made of that foam stuff inside car seats. That's what it feels like.
The rotter was wounded. I was careless. The bite was fast, took a piece of me. It was over before I knew it had happened. I blew the rotter's face off and left it on the forest floor.
The walk back to camp is uneventful. I notice things easier. How the mid-afternoon sunlight attaches itself to every leaf and rock and branch. I hear every little sound-- the crunch of every twig and rock under my footsteps, the wings of gnats, the ripples of a puddle.
When I make it back to camp, I see the vaccine has arrived. I'd gone out to get one last run of water. They were making a cake to celebrate the end of the epidemic. They'd been saving an old box of cake mix. They needed water for it. I volunteered to go out to the well. We hadn't seen a rotter in days. Ever since word of the vaccine, the rotters have stopped coming.
I brought back only one jug of water. My bite arm wouldn't hold the other one and I had to leave it. I figure one jug is enough for a celebration cake.
That numb feeling, again. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't anything. It's just numb. I'm aware that's the virus working its way into my bloodstream. Feels like when it's been asleep. I know that's not your blood, it's your nerves waking up, that feeling that I used to refer to as "salt and pepper" when I was a kid, but that's the closest I can get to describing it.
The sky is incredible, just a clean blue sky with the sun like a jewel. I notice every breath I take, every blink. I take my steps. I feel like I'm walking uphill.
As I round the bend into camp, I see the military vehicles, everyone around them, everyone hugging, tears of joy. I could've waited, got the water later. I didn't. Everything was fine. I'd go get the water for the cake. Everything would be fine. The vaccine was on its way. Everything was fucking fine.
They don't know what it's like to turn into a rotter from the rotter's perspective. The ability to communicate is one of the first things to go. It's fast and then it's slow, that's all we know. I'll ask them to sedate me, to put me under. I want to say goodbye to everyone as well as I can. I'll at least get that much out of it. So many people went rotter by themselves, not knowing what was happening to them.
Emily sees me. She's by one of the armored humvees. She waves. Her smile is like the sun overhead, it makes me see everything, every little detail. I see every line on her face, every bit of fuzz on her cheeks, I can count her eyelashes.
She knows what's up as soon as she gets a good look at me. Only one jug of water, arm hanging, my pace taking on the shuffle of a sedated mental patient. This process takes 24 hours to complete, but the nastiest symptoms kick in within the first four. I see it register on her face. She can't believe it. Neither can I.
The military personnel, the heroes of the day all in sunglasses and black tactical gear, are the second ones to notice me. They know what to look for. I can hear their powerful voices yelling for everyone to stay back. Emily is calm. I'm proud of her.
They don't point their guns at me. They grant me that dignity.
"I got the water," I try to say, but my voice just gurgles. I can't remember how to talk.
I lose my grip on the jug and it thuds to the ground, water splashing out of its top. I see every droplet in the afternoon sun as it hits the dirt and soaks into the dirt and the bits of decayed vegetation, the earthen brown, the elements blending, life itself, earth and water. Everything is so fucking beautiful and I never bothered to notice it.
The soldiers are running to me, and at least I've made it back. | Circle Left…Circle. Left. That bastard had known, *friggin' known*, what was going to happen. He saw those damned monsters, and sent me over. Of course I had been careful, but I was out numbered.
"Gabby!", I could hear him, a false pain in his voice, "No!". His voice trailed as he booked it for the camp.
Joke was on him, I managed to get free… Mostly. At some point one of those vile crawling creatures managed to get me through my old tattered jeans. I always thought it would hurt… To be bit by one of those things, but really, after the initial bite, there was no pain. In fact, most of the pains from my left leg were gone.
I made my way back towards the encampment. I was gonna beat that jackass as much as I could before I got too far gone.
By the time I got near the outer edges of our camp I wasn't feeling much of anything from below my armpits, and my senses seemed to be failing a bit. The pungent smell of the flowers Jake had planted smelled more like the memory of a scent, the clucking of the chickens, mooing of the cows… It all sounded like I was listening through cotton wads.
Bonnie was waiving her hands and jumping by the gate, her words were a buzz, but other joined her and came out to get me.
I coughed hard, but I don't remember needing to cough, but I also didn't remember the rest of the trek being supported by the noisy buzzing people I knew.
Then there ones I didn't know. People in white and… Maybe it was yellow, body suits? Colors were getting hard to see, and everything was taking a blurry light to it.
Some of the buzzing words made it through… *Vaccine… no cure yet…. Kyle said…. We're saved… Cities…*
The buzzy name of that traitor caused me to convulse forward. Deep and gurgling, his name growled out of me. A few people looked at me with pity, whispering to each other.
I could make him out, barely as I could, at the edge of my vision. His voice buzzed through clearer than the others, *"She's suffering, we should show her mercy."*
My everything hated him, He caused this. I could have been saved. We could have been saved and never seen one another again, but no…
With the rest of what I could of the human I had been, I pointed at him and gurgled out, "Circle. Left."
this is my first piece of actual writing in a long time, sorry for the mistakes and grammar
*Edit, a word* | 2018-07-29T21:47:11 | 2018-07-29T19:51:44 | 47 | 14 |
[WP] Unbeknownst to anyone, whenever someone on Earth creates a fictional world, that world suddenly appears in space somewhere.You are a young novelist working on the sequel to your best seller. You wake up one night to find the main character of that novel standing at the foot of your bed. | >**REFRACTED WORLDS**
Resting soundly, I was shocked awake by a brutal slap across the face.
"Ow! What the hell?!" I shouted into the darkness of my room.
"You're *twisted*, you know that?!" Came a somewhat familiar voice.
I turned on a light.
At the foot of my bed was a young man- he was of average height, broad shoulders, tan skin, long, black hair, and scars adorned his arms. I knew this face- because I'd been designing it for years.
"Silas." I breathed.
"Yes, Silas, you prick." Silas huffed. "I put in so much effort to come meet God and it's *you*? And what's with the way you keep interfering in my life?"
"Ah, yeah, sorry...well, sort of."
Silas glowered.
"Look- your world exists for a reason. *You* exist for a reason. There is a reason why you must rise up, face the challenges you face, and endure what you endure."
"What is the reason, then?" He asked.
"Do you remember when you lost Somnus? When your brother fled, and left you behind?"
"Of course." Silas was gritting his teeth. Bad memory.
"That feeling of being left behind- well, the other Creators, the other people like me- a lot of them have felt this way, and not always do they have someone to share their feelings with. You eventually meet Tijn, you eventually meet the Wild Pilgrim, and you find a home. A community. The pain you endured carries you into healing, and with every twist and turn, you grow stronger, and the people around you grow, too. A lot of Creators, like myself, are isolated. We are alone. But- when we make worlds like yours, you can serve as a...how do I say this-"
"We're a bandage."
"Sort of, yeah. Our world is harsh, and our powers are very limited. Creating other worlds doesn't usually impact the world we reside in. Our world is war-torn, riddled with plagues and selfishness and cruelty. We give you, our creations, the power to change their surroundings, the ability to overcome the odds...and doing so gives us comfort."
"You give us that which you cannot possess."
"Yes. There isn't very much I can control in my life. I may lose my job tomorrow, a friend to disease the next day, my mother, father, anything- and there isn't anything I can actually do about it. But you- you have healing magic, and strength, and a clever mind. You can give me, and my readers, a kind of...catharsis."
Silas grimaced. "You underestimate not only yourself, but your kin."
"I don't think you understand, Silas. Every system in our world is broken, and every broken system is so ingrained that we don't have a way to overturn it, like steel beams buried so deeply in the earth, they may as well be coming from the molten core of the planet itself."
"Yet, here you are, crafting the stories that bring happiness to many."
"A brief reprieve from a life of darkness. A small candle in a winter's storm. Nothing grand."
"You write of overcoming struggle, yet fail to see that you *are* struggling. You write of the way you wish things were, you share your perspective, your imagination could nourish your community."
"All the writing in the world won't make magic real."
"No? Then how is it I am standing before you?" Silas grinned- but not kindly, more like he was making fun of me.
"You are a foolish creator. Take the lesson that you would have me learn, and apply it to yourself. Struggle. A battlefield can become a garden, so long as you never stop trying."
-------------------------------------------------
r/nystorm_writes | “This is, without a doubt,” The haggard young man huffed. “The most disappointing moment of my life. Ever. Of all time.”
Daryl groggily fought his way through his chaotic tangle of pillow and blankets. He had been having the strangest dream, fueled by an excess of wine and weed.
But he didn’t recall anyone staying over…
“This is creation? This…” The young man spat onto Daryl’s worn bedroom rug. “Scubberdeguillion? This recently-homed vagrant?”
“Hey, that’s-ow!” Daryl found the corner of his bedside table with his hand as he flailed for the light. “Sons of Dis.”
“So *that’s* where I get it?!” Hands were thrown into air, exasperation and disgust in a motion.
“Get what?” Daryl clicked his bedside lamp.
A beat passed as the two stared at one another.
Daryl, confused, still fairly stoned, and absolutely lost in his own bedroom muttered, “…Gavin?”
“I might kill myself.” Apparently-Gavin sighed as he flopped onto the ground.
“What?” Daryl asked.
“*What*?” Gavin spat.
The two stared at one another.
Daryl croaked, but no words came along.
Gavin sputtered, but nothing made sense.
Daryl made inquisitive sounds.
Gavin rolled his eyes and made sarcastic hums.
The two held their breath, puffed out their cheeks, and sighed mightily. They had some exchange after that, not saying anything sensical. The occasional, “What?” An off hand, “How?” Here and there a, “But, then?” Though the whole was far less than the sum of its parts, the two came to an equilibrium. They understood without truly expounding. There was a certain confused acceptance as the pair settled into matching thousand-yard stares as a distant car alarm belched its displeasure.
“So… do you know about Orcos?” Daryl finally asked without focusing his eyes on anything.
“The baddie?” Gavin huffed.
“I haven’t released that.” Daryl held his breaths
“You wrote it last week.” Gavin sounded like he might cry.
“Julila?”
“You son of a bastard.”
The two held their heads in their hands. Mirrored actions for mirrored woe.
“Does it get better?” Gavin asked.
“Does it?” Daryl replied. | 2021-12-11T18:25:56 | 2021-12-11T15:47:06 | 287 | 26 |
[WP] You have heard of dragons pretending to be princesses. And you also know of princesses rescuing knights from dragons. Now is a tale of a dragon saving a knight from the princess. | Giddiness escaped the princess's lips as she held a spell on Sir Bensen with occasional bursts of concentration. Large pulses of dark blue energy formed a prism around his feet, which worked to keep him bound to the spot and threatened to consume him as it grew.
"Amelia! You must stop this senselessness at once! If your father-"
"Enough about my father! He's too busy hunting boar to care."
"Once he finds out-"
"Oh shut up! All you pathetic knights are the same with your godforsaken chivalry and expectations. None of you know what real power is, none of you have felt the essence, essence of-"
"M'lady, you tread in dark waters. There is a reason why sorcery is forbidden. Its source is ancient and far more powerful than you know. I take it-"
"You know what's worse? Balls! A ceaseless parade of idiot suitors who all act like they attended a session on how to suit and are stupidly following directions. Feasts every night where everyone drones on playing pretend and making themselves out to be the greatest thing since King Guilford built the throne."
"I'm sure it can't be so bad, m'lady."
"You would know nothing about it! You've been the king's favorite since you won the Tournament in your nineteenth year. Captain of the Guard and esteemed warrior! Your life is interesting. Mine-"
"Still no reason to tap the dark sources, m'lady. There will be consequences."
As he uttered the last syllable a dark form appeared on the horizon. At first, it looked like a stray raincloud, lost in the clear blue sunshine, but as it got closer its wings became fully visible.
"What is *that*?" Amelia said.
As the creature got closer its size became apparent, at least fifty feet in length with a twenty-foot wingspan. Sleek with deep blue scales, it was a most impressive dragon. It stared down at Amelia with interest in its eyes, moving its snout to within mere inches as it sniffed her. She froze in terror, never having seen such a creature before, all at once dropping the spell and freeing Sir Benson.
"A-mel-ia" it said nasally, as a few puffs of dark soot emerged from its nostrils, causing Amelia to break instinctively from her state of fear and back away.
"You have awoken me from a slumber of seven years with your pleading."
"Ye- yes?"
"I have reviewed the need for my magic, and I deem it.... *most unworthy*."
"But, but-"
"If your fate isn't most agreeable, you can always cease to be a princess and run away. Instead, you have wasted precious mana upon this knight, whose gallantry is bigger than his brain."
"You don't. You can't- You just DON'T understand! You're not a princess!"
The dragon snorted again. "I have suffered far worse. My kind was hunted and reduced to mere dozens millennia ago. You are a child, and the powers of magic don't belong to you. From henceforth, you are silenced."
"No, no, you can't!"
At that point her ears grew into the shape of a donkey's. Not long thereafter she was disowned by the king and banished to a leper colony. It was from there that she would begin her greatest quest - to find the dragon that had cursed her so that one day the spell might be released.
\---------------
r/StoriesToThinkAbout | The dragon was managing the paperwork on the kingdom's affairs when he heard a ruckus coming from the front gates. **(Tamara is quite lively today.)** He sighed and pushed back his glasses. He perused a proposal to import a breeding herd of hippogriffin for the aerial troops.
When he was about to sip some tea, the door slammed open. "Sir, we need your intervention!" Garrett stared at Jiminy, the old butler never dared to raise his voice like this before. **"Isn't Tamara training?"** The woman had the blood of a powerful paladin in her veins, her light exercises were a regular barbarian or monk's hellish torture.
Jiminy tried to push the dragon off his cushions. "It's a matter of international relations!" What did he mean with that? Tamara had just returned from a skirmish with the harpy nation, having plucked them clean of will to fight. Who was she targeting this time? "You have to save the prince of Falkland, he thought she needed to be rescued!"
Oh. That meant he tried to force Tamara to do something. Bad idea. Terrible plan. Disastrous event. An angry Tamara was someone even Garrett hesitated to handle without precaution. Both rushed to the source of impacts rattling the walls.
Garrett couldn't help but whistle at her handiwork. Foreign soldiers and adventurers were planted in the floor and embedded into walls, and his darling wife had just punched a prissy ponce. **(Wow, she could scare off my sister with that face.)** Jiminy muttered something, was that the prince?
He picked up his wife off the heap on the carpet, wincing at the grip on his fingers, and asked the guards to take out the trash. **"There, there, dearie, I'll send him back pronto."** His only answer was a string of curses that would make the Demon Lord of the ninth realm blush. | 2022-11-21T20:51:19 | 2022-11-21T17:49:32 | 35 | 21 |
[WP] Your kingdom lies in ruins and the demons are at the gate. You hold the sacred relic that has been passed down for countless generations to your lips and speak a prayer in a long forgotten language: "Orbital Strike on my location" | The church doors shook with the pounding of monstrous fists and hooves, the runes around its frame flaring with light- dimming a little with each impact. High Custodian Robert, blessed keeper of the Realms of Men, the Last Knight, the Savior of Legions, spat blood as he dragged himself across the wooden floor, gloved fingers scrambling for purchase.His holy garbs were torn, greyed with smoke and stained with blood- both red and green. Outside the broken windows, he could hear the last of his men fighting and dying, hear the staccato rhythm of holy weapons being discharged- the muffled *whoompf* of mortar fire and the sharp cracks as Antioch Devices were detonated.
"Bastards."
Robert snarled and spat more dark blood onto the ground. He'd warned the Council, warned them that this incursion was different, this incursion was dangerous, warned them to break open the Custodial Vaults and unseal the holy weapons before it became too late- but the thrice damned fools had refused, whining of prophecy and tradition, prophecy and godsdammned tradition.
Little good their fucking prophecies did them now.
He had reached the altar. Custodian Robert gripped the ancient stone, arms straining to budge the weathered rock. With a monumental groan of effort that left stars dancing in his eyes, the ancient slab shifted aside- revealing a dark pit.
Robert reached inside and smiled.
At least *this* prophecy held true.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
He lay there, learning against the wayward altar, listening as the calamity outside slowly grew quiet, screams and weapons fire replaced with the quiet crackling of open flame, the bass impact of mortar fire becoming scattered- until finally all that was left was the crashing on the church door.
The last of the runes flickered out.
The ancient, revered gates, carved with the history of all mankind broke, splintered pieces smashing against dusty pews.
The demons flooded in. Goat- men in black chainmail, hooded ghouls in masks of bleached skulls wielding spear and blade, and yet stranger things filled the congregation hall. The gathered mass gibbered in their multitudes of horror, exultant in their victory.
Then abruptly, the monstrous crowd quieted. A great ripple spread amongst their ranks, monsters parting like a forest before a summer storm, making way for **him.**
**Bel-Akr,** Overlord of hell, Chief Torturer, the Pestilence, Lord of Anarchy marched slowly, inexorably, towards the altar.Where **he** stepped wood blackened and burst into flame, scattered parchment turning into fresh skin dripping with pus and blood.**He** stood above Robert's broken body, then knelt, **his** pale, lifeless face twisting into a caricature of a smile.
**"Lord of man, we meet again. Your dominion is spoiled. Your territory burned. We have plundered and pillaged and raped and killed and salted the ground so that nothing may grow here again. Such boasts you spoke to me on top your walls. Such claims of magnificence and power."**
"**Laughable."**
**"So, Lord of man, before I eviscerate you and welcome your soul into my House, do you have any final words?"**
**"Grovel for my mercy adequately, and perhaps I'll make it quick."**
Robert whispered something, too quiet to be audible.
**Bel Akr** leaned forwards mockingly.
**"Care to repeat that?"**
Breathing in foul air, Robert coughed deeply, and beckoned his foe closer. Close enough to see the smile on his face. Close enough to see the silver totem in his broken hands. Close enough to hear his oath, the oath of his house, of every Custodian who would come before or after.
"We.. hold.. the line...."
<Coordinates Received>
<Orbital Strike Confirmed>
<Standby> | "Orbital strike on my location." My lips cracked as I spoke the ancient guttural words of invocation, resigning myself to whatever fate would soon befall me. Rodrik offered a reassuring smile as he held up the ancient tome of commands. Behind him Elyse mounted the last of the crescent objects we'd found sealed in the great chests of the citadel's most hallowed vault. I offered a silent prayer to whatever god was listening that these 'face front toward enemy' devices would offer some succor.
The great gate which had held for generations buckled as the siege wagon slammed into it, and my heart sank. There would be no divine deliverance this day. Then it spoke, finally offering the words of God. "Coordinates locked, target is blue. Confirm." I felt my throat tremble as with solemn heart I offered the response. "Afirmative, target is blue." Time seemed to stop as the three of us looked to the heavens awaiting divine retribution. We had known this most sacred object would spell doom for all who used it. But the life of a failed Lord and his two most loyal knights was nothing to pay for the survival of the countless others who had fled to the secure walls of other, more powerful nobles.
A slight smile cracked my lips as the darkness lit up, the ritual almost complete just a few last invocations to cement our last stroke of victory. "Dropping the hammer." The divine radiance built as I looked back to my companions, each locked in awe of such power. "It has been my honor. Elyse, Rodrik you are relived. If you make haste you might just catch up to your kinsmen.". To thier credit my most loyal retainers- no, my most loyal brother and sister in arms merely offered me a defiant look. Rodrik tossed the ancient tome aside, drawing his blade and planting it in the cobbles, while Elyse moved over taking my gloved hand in her own armored gauntlet. "A Knight sees thier Lord home safe, or failing that dies beside them."
"I am a Lord no longer. My lands and titles rendered to ash. I am but the sentinel making his last watch." Rodrik smiled and nodded as another thought stirred somewhere in the empty spaces of my head. A last thought that felt right. "Till. VAL- HAAAALLLAAAAA."
The heavens broke as the pillar of radiant light descended in a blink, massive clouds of dust rising upwards as the super heated air rushed out and rose, forced out by the force's plasmodic sheath. The Lord and his Knight were gone in an instant, his castle rendered a smoking ruin. But for that final sacrifice his foe lay broken, it's ceaseless horde rendered ash. History would not be so kind as to remember that last foolish stand at stone's run or the battle of five gates. But the People would forever sing tales of The Unflinching Lord Schultz and the divine retribution his last heroic defence had inspired. | 2021-11-08T08:50:23 | 2021-11-08T08:40:18 | 118 | 83 |
[WP] You've just been kidnapped by a supervillain. She's not really evil; she's just really socially awkward and had no idea how to approach you otherwise. She even made you dinner! | She was so famous she only went by her first name. There was Adele, Beyoncé, and there, mere inches away from me, was Lola. The world's most notorious supervillain and she was looking right at me. I rubbed my eyes, not quite believing the sight.
As cliche as it sounds, she was even more stunning in person than she was on TV. Impeccable figure, gorgeous purple hair, and most shocking of all: a kind smile.
While getting kidnapped by Lola was the subject of some of the more, uhm, colorful, movies I enjoyed, I had to remind myself that she was still a stone cold killer.
"I-I should go", I said, getting out of my chair and walking to the front door.
Lola sighed, "Feel free to leave if that's what you want. I didn't use any restraints on you for a reason."
My hand was literally on the doorknob when I looked back at her. I tried to meet her eyes to see what she was getting at but she wouldn't look at me. But I couldn't resist, "So, well, would you mind telling me why I'm here then?"
"I'm sorry I kidnapped you. I know it's not nice. It's just...I wanted a meal with someone. I can't go anywhere without people recognizing me from my heists and murders and Jesus Christ, I just don't want to be alone anymore."
She finally met my stare and I could see tears welling up in her eyes. "And then I saw you, eating that bread bowl alone in Panera, and I thought you looked lonely and that maybe, you might want to have a meal with someone too. But I couldn't just ask you. I'm a little awkward and have maybe a bit of a reputation."
I can't lie. I am lonely. My girlfriend recently dumped me and my only true companion was a little pug named Bruno. But still. Dining with a supervillain didn't seem like the world's best idea.
"But if I've read this wrong and you're not interested and don't want to eat, please go." She smiled sadly, "I'll just eat this roast by myself."
I smiled back. At least it would be a good story for my future grandkids. "No, I'd be honored to eat with you."
She clasped her hands together, "Yay! Sit, sit, sit, let me fix you a plate." I followed her instructions and sat back down.
She gave me a plate. A roast with some potatoes, carrots, and onions. It smelled amazing. As we sat together, I greedily shoveled the food into my mouth.
But something was wrong. I dropped the fork as it clanged on the plate. "Lola, I can't- I can't feel my legs."
She smiled and this time, her expression was the one I remember seeing on newspapers. A sinister smirk. "That'll spread to your whole body soon. Just let it wash over you, it's impossible to fight it."
I managed to twist my torso and get off the chair, only managing to pathetically flop down on her kitchen floor. She got out of her seat and looked down on me, almost disappointed, "I told you not to fight it."
"Am I dying?", I desperately croaked, even as I could feel my throat closing up and all the moisture from my mouth disappearing.
She laughed, "I'm not killing you, dumbass. What would be the fun in that? I just gave you a paralyzing agent. Let me show you how you'll die."
She grabbed me by my, now completely limp, arms and dragged me across the floor until she reached a pink furry rug. She removed the rug, revealing a trap door. As she dragged me over it, my fall was cushioned by the dozens of other bodies in the pit. I looked around frantically, my eyes the only part of my body that I could fully control. Most everyone around me was dead but there was one other guy who made eye contact with me, a mixture of panic and pity on his face.
She looked down at me and smiled, "Now as you slowly starve to death, just remember that you chose this. You could have left. All you pathetic losers could have just *left*. Isn't that just hilarious?" She laughed and looked over the pile proudly, like a kid looking at their prized Pokemon card collection.
As she closed the door, I prayed for the first time in my life. Not for me, but for Bruno. I just needed him to somehow avoid my fate. | I am known as Mind Master. My power is telekinesis \[which I can also use to make myself fly\]. After defeating my main villain, Dr. Psychon, I was ready to rest and stop the occasional bandit. But that evening was nothing like that at all.
I followed a distress call next to the town park. The next thing I knew I was knocked out and woke up tied to a chair with a sack on my head. "Let me go!" I demanded. I Lifted the sack off my head with my mind, and I'm seated at someone's dinner table.
Sitting across from me was a woman. An ordinary woman in normal clothes with no mask. "Sorry," she blushed, "This may look bad, but I'm really awkward about things like this and I was too nervous to ask you over." She walked over and untied me.
"My name is Dana by the way" I shook her hand "I know" I respond. "Wait how do you know?" Dana wondered, almost smiling. "Oh uh, I'm- I mean I know a guy named James Banks. He knows you."
"I was gonna make you an invitation," Dana continues, "But I didn't even know where you live or how else to reach you. Please stay and have dinner with me." She waited for an answer.
I took my fork and started eating. "You're lucky I put up with this kind of thing every day with Dr. Psychon. I'm relieved you aren't a new major villain or something." Dana looked relieved as well and took a bite of food.
"I've kinda had a thing for you for quite a while" Dana admitted. I was about to say 'What else is new?' but I didn't want to seem too full of myself. I just looked up and gave an intrigued look.
"But what about James Banks? He said you admitted to liking me-I mean him a while ago." I asked. Dana set down her fork and smirked. She then stood up and walked over to me, taking off my mask.
"Hey!" I yelled, trying to hide my face. "You don't have to hide, James. I know who you are." Dana said. I was considering whether to lie or just let my arms down, when she added, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."
I smiled and let my full face be shown. "How long have you known?" "Almost right away tbh." Dana admitted. "Being that I've had a crush on you, James, I recognized you in that costume almost instantly." I smiled and kept eating.
After dinner, I got up to leave. "Wait!" Dana grabbed my arm. "You never said what you thought about me. Not even before you got your powers!" I turned toward her and smiled. "Even though you kidnapped me just to have dinner, I think you know the answer. See you at our second date!" I winked and flew away. | 2021-10-21T14:37:48 | 2021-10-21T12:25:33 | 232 | 67 |
[WP] In this world, physical appearance depends entirely on personality. All babies are born identical. Beauty is achieved gradually through good thoughts and deeds, while the opposite is true for ugliness. | "Reevel, didja puke on yer face again or something?" Bartan sneered. He was perched on a fence playing with a knife.
"Nah," answered back Reevel as he trudged up out of the gloom, "Just stabbed a chap in the alleyway. Fellow said I didn't look too handsome." He grinned, showing all three of his teeth. "Just cause it's true don't mean it's nice to say. Kid needed some to be teachified a little respect."
"Will 'e live?" asked Bartan, casually balancing the knifeblade on his fingertips.
"Mayhap. Gave 'im a couple good stabs in the belly, so it'll go nice an' slow either way." Reevel jumped up onto the fence next to his partener. "Bes' part: 'is face was bland as a babe's. Could've been any sort of average person, no one'll know who 'e was. So what's on the docket tonight, friend?"
Bartan stabbed the knife into the fencepost and then pulled out a dirty brass lantern. "Oh, it's a classic. Folks at the manner have their ways of doing things that ain't the same at all." Flint and steal sparked and the lantern kindled into flame. "Odd how it's us as is called the ugly ones when all we do is an honest murder or two along the way. This some top grade evil, this one," said Bartan as he pulled out a scroll of parchment. "They told me the deal already, but I let 'em know how good my partner knew'd 'is letters and they wrote this down real nice for us. Lessen we talk 'bout it the better, I suppose."
Reevel squinted at the cramped handwriting, then his jaw broke into an incredulous grin. "Spit and thunder, they must do the thinking for Hell. It's a nasty, nasty piece of business." He licked his lips hungrily. "I like it I do."
"Hey, Reveel, you's got a new wart, jist there on the top of your nose." Bartan pointed eargerly.
Reveel poked at it. "Hey, guess I do. Looks like that bastard did die in the alley after all." He jumped down from the fence. "Well c'mon, only a few hours til sunup. We gots some packages to exchange now, don't we," he chuckled, and the two crept into the night to commence their business.
The next day, the mayor welcomed a new daughter into his home while the miller's wife sobbed, holding the lifeless babe that had died during the night.
The mayor's mother was buried in a veil a few weeks later.
| When I saw her, I thought she must have had Down syndrome. As far as I know, every single fashion model has Down syndrome, and honestly she looked better than any I'd seen.
"Welcome to Red Lobster," I said to her.
"Hi, I'm looking for Jeff," she replied, beaming a smile at me.
Girls with Down syndrome are easy to spot. Breathtakingly beautiful, speech problems and obvious cognitive impairment. They're also never alone—it just wouldn't be safe. This girl sounded pretty damn normal and she was alone.
"Um, I'm Jeff," I said.
"I thought so. You are very handsome," she replied without any detectable lack of sincerity.
I'm not handsome. She just had very good manners.
"And you are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes upon," I told her, remembering my manners. "Do you mind if I ask, how you got to be so gorgeous?"
She laughed.
"I'm a saint on a mission from God, that's how. He sent me to find you." | 2015-10-30T21:07:38 | 2015-10-30T20:43:43 | 102 | 34 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | Most people consider my job to be fairly boring. I'm a lawyer, you see. Specifically, I'm a Junior Associate at Fox, Rothschilde, Wickersham, & Taft in Washington, D.C.
I spend most of my waking hours reading government contracts, writing memos about them, and generally trying to bill the most hours humanly possible. They pay me what most people would consider to be a very good living, but most people don't have $250,000 in student loans.
It was 5pm on a Friday, and I was sitting at my desk browsing reddit (no, I wasn't billing for it--that would be unethical), when I was suddenly blinded by a bright flash. I found myself still sitting at my desk in a brightly-lit cavern stone cavern. Every surface had been buffed to a high shine. There was a circle of what looked like tiny birthday candles around me--each of them brighter than a halogen floodlight. I rolled back in my office chair, and hit an invisible force-field. It flickered and hissed where my chair touched it, but held firm. Several high-pitched voices began chanting softly in unison,
"Oh demon of the foulest Earth, we have summoned you here and now bind you to our will! Do not test the might the warlocks of the Cabal of Illuamdmitae, for we have power beyond imagining..."
I stood up as the speech continued, and began to look around for the speakers. In front of my desk were three tiny figures--each barely a meter high--clad in shimmering, almost-iridescent red robes. The fabric was unlike anything I had seen before. Its leader held a staff (or perhaps a spear?) made entirely out elongated gemstones, bound together with shimmering rope. Spider silk?
"Excuse me," I interrupted. "What's going on?"
The robed figures covered their ears in pain. The leader handed the other two what appeared to be lumps of beeswax. "Do not attempt to injure us with your foul voice, demon, for we have taken precautions!"
I tried to whisper now. "Okay. One, I'm not a demon. Two, where in the hell am I? Three, who are you?"
"We, your masters, have summoned you from the foulest Earth to achieve a lasting victory in our age-old conflict with the oath-breaking Raelian Horde."
"Umm, you do realize that I'm a lawyer, right? I can't really help with this unless you need me to review a contract, or maybe do a mediation session."
"What are these infernal mechanisms you speak of? Is there some way to bind the Raelians to their word as we have bound you?"
"What do you know about contracts...?"
[NOTE: The basic idea here was "Apply Skill: Law," combined with a human lawyer who suddenly has superpowers, but is extremely vulnerable to light (which is brighter there). This premise was much funnier and/or more interesting in my head than this story is turning out to be. I'll continue this if there's interest, but I doubt there will be.]
| When I vanished from the middle of class, I didn't know where I was going. All I experienced was darkness and a rush of cool wind before I was deposited in a place that looked like the middle of a forest.
As my eyes adjusted to the level of sunlight, I saw a few humanoid creatures staring at me. They nudged one another and whispered in a guttural language. Finally, one took a few timid steps toward me and spoke. "O great demon of the underworld . . ."
I blinked. "What?"
The humanoid looked taken aback. "You're a demon. We summoned you." They held up a spellbook and pointed at the circle around me. "See?"
I looked around. "Um . . . Okay? What do you need, then?"
One of the humanoids in the back piped up. "There's a girl who keeps ruining our lives and we want you to scare her into not doing it anymore!"
My anger burned a little bit, which set a small fire around me. "What the hell," I whispered as I stomped it out. "And you think that she'll see you as more intimidating by doing sorcery?"
"Successful sorcery!" a third added.
I sighed. For my family, I would do this unwaveringly. For my friends, I would do it took. For these nerds? What do I have to lose? "Okay. Take me to this girl."
They led me toward a set of buildings and I played with the fire my hands generated to practice my new skill. | 2017-05-12T11:53:23 | 2017-05-12T08:32:17 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Who said healing magic is "good guy" magic? It can be just as morally dubious as necromancy - if not moreso - if you know how to use it right... | The metal door was dragged open, followed by someone thrown at my feet, his body riddled in bruises and his arms and legs tied together. He rolled over on the ground and spit at my feet as the door screeched close behind him. The single light above us cast my shadow over him.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” I asked.
“I didn’t tell them nothing,” he looked up at me and opened his eyes in slight surprise. “You’re a healer, ain’t you? You a prisoner here, too?”
I was impressed that he was able to tell who I was so quickly.
“I’m a healer, yes, but I’m not a prisoner. I’m the interrogator,” I told him.
He laughed boisterously, rolling on the floor howling and began mocking me and my abilities.
“You guys really have lost your minds! A healer as an interrogator! What are you gonna do, fix my ribs so good that I answer everything?”
“I suppose that’s not too far from the truth,” I shrugged.
He continued to laugh as I went to one end of the room and pulled out a jar, and approached him as he began to pull himself together and sat up against the door. His smile faltered as he heard the slight buzzing coming from the jar.
“What is that?”
“There is a terror in normal interrogation. But a subconscious hope in every prisoner’s mind is that they will take their secrets to their grave. That if they are heart just enough, then they will go into shock and perhaps die. What happens to someone when they are not allowed to die?” I asked.
“W… what are you talking about?” he stammered, his eyes rushing between me and the jar.
I held the container into the light and revealed the dozens of angry wasps violently spinning within.
“I… I’m allergic,” he said before he could stop himself. He was losing his bravado quickly.
“I know,” I nodded.
“If I get stung, my throat swells. I won’t be able to talk,” he said, his voice growing hoarse. His eyes remained trained on the insects, a shivering terror crawling through his limbs. “I won’t be able to tell you what you want to know.”
“I know,” I agreed once more.
His eyes continued to grow wide.
“Are you an idiot? You’re an interrogator! I won’t be able to talk! I’ll die!”
“You won’t,” I promised.
He quivered aggressively as I approached him. I turned the lid slowly and he grit his teeth.
“N… not the wasps. Please,” he whispered.
The opening to the jar was placed against his cheek. The wasps quickly went to work.
His screams filled not only the room, but the entirety of the base. I was stung thrice, myself, but I quickly healed the skin before the pain even became a potential thought. His cries for help were quickly cut off by his own throat, which had swelled to the point of cutting off his airflow. That was where my work began. I made certain that he never was closed off enough to lose breath, but also not able to pass out from the pain. It was a very delicate process, as I needed to make sure that he did not feel any comfort as I did the bare minimum to keep him alive and awake. He wasn’t allowed the comfort of losing consciousness.
A full ten minutes later, I went about killing each of the wasps with my bare hands, quickly healing myself from any retaliations.
“Ready to talk?” I asked, clapping my hands together over the last bug.
He whimpered quietly, a shadow of the personality that walked in.
“I know you can talk, I made sure of that. I can make all the pain go away. Just tell us where the base is,” I explained casually.
He continued to whimper.
“Alright, I have plenty more jars,” I shrugged, making my way back to the corner.
“No! No, please, no more,” he pleaded.
I began rummaging through jars.
“Bullet ants are always fairly good at getting the job done,” I said, holding up the glass and shaking it to aggravate the creature within.
“I said no!” he repeated, tears flowing freely.
“Answers will stop me, not pleas. I’ll rid you of all the pain, I promise. Just give me answers,” I said, bringing the jar with me and squatting in front of him.
His eyes watched the Bullet Ant crawl quickly around the jar, trying desperately to find a way out. His right eye bulged shut, and the cheek was a wasteland of red hills, topped with stingers. His lips trembled wildly.
“The base…”
I placed the jar behind me. Progress was always good to reward.
“You won’t hurt them, will you?” he whimpered.
“Not the answer I was looking for,” I said, pulling the jar back in front of him and twisting the top slowly.
“No! No!” he begged. “It’s above Roa Lake! It’s north of the lake, shrouded in a pile of dead trees that look like they fell over during the hurricane!”
He broke down and began crying harder.
“Please make the pain go away,” he begged.
“No problem,” I stood, nodding to a camera in one corner of the room. The door was opened, pushing him over and out of the way. A guard entered with a gun in hand.
“You sure you wanna kill him, Boss?” the guard asked me.
“I’m a man of my word,” I nodded, followed by a quick gunshot to the crying man’s temple.
“Pain’s gone,” I told the body as it slumped over.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
For tons more stories, come check out r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | The orc chief spat at the feet of the enemy cleric. He had no respect for the pinkskins and their magicks, even when he was tied up and at his opponent's mercy.
"I will not lower myself," the orc said, "and speak to a milk-drinking weakling like you."
The cleric was young, with raven black hair and a carefully tended goatee. His lips curled into a wicked smile.
"Ah, I don't think you understand," the cleric said in perfect orcish. "We have honored your tortured god Dreadstench Wormsnarl on this day, orc. You should feel honored to stand before me."
The orc chieftain turned away and refused to look at the pathetic weakling. He did not care what he had to say - white magic was the path of cowardice, and an affront to all the orcish gods and ancestors. When the fires of a warrior's spirit burned out, he was to die in battle or receive the scars to remind him of his great deeds. Using magic to heal weakened the spirit.
"Ah, I always enjoy this part," the cleric said, stroking his goatee. "This is your last chance to tell us where you have put the body of my comrade."
The orc chief said nothing.
The cleric's eyes glowed with the white that every orc learned at his mother's knees was the sign of a coward.
"I'll admit, I was furious when I first found out that you killed Bariel," the cleric said, his voice beginning to fill the tent. "But I knew what a bleeding heart he was, and I realized that I couldn't just do all that I wanted to. I'm never going to use dark magic again."
The orc chieftain was started to get worried in spite of himself. White magic could only be use to heal, but something about the way that the cleric was speaking was beginning to worry him.
"But I'm not going to betray Bariel's wishes. You're just not worth it. No, I'm going to show you exactly what a white mage can do," he said.
The cleric poked the orc in the side where a spear had once rested. The orc made the ancestors proud, and didn't even wince, in spite of the intense pain.
"Have you ever seen this herb before?" the cleric said, holding up a fluorescent red leaf.
The orc said nothing.
"Ah, I was hoping you'd start to get more talkative, but maybe a demonstration would be in order."
The orc noticed now that the cleric had gloves on, and was being very careful with the way he touched the herb. Could it be?
The cleric shoved the herb into the orcs side, and a burning sensation unlike any he had ever experienced start.
"Remarkable herb, Snake's Tongue is," the cleric said, watching intently. "It's considered one of the vile and deadly poisons known to mortalkind. Just a touch of the oils is usually enough to painfully kill a man over the course of five minutes."
In spite of himself, the orc let out a howl. He tried to regain his composure, but this was becoming impossible. The burning that had started at the wound in is left side was now starting to spread throughout his body. With every beat of his heart, more of the vile poison spread through out his body, and with it the flameless fire.
"But I'm not going to let you die in just five minutes, though," the cleric said. "I've done the math very carefully, I'm sure that with my magic, I can keep you conscious and stable and experiencing this pain all night long."
The orc's breathing was becoming labored, and his heatbeat was weakening. He could feel his extremities start to tingle as his nerves shut down. His eyes rolled back into his head and he could feel his muscles start to atrophy.
But the cleric pulled off a glove, and touched the writhing orc, and he could feel his breathing becoming less ragged, though the pain remained as intense as ever.
"I won't let your organs fail until you experience everything that you and your clan made Bariel feel that day," the cleric said, a glowing tear falling down his cheek. "You should say your prayers to Dreadstench Wormsnarl, because you are about to enjoy the most exquisite pains any mortal has ever experience." | 2021-11-08T19:39:07 | 2021-11-08T19:26:44 | 209 | 66 |
[WP] When Humanity made contact with the Galactic Community, they were surprised to see us. Not because they thought we would never make it, but because, on the galactic scale, Earth is in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere and nobody knew we even existed. | "stop and say that one more time you fuckin liar."
Flen waddled beside his buddy as they waited in line at the cafeteria.
"I swear to God, it was a fucking human, 6 feet from me." The squid like being replied, spittle flying from whichever orifice he decided to speak from that time.
"A human being. Like, from earth?" Flen asked incredulously. He reached for a bowl of mashed Grint beans and placed it on his tray. The side dish was a delicacy on his planet, but not many other species liked it much. Even the cafeteria attendant made a face.
"No. A human from Licorice planet 7, where all your dreams come true. Yea earth, you numb skull." Chax quipped. He used a tentacle to grab to kebab type food items with an undefinable meat.
"Woah, easy. Not all of us got skulls. You don't want to get written up for "uninclusive vocabulary" again. You'll lose your committee assignments. So anyway, what did it want?"
Flen flexed his fingers and extended his talons, then began plucking berries from a Harbroid bush conveniently placed along the buffet line. The line moved continentally slow today.
"Apologies for my ableist behavior. I meant it as a metaphor. Besides, the human didn't actually speak to me. It asked the committee why they hadn't been invited to the galactic union sooner."
Chax made a chortling, gurgle sound. Laughter on his home world.
"Well what did the committee chair say?"
Flen asked, frustrated at the slow pace of the lunch line.
"What do you think he said? The committee on planetary acceptance isn't responsible for every intelligent species that pops up in bum fuck nowhere, milky way. There are orders and processes and paperworks that have to be done just to get a meeting like this set up."
They finally reached the register and paid for their lunches. Then came the arduous task of finding a seat. Eventually, they managed.
"So what did the human say?"
Flen asked, a beak full of berries and beans.
"It kind of looked puzzled about the whole response, then said the dumbest shit I've ever heard."
Flen waited anxiously for what the human told the committee chair. Chax leaned in close, and attempted a whisper.
"The human looked the chair in the eye and said, 'your name means 'Fallus' in our language.' and then walked out the front door."
Chax made the gurgling laughing sound again.
Flen thought his response over.
"What does that even mean?"
Chax chortled back, "hell if I know, but you should have seen chairman Schlong's face."
And burst into another fit of laughter. | "Greetings! Thank you so much for taking the time to travel all those parsecs and meet in person! We were so surprised when we received your communication, we thought surely you wouldn't have FTL tech yet."
Ambassador Treskart stood tall and round, pale skin glistening from the oily glands surrounding the slits that Namika could only assume were his nostrils. The only features for which she could stretch her mind to find a human analog.
"The pleasure is all mine, Ambassador."
"It's unfortunate, though, that humanity did not reach us sooner. Please understand that I take no joy in being the bearer of this unfortunate information, but the Intergalactic Federation has identified Earth as a Class 9 Hostile threat."
"Threat? Ambassador, I assure you"
"It's no surprise, really" he continued, cutting her off. "Life evolving all alone is such a tragedy. I can't imagine the horror you've seen. Even just a few Earth weeks without God here and no one can get along. I can't imagine millenia at a time! Is it true that he only stayed for 3 days last time he was there?" | 2022-08-18T22:22:11 | 2022-08-18T17:33:13 | 51 | 30 |
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight. | "So, uh, we'll have to fight to the death?"
The princess shrugged. "Yeah."
"Okay, so... thing is, I'll definitely lose," I admit. "I'm not exactly a fighter, and I'm honestly still not sure why I'm here."
"My father said that you could be worthy of me," she replies, nonchalantly stoking the flame before us. Her chambers are cozy and modest, despite her status. "I doubt it, however. The only worthy man in the world can best me at swordplay. And as you already admitted, you certainly can't."
"Right, but... when you do find that worthy guy, what do you envision your life being like after he wins?"
"We will live in splendor and sexual bliss."
"You mean, after he wins."
"Correct."
I frown at her remark. "You mean, after he wins a fight, to the DEATH."
"Yes, as we've already discussed." She casts me a derisive glance. "You're not very bright, are you?"
I ignore her remark, for the time being. "I'm sorry, I just want to make sure we're on the same page here - after this mysterious suitor wins, a fight to the death, you envision a life with him?"
"Yes, why is this so hard to grasp for you?" She levels the poker she was stoking the fireplace with at my eye with a sneer. "Perhaps I should end this now, to put you out of your misery."
I pinch the bridge of my nose in irritation. "Princess, if you fight to the death and lose, what happens?"
"You die, fool."
"Right. And then?"
"And then you are buried with the rest of your idiot ancestors."
"Right. So, if you lose a fight to the death with your suitor, how would you then live a life with him, if you are dead?"
She hesitates for a moment, before coming back with a snappy answer. "Well... if I were going to be killed, then the fight would be ended, you foolish man."
"So then he wouldn't have won."
"What?"
"By law, you only win a fight to the death when your opponent is dead. Your opponent cannot forfeit. If you accept a forfeiture, you are executed as a coward. So how do you expect to marry a man that has either killed you, or been executed for sparing you?"
"Uh..." She finally lowers the poker, and I release a breath I didn't realize I had been holding. "I just assumed... that the rules would not apply to me. After all, I am royalty..."
"Then it wouldn't be a real fight to the death, would it?"
"No... No, I suppose it would not."
"So? What will you do now?"
She stares at me for a moment, as if contemplating something. "I suppose I will follow a... different human tradition." The dragon princess stands, her wings twitching restlessly as she stretches. "The 'shotgun wedding'."
"Wait, what?"
And that's how I went from taking a nap in a field, to being kidnapped by the head of a local family of dragons with a human- obsessed daughter, to being married to a dragon, all within one day.
No, I don't understand it, either. | So it had come to this. She pulled out her sword and I knew there was only one way I could win.
See, I'm not a swordfighter, or an expert of precision with any kind of weapon. I can really only wield two weapons to any deadly effect.
First up, the most versatile farming tool on Earth - the machete. I carry one with a stainless-steel blade as often as I can, and it's come in handy many times. I've won many a-fight with it. But it isn't a great weapon against even a novice swordfighter, much less the best in the land. This means I'm going to have to rely on the only ranged weapon I know how to use.
Grenades.
Just... lots of grenades, doesn't matter which kind. Out of a standalone or rifle-mounted launcher, rocket propelled (didn't have any of these, unfortunately), or just plain hand grenades. I *know* grenades.
Expecting a dramatic fight, I calculated that I needed to stand between 10 and 15 feet away from her at all times, so I readied my first explosive: A classic M26 hand grenade, manufactured in 1961 as Vietnam was ramping up.
But that dramatic fight I was expecting, I did not get, for she made the mistake of wearing a light jacket with pockets, and I threw the live grenade into a front pocket. She dropped the sword and fumbled with the coat, getting it off just before it ceremoniously exploded. She tried to reclaim her weapon, but I had her at machete-point by them and she simply surrendered.
&#x200B;
And that, kids, is how I proposed to your mother. | 2020-09-20T21:30:42 | 2020-09-20T19:37:35 | 127 | 72 |
[WP] Your father dies and you inherit his entire kingdom, even though you are not the eldest son. One night you overhear your brothers plotting your death, and you quickly realize why your father chose you as his heir. They are a bunch of idiots. | I had ascended my… rightful place to the throne? There was nothing correct about this situation. How, of all the various children begotten from King Lucian the Third did the bastard child manage to take the throne? It felt odd. Thin, pallid, lanky with no experience to my name, yet somehow thrust into a place of greatness and prestige. I had not come to the castle many times. I had been raised with my mother, a common woman -as it were- who did not have much wealth. In my youth, I had seen the king many times; but not here. Rainy nights, where the bearded man hand slipped in through the back door, discarding a cloak and pulling me into his lap while he and mother talked. Fond memories of a nice man, a caring neighbour, someone who I wanted to call dad.
His death would be when I discovered who he truly was, and who I was as well. When he was being placed into his tomb, his councillors informed that in his passing not one of his five sons would be entrusted with the throne. Instead, a bastard son would take the throne. The kingdom was in throes but his word would be accepted. I was the king.
Sitting at the head of a long table, my new siblings at my side we sat in silence. A heavy tension sat on my shoulders, eyes expectantly looking at me as I calmly sipped at my wine and ate my meal. Lucian the Fourth, the eldest, leaned forward slightly with his grip tightening on his knife. “B… brother…” the word sat obviously uncomfortably in his mouth,”What do you plan on doing with this kingdom… now that you are in charge?”
A fair question, if not a test of character. I smiled politely, setting down my fork and knife. “Well first, I would like to ensure that those who are at the lowest places in our society are cared for and treated well. They should be given the chance to thrive much like anyone else.” Faces scowled, an expected reaction. “I’d also like to stop taxing everyone so heavily, as it seems as though the funds are not being used for, satisfactory purposes.” I lifted an eyebrow spying on the second brother, Tyrias, in his fabulous new gold jewelry.
The fourth, Mikhail, swirled his wine glass in his hand. “Won’t you have some sort of dissent from those within your council?”
I smiled, baring my teeth with joy at such an obvious question. “Of course, but my brothers, I hope you will help me! I know that I have taking a seat you all yearned for, but I hope that I you all can support me in my endeavours.”
Scowls, smirks, all bearing the true thoughts of their owners. A promise would be made, but it was too obvious that they felt entitled to the greater power. My ideas, foolish as they were to them, were not enough to convince them to stop their trickery.
“I propose another toast, now that we’ve all eaten together. To our futures!” I stood and raised my glass, prompting the others to follow. I finished mine, and they all followed suite by finishing theirs as well. We finished our meal. I left, much to their surprise. I didn’t go far, wanting to hear what they would do next.
In their perceived moment of peace, they pounced. All five lunging for my glass as though their lives depended on it.
“Who put it in there?” Lucian demanded in a bellowing voice. Much too loud for a murder scheme, but he did not seem to understand that.
“I thought it was Mikhail!” Tyrias grabbed the younger male, shoving him roughly.
“I didn’t have it! I thought you did!” Mikhail turned to his younger brother Edward, youngest of the group.
“Of course I didn’t have it! I was in the maid’s quarters!” Oh, debauchery. That would be dealt with later. I smirked as they continued. “And you, Richard?”
The third son, Richard, shrugged. “I was with Lucian! Who had it anyway?” The lot checked their beings, each producing a small bit of a small white powder. Their next move though, proved to be the most surprising. Each one sampled their own product, quickly perishing having placed the powder in their mouths.
Idiots, the lot of them. It was understandable now how the king had chosen me. I entered the room, standing over their bodies as they gasped for help and smiled. “My brothers! What have you done to yourselves?” I asked, the joy in my voice was all too evident. “I must say, being branded the Unworthy King has its perks, does it not? You’ve done me a favour, as this kingdom has no room for dissenters. Especially stupid ones.” I watched them writhing in pain before taking my leave. “Your sacrifice tonight will not be in vain my brothers, I will take good care of that throne for you all.” | The day of the funeral, I came home from the wall. I mourned with my family for three weeks before finally deciding I was no longer welcome in the night cathedral with the rest of them. The ceremony was getting boring anyways. Sure, there were tournaments, feasts, and a pure burning, but yesterday and today was just a bunch of legal documents.
I was saddling up Cubert when a runner sprinted round the corner shouting my name.
“Brandon! Searching for Brandon Willhold, fifthborn of David the great! Brandon Willhold!”
“Over here!” I called after him.
His body followed his head in a scampering half turn as my voice reached his ears. He closed the distance between us and caught my eye across the stable’s half door.
“Why is my name being called”
“Sire,” he gasped, “urgent news, it appears you are still required at the will reading. You have more to inherit.”
I thought that was odd. I already got my fifth of the family gold and a few bits of furniture. I followed the jest-like runner, a boy of no more than 15 with an eye that couldn’t seem to leave the ground. This was going to be interesting.
I walked into the great hall through the back entrance, and was greeted by a glimmer of jewelry.
The crown laid upon my head was a heavy thing, a pure silver band spiraling to the top of my head with a gold laurel and a single large opal centerpiece surrounded by the amethysts of Hadrinia.
Hadrinia.
All of those 200 miles of mountain coast were mine, apparently. I never expected to be named the heir, since I was fifth youngest of a line of healthy boys and girls.
For clarification, my siblings were these:
Rodrik, firstborn son, 32 years old
Clea, firstborn daughter, 19 years old
Amethyst, second daughter, 17
David II, twin to Amy, 17
Me- Brandon Willhold, fifth child, turning 17 next moon.
Ida, honorary title of “little shit”, 9
How in the world did *I* inherit the throne? I had no idea, but there I was, first week in the rule of the kingdom, doing away with the wenches and nobles of court life.
7 months later, at Clea’s wedding, I caught a snippet of conversation.
“...Get you to your rightful spot on the throne after stepping over his dead body.”
My ears pricked up to the sound of gushing and giggling, from the direction of my family’s seats.
“Not in public, you buffoon”
Rodrik and second David sneak off to another room with rodrik holding David in a headlock.
I decide to follow them and excuse myself from the table. I slink to the sound of loud footsteps and raucous laughter.
They go around the corner well within earshot of me and start talking freely.
“The sand we put in his wine should be acting any minute now.” Second David said
“Did we really have to both put in sand? I wanted to put in a frog.”
I recalled that earlier during dinner, Rodrik asked for my wine glass. He kept it the entire dinner, and at dessert, chugged it himself.
Freaking idiots, that’s why I became king.
They will be put to death in time | 2019-05-14T16:20:27 | 2019-05-14T14:51:48 | 285 | 129 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | Every soul before me for a millennia chose Heaven.
Every. Single. One.
The way "The Choice" works is simple. One at a time, you enter a room with two staircases. One is a staircase of marble and gold basked in sunlight leading up far into the sky. You can feel the warmth at the base of the stairs. The fifth stair is in steel, marking the point of no return. After you pass this step, your choice is "locked in"
The second staircase is made of cold, hard steel, beyond anything seen even in the most industrial setting. This staircase leads down, far beyond what can be seen into the darkness. You feel a cold, bitter breeze coming up. The fifth stair is made of gold. Again, this stair is the point of no return.
My entire life, I analyzed every decision. Every one. Its just something I have always done. From what career I went for (accounting) to what I wore my 1st day of 1st grade (blue jeans and a red t shirt, the school colors), I carefully thought of every scenario.
Something did not add up. Why make the pathway going up seem so much better than the one going down. What was wrong with the one going up? I knew that if you took something bad, put ribbons and bows on it, people would still choose it.
So I stepped on the first step. A soft voice cried to me "Come to me my child. Come up and join me."
I stepped back. From fear or surprise, I just instinctively jumped back.
I went to the second staircase and got onto the first step. A voice cried from above. "Stop!! What are you doing? That s the wrong path!! You belong up here, with me!!"
Out of fear or shock from the whole scene, I stepped down again and again.
"Noooooooooooop!!!"
Another step.
The next one would take me to the point of no return.
"Stop!! You cannot take that path!!"
I took the step......
The staircase was quickly encased in a soft, golden light. The cold, bitter breeze changed to a soft, warm wind.
You can polish trash, and still have just trash.
The staircase was shorter than I imagined. After a couple of minutes, I arrived at the bottom. An older gentleman greeted me, immaculately dressed in a grey suit.
"Welcome. We haven't had anyone join us in over 1000 years."
I glanced around. There was suffering. No fires. I knew that I made the right decision.
"You were right. He does have a better marketing campaign. Yes, this is Hell, but nothing like the Hell that is described. You see, God is nothing like described in the books. He's an arrogant, self indulgent, narcissist who sacrificed his child to promote his own ego. He dupped mankind to blindly follow him, even though he brought war, famine, disease and other atrocities."
I looked at the man.
"Why? How come he's up there?"
"That is another conversation for another time. We have plenty of time. Please, follow me. Welcome to Hell, population of 643, including you. Everything you could need or want is available. There is no torture or pain or suffering. That is for everyone who makes the other choice. You see, those that choose Heaven is forced to serve. Pain and suffering is to do his bidding, every second of every minute of every hour of every day. There's no time off, no relaxation, no eternal joy. The only one who gets that is him."
"I'm sorry, I didn't get you name."
"Oh my, where are my manners. I'm sorry, it has been a while since we have had a new person here. My name is Lucifer. You probably know me as Satan."
"How come there aren't more people here."
My guide chuckled and shook his head. "Like I said, he has a better marketing campaign. You know it as the Catholic Church." | The woman in the gate couldn't believe her eyes. There was a young woman there. In Hell. By choice. And she looked at peace. How long has she seeing something like this? 1000 years? 10000? It was so unexpected that she forgot the protocol. She just stared.
The girl approached the desk with small steps, looking around with an easy look. She cleaned her throat and spoked:
- Alright, where do I begin?
The woman recompose and started speaking.
- You need to sign here and here, with your name and information while alive. Do you see here? It says Hell. Do you know what that means?
The young woman calmly answered.
- Oh yes, I know very well. I'm the only one here, I presume?
- Yes, you are. The only human in many, many years.
- Okay, then. Let me fill this up.
- May I ask why, thought? - asked ashamed the woman in the desk. I just never expected this in all my immortality.
- Oh, of course. It is a little odd, isn't? Well. I just made a promise.
- You promised to go to Hell? Who would you made such promises and why? That's just insane! You can go to Heaven and never see the people! It's Heaven! If you choose, they're be away from you for eternity!
- But that wouldn't be right, would it? I made a promise and that would be cheating.
- But there's actual murderers there! Bad people, who broked a lot more than a promise.
- But these people are not me. And they made their choice. I made mine. - the young woman said like it was the ultimate truth. And it was. She made her choice.
- Can I ask you one more question before sending you in? I know it must be annoying answering, you don't have to if you don't want.
- I don't mind. I'll have eternity here anyway. What is it?
- Who was the promise to?
- My sister.
- Your sister wanted you to go to Hell?
- My sister wanted a lot of things, but never to be in the same place I was. And I love my sister more than anything alive or dead. So I came here, and she can go there.
The woman's look was the last thing the girl saw before the elevator started descending. | 2018-08-13T09:57:08 | 2018-08-13T09:21:04 | 57 | 21 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | "Hey, Kiesha" I said as I slipped into my seat behind her.
Keisha whipped around in the crappy desk/chair combo, ringlets bouncing and eyes wide. Before she could ask the obvious question and derail the plot I cut in.
"I am so, so, so sorry for bailing on you last night. I promise I didn't mean to. I really really do want that date. I just had family stuff come up. Promise! Just like I said in the text." I ended with my best kicked puppy look.
"Text?" Keisha croaked.
"Oh god, did you not see it? I sent it in seventh period yesterday." I put on my best panicked act. "I swear, I would never ever ghost you. I was going to ask you out, you just beat me to the punch."
She reached a shakey hand into her bag and pulled out her phone. Eyes flicking over the text that had magically appeared. Before she could respond the bell rang and Mr. Parker barked at folks to quite down.
.---
The end of the day rolled around and Keisha pulled out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell (sorry, had to).
I pulled out my phone, found Jen Nunez in my contacts, and made the call I had been putting off since I came conscious at 3am.
"Hey Andrew, our usual meeting's a ways off. You need something?"
"Yeah, Officer Nunez. I uh, broke the terms of my parole last night."
"What!" The sounds of a person bursting into motion rattled over the phone to accompany the exclamation. "How, what did you do! Damnit Andrew, stay exactly where you are till I come get you!"
"A soul anchor and a delayed resanguination. No animation or spirit work other than the anchor." As I said that the other end of the line stilled.
"Did you get attacked by a damn vampire?" Jen Nunez asked.
"Yeah." I responded.
"Shit, Hugo! I've got an alleged Vampire attack in Boulder!" She shouted away from the mic. "Why isn't Margaret calling me if you got attacked?"
"Well, mistress is in the middle of some tricky Enchanting. Also... she wouldn't have approved of what I did next."
"What did you do next."
"Uh." I flicked my vision into my familiar, Batholomew's, eyes as Kiesha dug up my body double.
"A bit of grave robbing and a flesh warp."
"WHY!"
I thought about that for a second. Eyes still on Keisha as she found the flesh warp glyph on 'my' arm. And rubbed it away. Revealing the poor old bloke I'd used. Tears streaming down her face.
"You know that girl I've been telling you about?"
"Keisha Walters?"
"Yeah, her. She kept crying and apologizing when she attacked me last night." I explained. "I think she's a fresh turn, and probably in trouble."
Keisha pulled her phone out of her pocket. I got the conversation through Bart's tinny raven hearing.
"S-sire. I did what you ordered me to do. But, but somethings wrong. I'm sorry. I swear, I did everything you said." Keisha was clearly terrified.
I cut back to my own conversation.
"-exactly where you are, I swear, don't move a muscle!" Jen was ranting.
"Sorry Officer Nunez, but you're always telling me that I need to try to think about how other people feel. And right now, there's a girl who's scared and needs my help." And on that note I hung up. | I took my seat next to her my arms crossing over the desk as I place my head down. " Yknow Cait, I'm really tired, and it's your fault, now I'll have to fight sleep during this boring lesson, could have at least done it on a Friday night, not a Monday Night"
She looked baffled as I turn my head to face her the look on her face told me everything, she thought she was going nuts her gaze remained fixed ahead as attendance was taken
" Oliver "
" Here " I called out and as Ms Smith marked me as here the look on Caits face went from shock to fear to a quick blankness.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
The bell rung to signal the end of the day. I began my walk home only to feel something grab my hand and tug me into a tiny alley.
" What are you?" She nealry snarled her voice quivering
" Nothing, and yet everything" I responded a small grin growing on my face.
"How are you alive? Why havent you told anyone?"
"You think anyone would believe me if I said 'hey so my crush Caitlyn Hill drained me of my blood put me in a 6 foot deep grave but I just dug myself up' They'd think I'd gone nuts"
" Well what are you going to do?" She demanded
I turned back towards the street as I spoke " What I'm supposed to do, what I'm here to do, act natural"
I could feel her watching me as I turned down the street, hopefully she wouldnt mention her failed murder to anyone that was like her, who knows what sick bastard vampires would do if they found an infinate source of blood. | 2022-12-29T21:03:56 | 2022-12-29T20:13:07 | 87 | 32 |
[WP] A new communication device discovers that stars are sentient beings, and they endlessly gossip about humanity because we're their version of an entertaining TV show. | Anderson saw Clark enter the room, and swallowed. He wouldn't like what he heard. He wouldn't like it at all.
"We've finally translated it, sir," said Anderson. "You can listen to the live transmission right now...uhm, there might be some delay whilst the device translates it into English. But you can listen."
Clark grinned despite the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. Images of himself receiving the Nobel Prize to thunderous applause swam through his head. He willed them away. It wasn't time to celebrate yet.
"Let me hear it," he grabbed the headphones from Anderson and jammed it on his head, his hands trembling.
There was a brief pause before he heard the words, a high-pitched, warbling sound. But perfectly understandable English. They were the first institution to successfully translate the strange language discovered five years ago - he was experiencing a historic moment.
"What I miss?" he heard something say. Watching the monitor, Clark could see the star speaking was Procyon.
"Oh, nothing much. They're fighting in the Middle East again." The answer came from Sirius.
"I don't want to hear about the wars, you know that," Procyon said, sounding annoyed. "Bores me to tears." Despite the distances, they seemed to be able to communicate perfectly. Like some bizarre celestial whale song, Clark thought to himself, mesmerized by the exchange.
"Just wake Sunny for me, will you? I want to hear about the game," said Procyon. "You know I can't see the details myself. Going fricken blind, I'm telling you."
"Why do you *care* about that?" said Sirius. He sounded annoyed. "Bunch of dots kicking a smaller dot about. And knowing Sunny, he'll tell you the wrong outcome too, you know he hates anyone showing an interest in his planet."
"Elitist asshole," muttered Procyon. "Just because he's the only one with life near him...he doesn't own them! The fool could've made a killing setting it up so we can all see clearly what happens. But no, instead we rely on whatever we can see from this distance, and word of mouth from everything closest to it. It's not fair."
There was a brief silence before Sirius spoke again.
"You know they found another life planet? Why don't we tune into that? I've heard the star there set it up so everyone can watch."
"Please. Just a bunch of slugs, still," Procyon said gloomily. "I'd rather watch the war on Earth than that. And personally I'm waiting for Sunny to do it, he might decide to go any moment now. Haven't seen a self-inflicted supernova for a while. Should be good."
Sirius made a screeching noise that sounded vaguely like a shocked gasp.
"You're messed up, you know that? I mean, we should probably try to stop the whole thing...I know he talks about it like he's looking forward to it, but it's a bit grim, don't you think?"
"I won't miss him," said Procyon, and added, "or his crackpot theories about what will happen after his explosion. You know he told Betelgeuse he thinks he'll be reborn as some sort of...star overlord? A few extra planets and a sprinkle of intelligent life, and he thinks he's the center of the universe. The guy's a nutjob."
"And the humans? There have been some good bits," said Sirius. "Remember when they landed on their moon? That was pretty exciting, right? Maybe they'll do something like that again. Swing by our way, maybe..."
"I don't know, man," sighed Procyon. "I really can't stand Sunny. Can you imagine how smug he'll be if they ever figure out interstellar space travel? We'll never hear the end of it. No, I think I'd like to see him blow himself up, that'd be more exciting than the moon landing." There was a brief silence before Sirius made a ghastly noise that might have been a chuckle.
"Maybe you're right. They're bound to find a more exciting life planet soon, anyway. Remember the Greklings? Best sense of fashion in the multiverse, those guys. Made nice spacecraft, too."
"I slept through the best part of their civilization," said Procyon. "You'll wake me up if something like that turns up again and I'm asleep, right?"
"Sure," said Sirius. "We weren't friends back then, remember? I'll definitely wake you up next time, though. I heard Alpha Centauri has some footage of the Grekling times, I'll ask her for them."
They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Clark removed the headphones with numbed fingers and stared at Anderson.
"We need to work on the device," he whispered. "We need to contact the sun." | It was our "daily episode." After listening in for what seems like months, we figured out when our prime time is. All the world's governments have stopped fighting and have agreed that the only way we are to last is by entertaining these behemoths. We would put on the best shows we could. Last year it was the polka of the world. Everyone danced the polka and drank heavily for a whole week. This year, we are planning the "Great War of 2053." 1 week war with enough guns and ammo to kill the world over 3 times. We don't know why we do this but we feel we must. Some have begun worshiping our star. Treating it as if it was a god. Many theorize that ancient societies worshiped the sun for the same reason. It wasn't about providing light, heat, and food. It was about entertaining the sun. They must have built the technology to communicate or hear what the sun was saying. The sun has been playing and manipulating humanity like some kind of sick Civilization game mixed with The Sims. People killed in the name of the sun and continue to do so. Our only hope is to praise the sun in a more promising way. We can only pray the war doesn't work. We can only hope the war is boring. The sun wants to be entertained and we haven't hit the sweet spot. If it is war, humanity doesn't have much of a bright future. It is only a matter of time until the sun decides to cancel us and let a new society come along.
"Johnson! Wake up!" Yelled Big Tony.
I woke up and realized it was a dream. I am in such an odd place though. Dirt, mud, and why does my leg hurt? Wait a minute... No! This can't be. It is the great war! My leg is bleeding. I must of passed out from the pain!
"Get a medic over here now!" Yelled Big Tony.
"What is going on Tony!? Why am I bleeding!?" I screamed to know.
"You have been hit by a ricochet. We have been trying to defend the labs for 6 days now. You really can't handle pain. Now follow the medic back and he will take care of that wound." Explained Big Tony.
I followed the medic back. He was saying things to me but all I heard was mumbling and droning. My leg felt like a thousand needle have went into it at once all in the same spot. I didn't bother looking down. If we are on day 6. That means the war is almost over and we can repair from it. Wait! What is that rumbling! No! NO!!! Someone dropped a nuke on us! Where did it come from? Who launched? Everybody agreed to not use their nukes during the great war! It is over! It is finally ov...
EDIT: Added Oxford comma. It was really bugging me.
EDIT 2: Changed "this" in sentence three to "these."
EDIT 3: See /u/Caroz855 's comment. | 2014-07-16T05:53:52 | 2014-07-16T05:49:07 | 77 | 12 |
[WP] Mankind has never achieved first contact: Aliens flee on sight; Even their planets are left behind. One day, misfortune brings opportunity: an alien ship with a crew can't make the jump.
So, my first WP. I would love to see which direction you'll take it. I'll read all replies and should you wish so, provide feedback. | Captain Forley sat down across from the Xeno. He...or she....whatever....It was surprisingly human. Skin a different tone, something to do with their star. But in general, it seemed sentient intelligence tended toward carbon based, oxygen breathing, bi pedal mammals everywhere. Fair enough.
The Xeno stared down at the cheap steel interview table, it seemed....despondent
"Did you hear me? I said, the Marines who brought you aboard say you can communicate using verbal means? Are you comfortable with English? Francais? Deutch? Espanol? Whatever you prefer."
The Xeno's slightly too small eyes looked up at Forley. " English is fine."
"Good. I am the Captain of the ship, U.N.S.G.V. Resolve. This is the one hundred and seventh time the United Nations of Earth have encountered your species, Assuming the FTL signatures of the ships that left the sector an hour ago aren't a coincidence."
The Xeno shook it's head, not unlike a human gesture. Forley plowed on.
" It is the eleventh time our appearance has sparked a planet wide evacuation of one of your worlds...." He left a silence hanging. Perhaps the Xeno was unfamiliar with verbal cues. "Do you have a response, or view point on what I have said?"
"I do not."
"Let me be blunt then. Why? Why have you abandoned entire worlds? Without so much as communicating with us. Humanity has not had a war in eleven generations. We have evolved into a peaceful race and we could learn, so much from one another."
The Xeno placed his hands on the table, they were shorter, stubbier than human hands. "We know. We all know. All nine thousand two hundred and forty four sentient species of the Galactic Community know."
"There are more species? More civilizations than just yours?" Forley grinned. At the discovery. The honor due him as the man who had found the greater universal community. There would be history books with his name in it. This was...unprecedented.
"That is why."
"Why what?"
"That is why we run, why any species who you encounter. Will ALWAYS run."
Forley blinked, it knew what he had been thinking. "I don't understand."
"Humanity....or as every other member of the universe knows them....'The Plague' has found internal peace. They are spacefaring.....And they are united.....No longer fighting themselves. They are spreading at break neck speed. A species armed, and steeped in a thousand generations of violence and war.....None of the rest of the universe even have words for concepts like 'war' or 'genocide'.....You are coming.....and We are doomed."
"That is preposterous!" Forley spluttered. "You are judging us before we have done anything!"
"Am I?" The Xeno replied sadly.
"Then why, when I mentioned no other species even has the ability to understand the concept of 'war' did your mind flicker, ever so briefly, to how easily they would all be to defeat?"
"I.....I dont believe I...."
"You did.....The Plague, a sentient species that is unable to form self homeostasis and prone to superstition, violence, and......the universe is doomed."
Forley stood up. He had heard enough. Irrational. Ignorant. Stupid. This species did not want to communicate, and they presented no threat to him or his ship.
Or did they....He didn't trust him. It seemed too convenient. A ruse, probably. He had better bring the ship's alert status to code orange. Probably better to prep the weapons bays. Just to be safe. Yes.
Just to be safe. | "Sir, Lieutenant Fullerton reporting as ordered."
"At ease. Sit." Captain Henshaw said, gesturing to the chair opposite him.
"Lieutenant, I know you've filled out your incident report, but I need to hear it from you. Everything that happened. You have permission to speak freely.
"And what about him, sir?" Fullerton said, nodding towards the the civilian-attired figure standing in the corner.
"I think you can guess why he is here."
Lieutenant Fullerton nodded.
"We entered Xeros VI around 16:15 GST. The planet had already been evacuated. When we arrived, their ships were already jumping, except for one. My science officer said that their warp-fusion matrix had gone faulty."
"Go on."
"They maneuvered as best they could with their sub-light drives. I coordinated with the gunships *Tallahassee* and *Rome* to trap him in the asteroid belt around the moon. I tasked Sergeant Bishop with leading the boarding party. At 17:30 the landing shuttle initiated breach."
"And?"
"The Xarthid crew members were all dead. Self-inflicted. We captured the captain as he was trying to scuttle the ship."
"Thank you Lieutenant. We'll call you if you're needed."
"Yes sir." He said, snapping a salute.
Captain Henshaw watched silently as Lieutenant Fullerton left the room. He let out a sigh and was rubbing his eyes when his personal communicator chirped. He answered, and listened in silence for a long moment, before saying "Understood" and hanging up. He swiveled to face the silent man in the corner
"That Xarthid Captain we captured just committed suicide. Snapped off one of his incisors with his bare hands and slit his throat with it."
The silent man nodded, a contemplative look on his face. Henshaw continued.
"They've run at every contact, and kill themselves when captured. What does it mean?"
"It means they're deathly afraid of us, and we haven't the slightest clue why."
| 2015-03-14T21:42:01 | 2015-03-14T20:54:04 | 68 | 13 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | I remember asking my mom if her sigil vibrates on her skin. The look of confusion told me what I felt I already knew. My circle, though plain, feels alive.
There were no issues in elementary school, nor middle school. It was junior high that brought my happiness with my humming sigil to a screeching halt.
Victor began to torment me. No one, not even the teachers, stopped him. Day after day I came home wishing to cease my existence. During each fight, each punch, my sigil hummed faster. It even glowed red once, or was it my distorted vision from the punches?
"Failure of a man is what you are! Who is so cursed that they have no powers, huh? Show me your powers, ya bitch!" His mark reminded me of Cerberus, the dog that protected Hades. Thick and ugly, just like him; powerful fists that pound me into the ground. I took it, the punches and taunts, day after day. The nurse patching me up afterwards, while Victor was "lectured".
I went home, contemplating ending my life. It's just too much, and today he had broken several bones. The "Welcome home Sarge" sign in the yard made my heart drop.
My dad is home from the war. I walk in to see my siblings oh so happy to meet the hero of the century, the man with the Griffin sigil. He looked at me with severe disappointment though, as if he could see the circle on my collar bone. It vibrated quicker as he stood up. "Get out of my sight."
"Daniel," mother shouted, "he is your son!"
"He's nothing."
I went to my room, the fight escalating downstairs. It took everything in me to push the tears down. "What do you do besides vibrate?" I asked, eyeing my empty sigil. My question was left unanswered, even as I laid in bed.
I am in no mood to handle Victor's taunts today, and honestly, I'm pretty sick of him. My father's words bouncing around in my head, to the point that I want to scream. His hand is what brings me out of my reverie.
"You answer when I speak to you! You're nothing afterall!"
"Nothing," I snarled, "then leave me alone. If I'm nothing, why waste your time?"
The punch hit the back of my head so hard, I blacked out. The only words I felt in my head, weren't my father's cruel words, or anyone else's, but help me. That's when lights of every color filled my vision. The warmth started from my collar bone, and went to my toes.
"Of course, I'll help. That's all you had to do-ask."
When I come to, there's a dragon in the hallway, half of Victor in its mouth. Brilliant colors shine on every scale, as opal eyes look at me.
"Uhhh... drop him." My voice is tentative, yet I feel like I know this creature. It obliges, and shrink down to wrap itself around my neck. As Victor stands up, it hisses at him, sending Victor into a corner. I simply walk away, with a smirk. They all wanted to know so badly, now I feel their regrets in finding out. While I'm elated.
I walk to my next class, as I feel the vibration return. My circle, not an empty thing after all. It was an egg. I look at my collarbone, and there, in my circle, is a dragon winking at me. | The bullies had surrounded me and one gave an experimental push to see how I'd react. I stumbled onto the ground and tore my sleeve on one of the school lockers as I fell, revealing the circular sigil on my inner wrist, where someone else might put a tattoo of a butterfly or something.
"Just be cool," I thought, "They're only jealous." I could tell from the look in the eyes of the guy that pushed me that he was only curious about me and didn't know how to express his feelings. If only he knew how to do that, he was kind of hunky and maybe I could change him.
They crowded around me and it felt very claustrophobic. I told them, "You don't want to do this," but they didn't listen. They never do.
"Or what?" they asked. "You got kicked out of your last three schools. Probably because you're too lame. Maybe it's time we found out what a simple sigil like you can actually do."
"Leave her alone!" shouted Chad, who was the quarterback and totally had a crush on me, but I had no time for him and his sports while I was taking all my AP classes. But they didn't listen to Chad either, and he was too far away to help me.
It didn't matter though, since I knew Kung Fu and Jeet Kune Do, the martial art that Bruce Lee made. My sigil of the perfect circle made me perfect in whatever I studied. I delivered a roundhouse kick to all their faces and it was over before it started.
Chad rushed to my side in concern, asking if I was OK, and I totally was. Nothing could hurt me, except for the weakness of my sigil: that it was also a hole in my heart that nobody could fill.
"I'm fine, Chad," I said. "It's about time they learned nobody hurts Mary Sue." | 2020-02-26T12:40:00 | 2020-02-26T09:26:44 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Humanity has discovered immortality but not interstellar travel. The world is in decay due to climate change and no one can escape it. As a punishment, climate change deniers are sentenced to immortality so that they can face the consequences of their actions | The courtroom was bleak, as was the sentence, but Jim wore an absurdly optimistic grin, as if he was receiving a reward rather than punishment. He, like other deniers, lived in a world free of logic, rationality, and hard-won facts. He did not live in reality.
He would soon, whether he knew it or not.
"Jim Habbert," read the judge. She used her formal tone, dashed with an extra sense of weight due to the magnitude of the sentencing. "You are charged with denying the facts of climate change, intentionally working toward the demise of our world, and, therefore, are additionally charged with the manslaughter of millions."
That was new, manslaughter bit. If Jim was phased, he hid it well.
"And how do you plead?"
Jim took a deep breath, his eyes filling with the hard confidence of a passionately misinformed man.
"Not guilty," he said loudly.
He smiled; it was a wicked smile, full of teeth and utterly lacking in empathy. "I can't be guilty of something that *isn't true*. You are all sheep! Brainwashed, stupid sheep who follow every command made of you! Wake up! Wake up and--"
The judge cut him off with a stern stare and blunt words. "Enough," she said. "I hope you have thought over your decision well." She flipped through a few of the necessary papers, taking her time and allowing the tension to grow.
"Jim Habbert, you are hereby sentenced to immortality. May you witness the horrors of your own ignorance."
With that, the court was adjourned, and Jim was shuttled to me.
I waited patiently. My job was not a pleasurable one; I was in charge of carrying out such sentences. Jim was the forth of the young year.
"Hello," I said quietly, once Jim had taken his seat across the cold, blank table.
He chose to stare, rather than respond. I could see no remorse in those eyes, only glee at what was once thought of as the ultimate gift, the punishment he was about to receive--immortality.
"I want to make sure you realize what is going to happen to you," I said. It was a well-practiced, scripted speech, but I usually chose to improvise as I saw fit. It made it feel a little more natural, a little more humane.
"You will be immortal." His face lit up. "Which, as I'm sure you know, means you will not be able to die. Now, when I mean you won't be able to die, I truly mean it. No matter how hard you try, where you go, or how much you suffer, you will not be able to die.
I grimaced. The next part was always the most difficult. "That doesn't mean you won't feel pain," I said. He frowned at this. "You will be fully capable of suffering. And you *will* suffer. Pain is inescapable. And when humanity is gone, and as the earth warms and temperatures rise, you will burn. You will burn until the earth cools. And when it cools, you will freeze."
He didn't look so excited now. They never did, once they reached this point.
"Your body will break," I continued. "Your mind will flee, but *pain* will persist. And you will be unable to die."
Cold, hard silence befell as the truth finally penetrated his thick skull.
I checked my watch and sighed. "It's time," I said. "It's time for your punishment."
For the first time, I think he recognized it as such. | Jean threw another sodden log onto the fire and watched the tide coming in. His long, matted hair waved in the sea breeze. At least he had been able to shave the other day. How long had it been? Long enough to grow nearly to his waist, long enough that the huge beach where he had been relegated had shrunk from a 100 meter strip of rock and tidal pools down to a 10 meter stretch of semi-dry swamp ground. At least the lucky deathies above had taken to putting their dead out to sea with useable items like the razor.
He climbed up a bit higher into the tunnel. Long-rusted stubs of metal provided purchase for him to climb in. Tiles reflected green slime in the flickering orange of his fire. Letters, only partly readable now, said N-W Yor- Sub——. On the island above, nobody needed these tunnels any more, so they were left to rot, like him, discarded and useless.
He picked up a paper and climbed back down to the fire. The smooth plastic surface reminded him of his child, and the last conversation he had had. “But dad, you can see it! These plastic papers are the final straw! I know it is making you a lot of money, but what good is money when all your food is eating plastic and starving? You can’t take it with you!”
Jean cackled madly. He could take it with him! He would have forever to spend it! Look at the billions packed down here, hell he even used it as a bed like those dragons in the bedtime stories his own grandfather had read to him!
His laugh growing ever louder, more cracked, and higher pitched until the giggle had turned to mad guffaws, he started reading the serial numbers in his useless money once more. High above him, floating among steel wires and clouds, the remnants of the mortal society went on, watching their biodegradable screens, content to let the man suffer has he had been content to let their great grandparents suffer, and every generation since. | 2021-02-02T11:34:06 | 2021-02-02T09:11:27 | 121 | 45 |
[WP] You’re walking down the street and take a seat on a bench. As you relax, you suddenly wake up inside a tube. An Ai says “Your criminal sentence is complete”. You turn around and see earth out the window. “W-What happened?” “Your consciousness has been returned to your body. You are free to go” | [A Different Take]
"I don't understand."
The dark haired man spoke monotonously. He looked towards his superior, his expression slightly guilty. His superior's eyes still glued towards the billions of pods arranged in a fibonacci sequence.
The officer asked without looking at him,
"What do you not understand?"
The rookie looked at the view below them. He responded,
"The point of this... No, what this _feels."_
He tilted his head back, and looked forward.
"I know I can endure something like this. To me, it's not torture—maybe it is, if it wasted my time."
The officer eyed him, eyes still understanding—or maybe it was just neutrality.
The officer spoke,
"Everyone is different."
The rookie nodded, and then spoke, "I take it back. I still don't understand what the point of this is."
The officer replied, "You don't have to. It's effective in it's own way."
The rookie turned towards his superior, still holding that same innocent and emotionless face.
He looked at his superior's eyes, and then spoke,
"Is the point of prison not to rehabilitate prisoners? Is not the point to help them help themselves?"
The officer looked back in slight curiosity.
"What purpose does this serve if it never solves the problem?"
The officer smirked slightly, and spoke,
"Those are good points. Rest assured that they are all taken care of."
The rookie tilted his head, his eyelids lowered slightly in disappointment at his superior.
The officer looked back at the pods, and continued,
"In these virtual lives they have, they learn new things."
The rookie turned towards the view.
"To us, it may be months, but to them, it would be years. In these years, they could learn things both good and bad. They could learn how to live."
The rookie looked towards a pod that started rising. The lights on it changed colors from the rest.
"In their release, their memories are kept. Whether or not those memories are slowly erased by their minds and lack of access to the Server, the lessons they've learned carry on."
The pod rose to their level, and a group of white-dressed doctors rushed towards the pod.
"It's not just the memories, or the habits alone: It's also about the feeling. They've spent longer living their virtual lives than they have their real ones."
The officer gestured towards the pod as it opened. The rookie's eyes followed.
"It's _required_ for every prisoner—it's a minimum requirement."
The pod opened, and a bed-like platform emerged. The doctors rushed toward it, checking and doing all sorts of procedures.
The officer continued,
"In having lived longer with relatively healthier relationships, they would not want to go back to their old ways."
The officer turned back to the rookie, and continued,
"The key point to this is not the conversion, but the consistent good behavior they put on."
The officer smiled, a true one this time,
"That's where people like you come into play."
The rookie tilted his head in slight confusion. The officer continued,
"After their release, the prisoners are all sent to programs where they can keep their good habits."
The rookie's eyebrows shot up in realization. The officer turned back towards the newly released prisoner, and continued.
"You are there to help them. Now that they _want_ to try, they need help knowing _how_ to improve."
The rookie nodded, thought the officer could not see it. The officer then turned back towards him.
"That is why you are here, rookie: to help them with habits."
The rookie looked at the pods, and spoke,
"I'm still a bit doubtful of everything, but I will trust you words, for now."
The officer nodded, and turned back to the pods. The officer spoke lowly,
"If there are flaws in the systems, please notify us of them."
The rookie nodded, and the officer continued,
"You are one of our most _brilliant_ students, I have high hopes for you."
The rookie monotonously replied,
"Please kindly not compliment my intelligence—It leads to a bigger ego, whether I know it or not, and bigger egos lead to lazier people."
The officer guffawed at this. The rookie remained impassive.
The officer soon stopped laughing and spoke, "I look forward to work with you, rookie."
The rookie nodded politely,
"Likewise."
---
***
I hope this is allowed since this was still inspired by the prompt, just maybe not the the right POV.😅 | The fluid around me flushes like a toilet while doctors and a corrections officer huddle around my tube.
One of the doctors, a skuttling Jupulid works on my medical chart with one set of squid-like arms while using the other to open me up.
The tube hisses and cracks open as a human doctor carefully removes my entubation. The sensation sets my throat on fire and I cough loudly as I hang from the restraints still keeping me in place. "W..water, man..."
The corrections officer is a brute of a dorgon with purple scaled arms like a crocodile each as wide as my head. He uncuffs one of my wrists and hands me, of all things, a Capri-Sun.
Abashed as I stare at the yellow straw and the dorgon's mocking, but amused, grin, I throw him a glare while slurping the pouch flat in a matter of seconds.
"Memory resync is successful." The Jupulid clicks his beak as he speaks a garbled Latin.
"Doc says you're fine, *they* say your sentence is over, but if I gotta see you again, Teyek, we'll send your head back to third Era Matrosen; and *you're* the Jinya." The seedy reptile eyes of the C.O. are tough, and hardened as usual.
Flexing one set of fingers, then the next, wiggling my bird-like feet, I turn to smile. "Of course, Garnash. You'll never see me again."
I spring from the tube and kick up my feet. There are only a few other races faster than a yinelta, as long as we're running in a straight line.
"Get her!" I hear Garnash yell, though skidding to a stop down the hallway, I crouch behind a crate and flatten out against it hoping the shifting color of my feathers throws them off.
Thundering feet charge past a moment later and I tightly close my eyes. Dorgons had been our natural predators for generations, but is Garnash domesticated enough to pass me by?
I only breathe again when I hear him snarling past my position.
Keeping low, I remove myself from hiding and slowly creep towards the ship bay. Regardless of my sentence being over, there's no way the dorgon would let me leave... so I'd have to jump a ship. By myself it'd be impossible, but luckily for me, a Varemese transport looks ready to leave.
Carefully and silently, I zip from cover to cover like a Terran road-runner until I come within range of the Varemese vessel.
As I'm about to slip in the back hatch, I see Garnash barge in to the area. The ship powers up and the hatch starts to close. I let down my camouflage to wave at him one last time before quickly ducking out of sight in the hold. | 2021-06-15T01:46:50 | 2021-06-15T00:48:16 | 51 | 21 |
[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. |
I knew he was trouble when he walked in.
He came in, head held up high, posture like someone had shoved a metal rod up his ass. Young, cocky, asshole. It was slow day, only a couple of people were around. None of the regulars. A guy working on his laptop, and another girl watching the snow fall over Union Square outside.
He walked over to the counter like he owned the place. He raised his voice. “You folk might want to leave,” he said. “This might get ugly.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. He must have a foot on me and his arms were as thick as my thighs. The two customers looked at me and I nodded. “Best to leave, yeah.” They hurried out. What were the odds either of them would call the cops? Next to none. They’d think the other person would.
“You want something?” I asked.
The man picked up a cup and threw it at the wall next to my head, probably intending to make me flinch. I caught it as it flew by my head and set it back down. The PTSD and emotional trauma did come with some upsides.
“So you’re Elizabeth, I take?” eyes narrowed.
I went with the classic response. “Depends on who’s asking.”
He sneered. “Nobody’s asking, *sweetheart,*” he said. “We’ve been keeping track of what kind of clientele you serve. The rotten. The wannabes. The worst of the worst.”
“Strange,” I mused. “None of them have ever threatened me in my own workplace. Truly, nothing screams paragon of virtue like trying to intimidate women.”
He walked over to a table, picked it up with one hand and threw it against the wall. The table shattered and left a dent in the wall. He picked up a metal chair and, looking me in the eyes, bent it in half.
I rolled my eyes. “You realize you’re paying for that, right?”
He laughed and continued to wreck the place. Tables, chairs, vases, whatever he could find his hands on, grinning all the time. This was just pathetic, this is what the League had resorted to? Petty intimidation? And it could only be the League with their idiotic ideals of heroism. The government weren’t a bunch of thugs, and anyone else wouldn’t have bothered with the intimidation, they would’ve tried to kill me. Honestly, I would have preferred that. That was honest. This though…
“Are you done?” I asked as he sauntered back over to me.
“For now I am,” he said, again with that grin showing impeccable teeth. I was tempted to punch him…but no. I was out. I didn’t interfere anymore. It wasn’t worth it. “Now listen here, no more serving your “regulars,” yeah? Tell them someone, ah, tipped you off to what they really are. And that you don't serve their kind."
“They don’t trash the place, and tip well. They seem like better customers than you are.”
He leaned closer, looking me dead in the eyes. “Now, the League is protecting all of you from…maniacs like them, maybe you should be a little grateful.” He straightened. “You know, it might get some people thinking, why would any self-respecting citizen serve people like them. Might give the League the wrong idea...”
A handful of people sauntered into the shop snow on their shoulders. “I heard you were having trouble, Liz,” the man in the lead, Jon, said. Behind him, there was Rory, her red hair falling out of her fur hood and Michel, his dark skin a sharp contrast to the winter wonderland outside.
“Oh, speak of the devil,” the Leaguer said and *smiled.*” Actually smiled. He couldn’t see the tension in the air. I could feel it. Didn't realize how screwed he was.
“Jon, Rory, Mike,” I said, nodding to each of them. “What brings you here.”
“Heard a bull was running around in your shop, Liz,” Jon said, his eyes locked on the intruder. “Thought you could use some help getting it out.”
“Look, don’t worry about it,” I said, asshole or not the guy looked in his 20s. “He’s just a kid, let him go.”
He swiveled towards me, eyes ablaze. I mentally chastised myself. I hadn't thought before speaking. Forgot how sentimental these young heroes were.
“A kid? Listen bitch,” he spat, “I’ll show you how much of a kid I really am.” I saw the punch coming a mile away – really those idiots with super strength were always slow for some reason, and moved to the side, but I needn’t have bothered. The kid flew back and hit the wall with a wet sounding thud and a crack. One second he was in front of the counter reaching for me, the next he was against the wall, a red stain on the wall, his neck at an unnatural angle.
I put my head in my hands. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jon,” I snarled.
Jon frowned at me, moving his hand back down – he didn’t actually need to move his hand to use telekinesis – he just liked to show off. “He was going to hit you, Liz.”
“Seriously? You think that idiot could have even *touched* me?”
“I don’t know, Liz,” Rory spoke, laughing, “You’ve been out for a long time…”
I glared at her. “Now the league will investigate, things will only go downhill.”
Jon’s voice was laced with steel. “The League won’t fucking dare.”
I knew that tone of voice. “Jon no…”
But he was already turning away. “C’mon Rory, Mike. Let’s have a chat with the local League office.”
I surveyed the broken tables, the body, the blood. "Leaving the adult to clean up the mess..." I muttered uncharitably and went in the back to get the bleach.
***
Due to demand, I present
[Part 2: Blood on the Snow](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/9q1h8u/urban_fantasy_blood_on_the_snow_out_of_retirement/?)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 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. | 2022-11-10T02:01:25 | 2018-10-20T22:39:44 | 1,330 | 12 |
[WP] Your father used to be a supervillain who faked his death in order to be with his family, but hid that from you in order to keep you safe. Unfortunately you look almost exactly like him, and this is in fact how you came to find out about his past in the first place | “You look just fucking like him,” my mother said every night as I tucked her into beer soaked sheets, her words slurring like the world’s most alcoholic bedtime lullaby.
“Sorry,” I’d reply the first few times, a routine that only stopped once she’d gotten in the habit of chucking the bedside ashtray at my head. Certainly helped with my reflexes, though, and made dodgeball games last just a little longer.
Which was useful when I was usually the last one picked. I used to wonder if the other kids at school saw the same thing my mom did, that small flicker of my father.
The badness.
He’d died sometime after I was born in a grocery run so I only know what my mother had told me, which wasn’t much. Most of those details revolved over what a bastard he was for leaving her, I was for finishing all the baby formula early, and that cop was for mistakenly shooting him.
I thought, at first, it could be something in my eyes, or my skin, or the way I talked. So, I did my best to grow bangs out over my face, shoved my trembling hands into deep thrift-store pockets, and only spoke when absolutely spoken to - but the more I tried to hide the more things seemed to get worse.
My mom locked me out of the house when I first tried putting my hair up into a ponytail, and didn’t let me in until I’d shaved it all off. The teachers took me aside to insist I keep my hands on the table while in class, something like fear behind their fake-smiles. The kids laughed at my shaking voice, which was now raspy from disuse.
I tried fighting with the kids, but that just got me in trouble with the teachers. I tried yelling at the teachers, but that just got me in trouble with my mother. I tried crying and pleading with my mother for her to tell me what I had to do to get her to love me, but that just got me the longest hug I’d ever received and an abrupt three-am wakeup to the sound of sirens.
It was then, sitting on my dirt brown lawn in my dirtier pajamas, watching the police officers eye me warily from beside the ambulance, that I finally understood.
The world was full of ever-changing, unspoken rules, and as long as it was me they would always find something wrong. Whatever I was, whatever I had gotten from my father, be it looks or manners or some hidden darkness, it meant that I would never be accepted.
So I decided not to be me anymore.
With all the days I spent forced to watch TV at the interim foster home, the first step to my transformation ended up being the easiest to figure out. Solar Regent was an A-list superhero, the absolute best of best, her feats of heroism on constant replay on every public access news network. There was never a single photo op where she wasn’t posing in her signature salute, floating golden hair haloing the gleaming smile on her dark skin.
*Everyone* loved Solar Regent.
I ended up having to use a good chunk of my stashed savings on the hair dye, the rest on quarter laundry to get all the stains out of my usual clothes, and what pennies I had left I used to buy the cheapest pack of gum the corner store had.
My first day at the new school, I forced myself to smile.
I forced myself to smile and push every once of fear and paranoia that had defined me so long away, back somewhere where I could pretend they didn't exist. I offered gum to my seatmates, who complimented my *butch* hair cut, stayed after class to ask for extra ‘catch-up’ homework from suddenly sympathetic teachers, and I pretended I only had emotions that Solar Regent would have.
Good emotions. Emotions people liked.
It ended up, despite my most pessimistic fears, working. The kids thought it was cool my foster parents let me dye my hair, the teachers thought it was brave a little girl with such a hard life could still be so positive, and I soaked in their mild acclaim like a desiccated corpse.
I was accepted. After a while, and a nightly routine of memorizing every fun fact and preference expressed by every classmate, I was even liked. After a year of embedding myself as the happiest, nicest, and most considerate student in the school, I was *adored*.
Then came the report.
I thought there wasn’t anything left in the world that could betray me. Not this version of me. And yet, it was the very inspiration for this version of me that stared back from the textbook page and knocked the fucking breath out of me.
VANISHED SUPERVILLAIN NIGHTSHADE DISCOVERED AND DEFEATED BY UP AND COMING HERO SOLAR REGENT: WHAT’S NEXT FOR THIS BRIGHT ROOKIE?
There, defeated and in chains beside her, was my father. My father…and my spitting image. | My mom, Acrabella, was a minor league super hero. Think Simone Biles, but with just barely there super powers.
I used to bring her in for ‘what do your parents do?’ days at school. Way cooler than an accountant or even a zoo keeper, if you ask me.
I was always proud of what mom had done. Now she went by Bella and stayed at home taking care of me. My Dad, Frank, has a good job as a defense attorney. He has a pretty amazing record, so we have a big house and cool toys. He always seems to know just the right angle to take to get people off. It’s like his own superpower, I guess.
It’s funny: I look just like him. Tall, curly brown hair, thick eyebrows, average kind of face. Even the same lanky frame. I wish I looked more like Mom. She’s gorgeous with auburn hair and still as athletic and flexible as ever.
One day, we had to research biographies of superheroes or villains for class. Since Mom is a superhero, it didn’t seem fair to go that route as I could get the real inside scoop on a lot of the other heroes. So I went for villains. Surprisingly little is known about some villains. There are even those that have only a single grainy picture or two of them. I thought that was really interesting and kind of cool. How do you fly under the radar, if you’re a super villain?
I went to the town library for archival footage, mostly videos. I thought it would be cool to do my report as a sort of edited video mystery. Who is the real Omegaman? I’d picked him, as there was only one blurry still photo that was known to exist. He looked tall and slight, but basically a black blur on the picture. He’d masterminded some of the best heists in the world. The Louvre? Tick. The MoMa? Tick. The Hapsburg Treasury? Check. You name it, he’d broken in and got out without a trace. I couldn’t wonder how do you do that? Leave no trail. Even of the goods themselves. Each haul was never seen again. Did he sell it or keep it or what?
Omegaman was known as a dashing rogue amongst villains. Mainly because he left a single red rose and a poem at each crime scene. The media treated it as romantic, which was unusual for a supervillain.
I scanned the archives for each of the heists, trying to find an image or detail that had been missed. My own low rent true crime effort.
After a week, I found something that surprised the heck out of me: three crowd shots of the press briefings on three different continents and my Dad was at all of them. The only person I could find who appeared more than once. Strange.
I went home and asked Dad about it. Was he some kind of photographer or journalist before he met Mom?
He smiled wistfully. ‘You were bound to find out at some point. You’re too smart and inquisitive not to. In answer to your unasked question: yes, I was Omegaman. Your Mom tried to stop me on my last heist. For the first time in my life, I believed in love at first sight. I halted my heist and gave her the rose.’
‘The framed one in your bedroom, Dad?’ I asked trying to get my head around this.
‘Yes. The very same.’ Dad smiled. | 2020-07-16T15:17:28 | 2020-07-16T15:04:31 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] You have been Don of the largest mafia in New York for so long, that all credible sources of you ever killing anyone has died. At a family meeting, a young know-it-all, whose recently claimed his seat, says you've gone soft. | Cesario was embarrassed for young Eriberto. The hot-shot wunderkind, feeling emboldened by his fifth – or was it his sixth? – glass of wine, was running his mouth off about everyone – everyone including Don Savio himself.
"Maybe you should tone it down, Eriberto," Cesario whispered across the table.
"He can't hear me," Eriberto smirked. "Look at the old man."
Cesario brought his attention to the man at the head of the table. Yes, the silver-haired Don Savio was old, but he was still sharp. He watched as Savio's wrinkles deepened, his dark eyes squinting at the oversized smartphone in his trembling hand. He pecked at the screen like an arthritic chicken. Sharp enough, thought Cesario.
"Nobody takes us seriously anymore. The Micks and the Japs are stealing more of our territory every day while he sits around taste testing marinara. I said it before and I'll say it again: the old man is soft! They know it and you all know it too." Eriberto downed the remainder of his wine in one gulp and slammed the glass down onto the table.
The room fell silent as all eyes fell upon Eriberto. Only Don Savio remained distant, his attention still on his phone.
Eriberto leaned forward. He stared at Cesario with his striking green eyes. Cesario could see why Eriberto had a reputation with the ladies, why he shared his bed with the beautiful Agostina. He had looks and he had charm, but he had no respect.
"Only the hard survive. We need a new leader," he muttered. "You're all thinking it. I'm just saying it."
"And who do you propose become our new leader? You?"
Eriberto leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "If necessary."
Cesario felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He took it out and glanced at the screen before slipping it away. "One more round of wine," he said gesturing to the waiter. "Then it is time to retire."
Later that evening Cesario watched his breath float around him like phantoms. The winter air felt refreshing on his wine-reddened cheeks. He watched as Eriberto stumbled up the front steps of his sleek modern apartment building, his keys clanging against one another in his fumbling hands.
Cesario began approaching the building. He knew it wouldn't be long once Eriberto was inside. He and Agostina lived on the first floor.
He thought he heard muffled shouts from inside the building. He waited at the base of the steps and listened.
The door opened and a gasping Eriberto nearly fell down the steps. He collapsed to his knees at Cesario's feet and clutched his black dress pants with crimson red hands.
"Jesus Christ Cesario!" Eriberto cried. "Agostina! Agostina!"
Cesario eyed the door as two hulkish men in trench coats emerged in the frame. He looked back down to the sobering and sobbing Eriberto.
"I'd like to read you a text message," Cesario said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Its the hard things that break. Soft things don't break." He put the phone away and gestured to the men. They came down the steps and hoisted the impotent Eriberto to his shaking feet.
"And now we're going to shatter you into a million pieces." | At the ripe old age of 72, some might not have Don Pehote down as the violent type. Nowadays, you didn't cross the street to avoid him, you kindly asked him if he needed help crossing it.
The Don had successfully run the Sol family for the past 4 decades. Starting as a lowly teenaged hitman back in 1949, he'd slowly risen through the ranks. Currently, he had over 40 assassinations to his name. Ironically, his efficiency meant that his credibility amongst gangsters was purely speculative.
Rumours of his incompetence began to emerge. Talk of him inheriting his share in the country's largest narcotics ring by pure luck and deception. The family tended to make short work of those opposing them. But when Andy Icarlo began to promulgate these rumours too, something more drastic had to be done.
Icarlo was an up-and-coming youngster in the family, soaring through the ranks of its branch in Miami in the ever-booming ecstasy trade. At his age, the Don could have had one of his henchmen organise a car accident or what have you, but this was personal. His own man. He needed to do this himself.
The security guards did not stop him at the entrance to Icarlo's sprawling complex, for they knew better than to stop a man whose power rivalled that of the President. They greeted him, but he ignored this.
You could see it dawn on Icarlo as four bullets pierced his chest. That look the Don had seen so many times before. Pure terror. He placed the gun on the edge of the bed as Icarlo's girlfriend for the evening sat screaming over his lifeless body.
"Soft?" Don Pehote chuckled dryly. "I've still got it." | 2015-10-03T11:58:18 | 2015-10-03T11:56:09 | 34 | 12 |
[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 comes in a dream on your eighteenth birthday. If you have a soulmate, and it turns out about 80% of people do, you have a dream about meeting your soulmate for the first time. The only thing you really remember from that dream are the first words they say to you. Not their face or name or even what you say to them, just those first words. This has led to a lot of people always introducing themselves by name, that way your soulmate can track you down. It seems to work, but then you hear stories about the vague ones. Aunt Selma's soulmate said to her, "Hey gorgeous, wanna get high?" which supposedly led to some quesitonable drug use (the family doesn't talk about it much).
My dream was also vague, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" Sounds like a barista to me, right? Except I drank their crap coffee for 8 years and found every way to be disappointed.
Firstly, I thought, "Hey, if I always use a unique order, maybe she'll recognize it when I say it and we'll know." Unfortunately, now to this day I can't think of an extra shot no-whip mocha without wanting to gag a little. Tea is the only thing I can stand anymore.
Second, it turns out almost no baristas actually say, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" Instead it's, "Hi, how can I help you?" or "What would you like?" It took almost a year before someone actually said the exact phrase, and it was another dude. I just walked out without ordering because I didn't want to risk finding out at that moment I was actually gay; it would have been quite the shock.
Third, a bunch of baristas are actually under 18, which is another terrifying possibility. If you're under 18, you haven't had the dream yet, so you don't know what your partner is going to say. You could meet your soulmate and never know, and in fact people think those who don't have a dream have already met their soulmates.
Anyway, I did finally meet her. I was having a shit day, doing a bad job on my dissertation, so my buddies dragged me out for a drink. One drink turned into two or three and eventually I was hammered. I griped about how I couldn't ever find my soulmate when one of them had a brilliant idea. We charged back on campus, straight to the library where there were always a couple dozen students even late at night like this. I walked out into the middle of the main room and shouted out to everyone, "May I have your attention please! Will my soulmate please stand up and say, 'Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?' Thank you." A lot of laughter ensued and some students threw paper and pens at me. While the library staff was herding my friends and I out the door, I hear it, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" I turn, and there's this this girl who looks like she's been sleeping in the library for finals week studying, pajama bottoms and t-shirt, no makeup or anything, but to me she's the most beautiful woman in the world right there. My friends and the library staff are just standing there stunned, and I walk up and plant the biggest drunken kiss on this girl's lips. Then the room started spinning and I had to vomit, but I did get her number somehow and we had a proper date the next day. The rest is history. | My parents were fine. ("Excuse me, what time is it?" "It's about half-past two.") And my brother Tim got "Do you know you have gorgeous eyes?", which is probably a weird thing to say to a complete stranger but is otherwise kind of perfect. But there are some awful cases, some phrases you just don't want. Like, my friend Meagan Andrews got "Fuck you", and it's a testament to her personality that it didn't scar her for life. "It can only really go uphill from there," is how she puts it. And unless you've been hiding under a rock the past four years, you know about Quentin Hull, who got "Why did you kill that guy?" and is currently living his own shitty, lawyer-filled version of the Minority Report. But those are the horror stories.
Then again, when I woke up that morning the horror stories were all I could think about. Because let's face it, this whole thing is legitimately goddamn terrifying.
Sitting up in bed, I noticed the letter sitting on my nightstand. I decided it was probably a good idea to get this over with as quickly as possible, ripped open the envelope, and revealed that little slip of paper...
*Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?*
Immediately I flashed back to a Tuesday morning when I was eight years old. I've just finished my breakfast and am all neat and ready to go to school. My parents, however, are hustling to get everything together, and my mother absentmindedly stubs her toe on the edge of the kitchen counter and spills her coffee on my arm. It's hot as hell. I scream. Dad rushes over and wipes up the coffee, and Mom is about to kiss it better when she notices my arm begin to swell. In thirty seconds it's gone completely numb and puffy, and Dad calls an ambulance. Later I learn I had a severe allergic reaction to the coffee and am lucky to be alive.
And then I snapped back and realized I've sure as hell got it worse than Meagan Andrews, and possibly Quentin Hull too. | 2014-12-18T00:40:41 | 2014-12-17T22:14:26 | 355 | 64 |
[WP] When you die, you wait in purgatory until you can be judged by the four people you impacted most. The one you were kindest to. The one you were cruelest to. The one whose life you saved. And the one whose life you ended.
I know not everyone saved a life or killed anyone, but just go with it. I like being dramatic. :) | "Jayden Malloy, your trial may now begin."
I look up at the four gray cloaked figures. I recognize the first one immediately: my adopted daughter, Michelle, smiles at me, glowing radiantly. I loved her like I would've loved my own daughter. Though she was originally cast aside as a problem child and stayed in the orphanage until 16, my wife and I were drawn to her quirks and decided to give her a chance at childhood before becoming an adult.
She speaks first. "He deserves to go to Heaven. Without him, without his kindness and taking the chance of adopting me, I would not have found the warmth of family, or the simple pleasures of childhood."
I smile a bit wistfully. She seems to have grown up wonderfully. It was a terrible shock when I lost contact with her after she turned 21 -- my wife and I both thought she ran away because we were terrible parents. But she doesn't seem to resent us for it, at least.
The next person speaks, a young man that I can't quite remember. "I was one of the interns in the company a few levels below you. You treated me like nothing, assigning me to meager tasks, wasting my time and preventing me from gaining any job experience. When I was hired by your company, you assigned me tasks without teaching me, then totally went off the rails when I couldn't complete them or did them incorrectly. You would mock me when I asked questions," He snarls.
I hang my head shamefully. I'll admit, my success in my career did make me cocky. When I got to a certain age, it did seem like I was at the top of my small bubble world.
Seeing my guilt, his expression relaxes a little. "It's not the cruelest someone could be," he admits with a sigh.
An old man stands before me next. I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. Before he even speaks, I hurriedly yell, "I'm sorry! It truly was an accident that day, I haven't forgotten you! I, I, I tried to make it up! I'm sorry!" I bow my head, the guilt jabbing sharp thorns into my heart.
The old man chuckles, a soft, raspy sound. "I know, Jayden. I know it was just an accident. It was a busy train station that day, and when you were pushed back, then knocked me onto the tracks, it wasn't your fault. I never held it against you, even if my family did for a few years." He pauses, and I finally lift my head. "Good. Look at me. I was watching when you reached out to my family, when you offered them financial assistance. What you gave them was more than I could've provided them in my lifetime," he said softly. "I bear no ill will against you. Go to Heaven, Jayden."
Tears roll down my cheek. I couldn't face being a murderer, but now, the victim himself, was telling me it was alright. That I'm not a murderer.
The last one, a young girl, skips forward. Try as I might, I can't remember her at all. She laughs, sounding of tinkling bells and a childhood innocence. "Bet ya don't remember me, Mister. Even though normal people don't end up fishing girls!" I stare at her, confused. "When I was a child, you pulled me up from a lake. I didn't know how to swim then, so that definitely extended my lifespan! Thank you mister! Just for that, I think you ought to go to Heaven!"
I smile. A little girl I couldn't remember just determined my fate.
"Jayden Malloy, step forward and greet your judge," The voice booms from above.
Judge? Weren't there four judges?
As if he could hear my thoughts, the voice answers. His voice echoes deep inside my skull. "Haven't you guessed? They're all the same person, through the different stages of life that they were present for. You were kind and cruel to the same person, you killed the one that you saved. Oh, the irony," He laughs.
I slowly connect the dots in my head. The little girl that I saved from drowning was abandoned and almost killed by her parents. She grew up in an orphanage, got adopted by me, and vanished from my life after she graduated. She was trans, and between the time of college and work, decided to become a man. He found a position at my company. He got married, raised his own family, and later, was killed in an accident on the railway tracks. Caused by me.
"Bingo," he rumbled. "Now, I believe you have a lot of catching up to do, when you find Michael in Heaven."
The gates open before me, showing Michael standing at the entrance with his hand outstretched. "Let's go, Dad." | My name is Robert Wyatt and I have died. My name is Robert Wyatt and I have been told I shall await my fate. No pearly gates or St. Peter. No redemption or forgiveness from the Lord Almighty. Just law and order and the people’s justice remain for me now.
The bailiffs told me that I was to be judged by those whose lives I had impacted most in each aspect of myself: the kindest, the cruelest, the saved and the lost. So I stood and awaited judgement without council or jury, without witnesses or audience. I waited.
I waited 42 long years until a voice rang out in the courtroom of the dead. “All rise for the honourable judge Robert Wyatt Jr.”
He stood hunched and withered and older than I had ever imagined him to be. My son. My Pride and Joy. My boy. Older now than I had ever had the chance to be. I leant on my cane and pushed myself to standing. He looked so much like his mother.
He smiled at me the smile of a man who knew the world and all that it had within it. He smiled like a man who was older and wiser than me. He smiled so unlike the curly haired child who once delighted at the chance to sit on his father’s knee. And then he spoke in a voice so different from the one I’d heard whilst in a hospice bed.
“Robert Wyatt Senior, my father, you stand accused of a myriad of sins towards myself and others. You stand in judgement of for the breaking of marriage vows you made to my mother; you stand in judgement of stealing and lying and gambling and forgetting birthdays and baseball games. You stand in judgement for every sin and wrongdoing you have committed against the world and me.” And he smiled like the man I had raised a toast to on his wedding day, like the boy I had shared his first beer with, like the child I had taught to ride a bike.
“But you are not without kindness and love. You are not without mercy and forgiveness even when some idiot teenager totals your car. You stand as a man with faults and failures but you may sit as a good man.” He smiled with a tired and loving gaze. “As the only judge here today I make my ruling and find you a good enough man. Thank you for the lessons you imparted upon me- both those intentional or otherwise. I wouldn’t be the man I am here today without you. I wouldn’t be without you. Go to the afterlife you’ve earned. I’ll be there as soon as I can, dad. Maybe we can play catch again or have a beer when I get there.”
With the verdict given I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. All at once I felt new and young again. I felt like I did playing basketball in college. I felt as young as the day my son was born.
With tears in my newly young eyes I looked to the old man before me and reached to ruffle his hair and help him to his feet. “I’ll see you so, so soon Robbie, the best thing I’ve ever done is being your dad. I’ve never been prouder to raise a man better than myself.”
And I felt my go somewhere else. Somewhere my sins didn’t follow. Somewhere I hoped my son would follow soon. | 2020-05-11T23:03:16 | 2020-05-11T22:24:41 | 56 | 38 |
[WP] Aliens try enslaving humanity, but they're about as tall as a basketball, their weapons don't hurt us, and they're adorable. | **Infiltration Report**
Dread Emperor, I am pleased to report our success in enslaving these primitive giants, albeit in an entirely unexpected manner.
You will be glad to know that they are even stronger and more powerful than our estimates, being entirely immune to all of our weapons; no matter how much power we put into them, these creatures are absolutely *invulnerable* to magnetic fields, and can in fact walk around all day carrying a permanently magnetised piece of metal and not even notice.
Unfortunately, I must also report a certain number of casualties - in every case, due to carelessness on the part of our new slaves. However, you will be glad to know that in every case they have offered sincere apologies and insisted on providing some form of reparation - in fact, should one of these Humans be reluctant to accomplish some task, it is often easier to arrange for them to 'accidentally' kill a low-ranking private and then insist on the performance of the task as the reparations than to persuade them in any other manner.
The greatest weakness of these humans, Dread Leader, is psychological. Any of your loyal troops may easily command any human, by following a simple, straightforward procedure:
- The troopsman providing the command needs to wear the specially designed contact lenses; these make the eyes appear bigger and suggest a slight sheen of liquid. (The reasons why this works are contained in the Psychology Report)
- The troopsman must precede the command with "Could you *please*..."
- Should the human not obey the command, the troopsman must place his forelimbs together, raise himself to the greatest height he can, and then say "Pretty please?"
- Should the human still refuse to obey, the troopsman must cause his lower lip to tremble.
In every scenario where this protocol has been used, the human has obeyed every command given. However, the troopsman giving the command must keep a close eye on the human - their giant size often means that an incautiously worded command can cause more trouble than it solves, and humans will often complete additional, unrequested actions.
After completing the command, the human may pick up the troopsman and hold him. The troopsman handling the human is thus required to be in full body armour at all times - troopsmen are expendable, but a human who squeezes his handler too hard will break, and humans are not as easily replaced.
We expect to be able to deliver ten thousand humans for hard labour in the Slaveworlds within three weeks.
**Signed:**
**Invasion Leader Snookums** | It was the cats all along.
Cute and all, hanging around since the dawn of man.
They brought less advanced species, the whole feline family, and planted fake evidence of a common ancestry but truly they come from out there, dude.
They foresaw our supremacy on the Earth and went along for the long ride, on our shoulders, whispering ideas smoothly, but now they are high up in the chain, man, they control everything.
Everyone is spied and even dogs play a part ...
But I know their weakness.
And that's what I've been doing all these years ... You might have heard of it. It is supposed to be some sort of interplanetary space travel faster than everything ever made, but truly it is to repel /them/, free us from them ...
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laser_propulsion | 2018-05-26T09:34:33 | 2018-05-26T08:33:59 | 213 | 50 |
[WP] Earth is the galaxy's 'Grave of Empires'. Countless aliens invaded it and tried to dominate humanity. Every single one of them failed, paying massive prices... | Take heed.
Beyond this gate lies the Graveyard of Empires. There is no return. There shall be no return gate constructed. So says The Tranqil Order. So said The Unified. So said The Council of Nine. So said The Eternal Locus. And so shall say the body of peace which succeeds after your conquest is at an end.
This might appear to be a jump gate, but it is a black hole. You, whatever form of tyrany you might be, may read this and think to jump through and build your own return. As the Yuktunai had thought to do, and The Flock. Perhaps, if you are able to construct communication capable of sending sub space messages, you can tell us what became of their efforts before their unfortunate demise. If you survive that long.
Your weakness will be laid bare. Fear you did not know you had will manifest before you. Beyond this gate lies the galaxy's answer for your lust for power. Do not question it.
-
Gilcax read the words and exhaled onto the simple plaque. Even in the void of space, the small act disintegrated the plaque. The Tranqil Order had been scattered to the stars. His grip on the galaxy was near complete, except for this back woods corner. He would not error as others had.
His flagship loomed behind it and he moved back to it under his own power, taking his seat in its heart. The ship responded to its master, to its source of power as the miniature star which burned within his chest poured pure energy into it. It was the mightiest vessel ever constructed and he the mightiest being to ever exist. Behind him was the core of his fleet. Unstoppable beings commanding each vessel, each one a potential planet killer that was only able to be wrangled by the enormity of his own power.
He would not error where the others did. He would send no scouting party. He would attack in force, crush the puny inhabitants before they knew what was happening.
"Forward."
-
Two One Five approached the jump gate, sighing at the destroyed plaque.
"You served your purpose well," they said. They also floated through space without harm, though no star heart beat in their chest. The People had roamed the stars as long as they could remember, unharmed by the vacuum of space unlike many other species. Also unlike any other species, they tended to fare well when the inevitable wave of conquest swept the galaxy. Things were improving. The Tranquil Order had lasted for a hundred years. Gilcax's reign, while horrendous in its deeds, had lasted a mere three years. The Blasphemy was worth it.
The People survived nearly every horrendous empire because they were quite hard to find and because of their utility. They minded the jump gates. It was their belief that the power to traverse the universe was of the utmost importance to all higher life. That it should never be disrupted, even if it was to be used for conquest. If a would be tyrant ran into a gate that was malfunctioning, as happened sometimes, they would need one of The People to fix it. Which they would.
Two One Five approached The Graveyard, extending their senses to be one with the gate. They could feel their ancestor's spirit here, the familiar sensation of a mind much like their own which had made this celestial marvel.
Perhaps that was why they, too, only slightly recoiled at the sensation of so much matter within the gate. Looping. Endlessly moving from one end of the jump to the other, never allowed to reach a destination. The most heinous of all abominations. Anyone who jumped through would loop eternally, subatomic bits of them slowly dispersing until the entirety of their matter was broken down to their smallest parts. A horror. Any of The People would recoil, would destroy this insult to their legacy. Two One Five shuddered and released their hold on the gate.
"All is well," they said, "There is no sign of a return gate. The wave of Gilcax's conquest has broken on the shores of humanity as have all those who came before."
The inhabitants beyond were shrouded in more myth and reverence than even The People. As far as Two Five One knew, they were a bright race hopefully many mellenia away from proper space travel. Humans, they called themselves. How charming. Two loved the way that rolled around in their mind. Humans.
Humans would hopefully find a galaxy at peace once they reached it. A galaxy which had found a way to oppress the tyranical so there was no need to bait them with such an irresistible challenge. No matter the reason, no would be conquerer could resist the lure of the small world in the middle of nowhere that silently, by its very presence, said, "You're not so tough. You're scared of me."
They just couldn't leave it alone. |
Diego cradled the alien weapon his father took in the last war, his clothes stained with old blue blood. The nights in the valley were never quiet, neutron bombs would blanket large parts of the mountains and even the deafened could feel the earth shaking in their foxholes. He tried to never move during the day, but for a few seconds at a time with each plume of cosmic flame he could see the scorched valley beneath them and the carcasses of alien ships jagged in the sand and he would try to tell which were from this war and which were from the last, though to Diego they mostly looked the same. When Diego ran out of snake meat and rice he would sometimes try to scurry in and out of these wrecks at night, the things the blues would leave behind amazed him, how much the blues simply discarded. He would cook at daytime in their helmets when sunlight would mask the glow of fire though he wandered how often the blues would come out this far, deep into the punishing valley as alien to them as they were to Diego.
Though dangerous, he would sometimes watch their bases from afar, with glimmering technologies like nothing he'd seen before and wonder with all that the blues had what they could possibly be looking for out here? Older men knew why the wars started but didn't tell Diego. Diego didn't much care. Regardless of any reason why, war wasn't something he had choice in any more than one had choice in the diseases they inherited from their fathers. He was born into it... what else could he do in a land that from his birth had been on fire? All that Diego wondered was why these blues would choose it, seek it so far away from home. He understood even as a boy what must be done when war came to you, but not why one would ever go looking for it somewhere else. He wandered what they must see out here.
Some men he knew would take seed from the blues, trade with them, which of course must sometimes be done to keep the younger children from starving as his father would say. But they had no love for the blues that killed the unlucky children and stole away their mothers. The blues were alien to these lands and men who worked this land knew what grew here. That's why these farmers would never would deny Diego a bed or warm food when he would come to them, they bled the same blood and were bonded through that. Even when for many nights Diego could not come to them, Diego persisted. Diego and his brothers were strong and did not need warm food to survive cold nights in this desert like the blues did.
He could hear them out there, he knew the sounds of their plasma rays well, knew which weapons were old and which were new, though he couldn't exactly place how. Perhaps it was pitch of the rays as they beamed over the valley, the length of the blast, the crackling of the fusion cells within each device... part of him thought it was simpler that though, Diego could tell which he would fire with his father as a boy and which were used to gun his father down.
Out there in the desert he could hear many new kinds of weapons, powerful, deadly and terrifying. But he could hear many old weapons too and knew the hands that used them. They were much more plentiful. | 2022-12-11T19:16:51 | 2022-12-11T17:12:15 | 400 | 35 |
[WP] Two humans are drifting through space forever, they are immortal. They are tethered together by a singe, degrading rope. | Forever is a long time. It makes you lose things. A lot of things. People, places, stuff. Even feelings. All of them. You just kind of become numb after a while. And has it been a while. The Earth exploded years ago. I'm not sure how long ago, exactly, but I know it's well over a million. You should have seen how big the sun got, too. Now *that* was something of a surprise. You live this long and surprise is one of the first words you leave out of your vocabulary. It's just not relevant anymore. But that day... *whew*
At least I'm not alone though. I've got Reynold. He's pretty funny for a guy who's literally in a existential crisis right now. I don't know how someone can manage to stay funny for so long, but Reynold somehow found the secret. He's all I look at these days. He's all *to* look at these days. I have a theory that if we were somehow separated and never saw each other again, that even the power of forever couldn't erase his face from my head. Big bright hazel eyes. Skin like beach sand. Dark and warm. His hair is almost comically long now, reaching past his ankles. I can't remember the last time we even thought about cutting our hair. What's the point?
He was sleeping next to me when I noticed how thin our rope had gotten. Its worn brown fibers were starting to fray at the core and a quick panic spread inside me like a fire as a clay-like lump formed in my throat. The thought of losing him was impossible to handle.
"Reynold!" I said, my voice cracking, "Wake up! Reynold! The rope! It's going to break!"
I was sobbing at that point, gently pulling the rope so as not to break it.
Reynold woke up and immediately noticed what was happening. He gave a sympathetic smile and called my name.
"Just relax, Evan." he said, grabbing the rope and pulling it towards him, "We can do this."
It must have been over an hour of gentle tugs, pulls, and bated breath, but our fingers finally touched. The rope gave out and floated towards the abyss. Reynold wiped my tears from my eyes, which were blinking and red from crying.
Neither of us said a word, but just held each other in silence. I felt Reynold's quiet breaths get louder and heavier. He was weeping. His warm tears and snot slowly expanded on my chest. Reynold, who I have only see cry once in a million years. Reynold, who was filled with more love and joy then a thousand people can even hold onto in one lifetime, was bawling like a baby. And I knew exactly the reason. My heartbeats pounded away, counting out the minutes.
Finally, he choked out the truth we were both dreading to hear.
"We can't hold on forever." Reynold said, "Not forever."
Never more in my whole life had I wanted to die more then in that moment. Never.
"I know," I said, "But we have to try." | The anxiety that used to fill my body had finally disappeared over time, as I accepted that we were stuck out here forever.
"Bonnie, the rope is splitting!"
Instinctively I gripped it. I looked at the rope's splitting string.
Tears left my eyes as I stared at Laura, I couldn't believe what was happening. We were going to be forced apart by our special boots.
They had magnetic weights in them so our feet would be firm on the ground. Our feet were in opposite directions and the force was shredding the rope.
"Laura, I don't want to be alone."
I wondered how long the radio on our helmets would last.
"Bonnie, listen to me. Pull the rope and grab my hand. It's our only chance."
I shook my head adamantly.
"If I pull the rope it'll rip and we will be apart. I can't be alone. I can't do it."
Laura's eye's sparkled even now in the darkness with tears.
"It's going to happen either way. You have to catch me okay, I'll come to you instead."
I inhaled to calm myself. She was right.
"Three." Laura started counting down with conviction.
"Two."
"Wait." "One!" She pulled the rope to gain momentum towards me but before I could stretch my arm any further she was pulled back by the force of her boots.
"NO!" Her cry was so loud through the radio I thought it was a voice in my head.
"You didn't say you were going on one!" I broke down in tears.
I was forever alone in space and it was all my fault.
| 2015-01-19T22:55:55 | 2015-01-19T22:40:05 | 35 | 10 |
[WP] Tell me a story about a character. Make me love it more as the story unfolds. Then make me hate it in the last sentence. | This was difficult for me to work into the "last sentence" bit, but I tried.
***
Her bedroom was so bright in the mornings, Kevin thought as he peeked into Lucy's bedroom. The sun, shining through the thin mint green curtains, bathed a thick strip of carpet in its light. He stepped in, on to the warm, soft sea of baby blue, and stood over Lucy's little form. Gently, he pulled back the blankets that covered her, and ran a finger over her cheek. "You always sleep so late now," he remarks quietly as he carefully replaces the covers and moves away.
She could sleep through everything. Vacuuming, the neighbor's dogs barking incessantly. The fire alarm - Kevin hadn't quite gotten the hang of cooking since Marge had left, but he tried his best. It had been rough, at first. You don't expect the love of your life to admit to an affair, and you don't expect them to abandon their child afterwards. But life was what it was, and the best Kevin could do was do right by Lucy.
He'd transferred jobs so that he could work at home, to give Lucy the attention she deserved; the attention he wanted to give her. After all, she'd be starting school next year. It wouldn't be long until these intimate days were cut short.
Mulling about in little Lucy's room, he moved three chairs away from her toddler table and placed in each one a stuffed animal. On the table's surface, he laid out Lucy's favourite tea set. They had painted it together just a month after Marge left. Blotchy, bumpy little flowers in all colours of the rainbow. He'd never been artistic, but there was joy in knowing that Lucy hadn't cared.
He left the room for a moment, sparing a glance at his blanketed daughter before he slipped out through the doorway, and he returned swiftly with a small pitcher of water and a box of chocolate chip cookies. He filled the teapot, and one each small plate he placed a cookie. A few more stuffed animals placed strategically around the table - *Oops* - and a quick fluff to Munchie's lion mane.
All set.
"Little Lucy," he cooed quietly as he gently raised her from the bed, cradling her in his arms. "Daddy promised you a tea party, didn't he?"
"I love you, Daddy." Lucy's high voice rings ut like a sweet bell.
"I love you, too, Lucy," Kevin says as he smiles back. He helps her into her chair and tucks a pillow between her and the table. She'd had a habit of bruising herself against the edge, and this had proven to be the best solution. "Is that all right?" he asks. He smoothes a wrinkle out on the back of her pajama shirt.
"Yes, Daddy. Thank you!"
"I'm glad." Kevin pauses for a moment to fill the tea pot, and then carefully fills the small cups. "Hmm, maybe I should have gotten milk."
Lucy, sitting content, however, seems just fine with the water.
She's better this way, with the quiet voice-box attached to her back - much more life-like now... though he was sure he'd have to do something about the stench soon. | "Dad, why are we here?" John looked at his 5 year old son. So innocent. So small. So loving.
"Your grandmother, um *moved out*."
"Where is she?"
"A better place."
"Oh."
He looked again at his son. His mother had left as soon as he was born and he was having a hard time supporting himself. But he would do anything for him. Through thick and thin he would be the best damn father there ever was!
"This, is my old room when I was a kid."
"Cool!" He ran all over the room, marveling at the posters of Rambo, Alien, and other action movies. He played with the action figures up on the desk. "What are these?" John looked up from an older book to see his son pointing at an old dusty cardboard box.
"Oh that! Bring it over here!" Dragging the box over and sitting down next to him, John opened the box.
"I had a small collection of pictures of celebrities and rulers that I thought were cool. Look! There's Robin Williams!"
"Who was he?"
"He was an actor who was in a bunch of good movies."
"Wow!"
"Wow is right! Keep looking. I'll be right back! I have to go to the bathroom."
Walking back, he saw his son looking at a picture of a man.
"Who is this?"
"Well he was an older ruler. He tried to make his country better, but he was stopped by many evil countries. He was a great man. It's too bad he died so soon."
"What was his name?"
"Hitler." | 2017-04-11T17:53:58 | 2017-04-11T16:56:35 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "... Happy Deathday Dear Emily, Happy Deathday to you!"
It felt so good. One more year down, 185,211 more to go. She'd spent the past few weeks trying to distract herself from the excitement of her upcoming Deathday. Sometimes she treated the anticipation as something to be savored, adding a little color to her otherwise dreary life in hell. But right now it felt like anticipation just prolongued the waiting. Distraction was much better. Particularly in the nighttime.
During the day, there was torture, to be sure, but things were at least interesting. Things happened. There were lights, colors, sounds. Fuzzy shapes she could slowly track across her vision. Sensations. Smells. Once she pooped for 28.2 hours. That was at least interesting.
During the night, there was nothing. Sure, the familiar feeling of her blanket against her skin, the smell of baby powder and diaper cream, and sometimes the soft, very slow tinkling of the mobile above her crib. But mostly it was just darkness. There'd been nothing but darkness for the past 6 months and 17 days. If she were lucky, she'd get to wake up and do some crying in another (1.2 \* 365) - (.5 \* 365) - 17 equals... 238 and a half days. She felt a little dread at growing older. Soon, she'd be sleeping through the night, and she wouldn't have these blessed distractions anymore. Just .4 \* 8 equals... 3.2 years of night. All at a stretch.
Emily did a lot of math nowadays. She never did much math in life, but now she didn't have much else. Math and remembering and regretting and anticipating. In only 2306.13 more years, she'd be a year old, and things would certainly be much more interesting then. 12,467.52 more years and she'd go to school. And from there only another 45,116.69 before she could see her husband again. From there just a quick 3127.6 and they'd be married. 2540.34 and she'd be with her son. Was it really only two thousand five hundred and 40 years between getting married and having kids? They shouldn't have rushed things so much. Take some time to get to know eachother, maybe travel a bit. She'd only have 556.8 years at home with the baby before she had to return to work. If nighttime was bad, she wasn't looking forward to the 125,323.81 years she was going to spend staring at that computer in that office, only to rush home, plop the kids into bed, and squeeze as much Netflix as she could out of those 7696 years of TV-Related-Me-time. It didn't seem fair. 125,323 years is a long time to spend so much energy chasing after the next raise or promotion.
She often wondered what punishment that adulterer got who was ahead of her in line. Emily had a lot of time for wondering. What was happening to him that was so bad he only got 145 years? Maybe he was getting flayed for 145 years, or having razors dug into his genitals or something. That seemed pretty good right now. Maybe if she had known that those were her options she would have stopped more to smell the roses.
But then, if she did, she wouldn't get to look forward to year 57,660.2. That was when she'd calculated that she'd be able to kiss her husband for a full 94 hours. If that's not what heaven is like, Emily didn't particularly want to go there. | One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place.
&#x200B;
"That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "*Appeal of Sentence*" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: **Sentence = 186,292 years.** There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal.
&#x200B;
"*Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X,*" said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly.
&#x200B;
"This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!"
***186,283***
"*To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there."* She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"
***186,284***
"*No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat,"* I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "*And wait to be called upon."*
"GodDAMNit."
***186,285*** | 2018-09-26T08:03:37 | 2018-09-26T07:48:10 | 62 | 10 |
[WP] Lycanthropy is a real disease that perplexes everyone. One interesting fact about it is that it isn't restricted to wolf forms, but can extend to bear forms, bat forms, panther forms and a few others. The rarest of them all is dragon form, which you have been diagnosed with
Edit: Well this prompt exploded
Yay for me I hit 5000 karma... and it's going up still... | Dr. Montoya entered the room, clipboard in hand. "You're a were-dragon," he said bluntly.
I chuckled, "that's funny. You're funny, doc." He didn't laugh.
"No, it's actually quite serious," he said sternly, "I'd like to keep you for some tests." He was already sending word to his friends over email. "It may take a few days."
That's what the other doctors told me. Tests. More like experiments. They learned in the end that you can't contain a dragon...
Almost immediately he received a reply on his computer, and as he read it, his eyes began to bulge with terror. I can almost guarantee they are telling him to sedate me, that he should've when he first found out. They're telling him that he shouldn't have tried to get famous off of someone else's incredibly rare "misfortune." Lucky for me, I've learned to control the transformation, I no longer need to be in danger for the beast to come out. Now, I am the danger.
I stood as he finished reading his letter. I'm not sure if he knew what was going to happen in the next few seconds -- his last moments -- but he knew that i knew. The transformation is almost instant, the heat peels paint from the office walls. Without hesitation, i exhaled a fire of a thousand suns. The other patients were merely collateral damage. I was saving myself. I didn't care about the innocent. I cared about surviving.
As the building burnt to ash, I spread my wings and took flight in a random direction, hoping to find a new town. Again. Hoping to find a place where i can live in peace. Again. I'm not a wild animal, i need civilization and to be social. I just want the human experience without fear of someone coming for me.
...
Dr. Yam entered the room, clipboard in hand. "So, uh..." he paused, trying to find the words, "You're basically the healthiest person in town." He looked at me, unconvinced. "I mean, you have to already know. There's no way you don't." He almost sounded proud as he say in front of me. "How do you want you handle this?"
I was shocked, he didn't inform anyone. He was legitimately curious how i felt. "I think," i stammered, "i think I'm going to like you Dr. Yam."
(I HAVEN'T ACTUALLY WRITTEN IN 10 YEARS, BE KIND) also on mobile so sorry for lack of formatting. | You know the old term, "keyboard warrior"? Well, that fits me to a "t".
I've fought 'em all; the Goons of SA, the Maddox fanboys, the /b/-tards of... /b/. I fought in the Flame Wars, man. I've beheaded trolls, and disarmed White Knights. I. Have seen. Some shit.
So when I got diagnosed with lycanthropy, maybe I didn't take it as seriously as I should have. I mean, I'd basically been given leave to drop the biggest fucking troll line *ever.* This shit was fucking *sweet.*
I get home later that night, after a couple rounds with the boys, yeah? I'm feelin' good; loose even. I hop online, and *right off the bat,* somebody's gotta start some shit. Well, Old Son, you know what I say to that?
*"FUCK YOU, I'M A DRAGON!"* | 2017-05-20T08:25:02 | 2017-05-20T07:09:19 | 153 | 28 |
[WP] Write a superhero whose superpower only makes sense after you read the story twice. | ZAAAAP!
"...this is never going to work." Marble Man stepped down from the white platform.
Marvelous Woman, leader of the Protection League, met him at the control console. "It *has* to work." Her red, white, and blue shiny bodysuit glistened in the blinking lights of the control panel.
"It's a failure, Marv. It doesn't work." The man made of pure white marble creaked as he turned his head to face her.
"It isn't finished yet! They're just working out the final calculations. Less than a minute to go, right?" Marvelous Woman looked to Doctor Pragmatic. He nodded.
"It doesn't work, I'm telling you." Marble was holding rock-steady to his position.
Marvelous Woman stood tall. "What are you talking about? We haven't even tried it yet! All our simulations say, if all goes well, you go one minute into the future and can rescue the president from the time-prison." She helped him back up onto the platform as Miracle Boy read out the countdown.
"The disruption to the time-space continuum when you leap forward will be like leaping through a hole in their walls and if the co-ordinates Fortuneteller Woman gave us are correct you should arrive right next to the president." The machinery's humming had now grown so loud she had to shout above the din.
"No, you don't get it." Marble looked down at her, his pupil-less eyes weary with sadness. He was not audible over the noise.
"Good luck, Marble!" Marvelous Woman stepped back as the platform began to glow.
The platform's white glow grew to obscure the Marble Man in its blinding effervescence. Behind the onlookers from the Protection League, Moebius, that arch nemesis of law and order, silently crept into the secret laboratory of the League. Three men died before he got the secret location and door codes and now he would have his revenge on the League... and the world. With everyone's eyes fixed on Marble Man, no one saw him grasp the control lever, not even Marble Man himself.
Instead, Marble Man said, as the white light engulfed him, "Something goes wrong, I'm telling you! This already happened, this is never going to work...
ZAAAAP! | It was another long trip in the car. Greg had another 4 hours of driving to go, and maybe enough gas to make it all the way there. Feeling an urge, he cracked the window as he leaned forward a little in his seat, positioned his body and arms, and began urinating out the window of the speeding car.
This was a skill Greg had acquired as a boy. Doctors weren't sure how to explain it with any word other than "superpower". And though he would probably never fight crime or save anyone's life, Greg could pee out of his finger, and that was good enough for Greg.
| 2014-12-07T11:42:10 | 2014-12-07T10:14:02 | 143 | 75 |
[WP] At the moment of your death, a goddess gives you a chance to reincarnate in another world. The catch is that you need to become the hero of that world. The other catch is that you are not a helpless teenager but a trained member of your country's special forces. | At the time of my death the goddess appearred to me and offered me a second chance at life, in exchange for being the hero of a new world.
&#x200B;
Having died in the act of saving my own world, naturally I agreed.I still remember the words I spoke to the Goddess like they were yesterday.
&#x200B;
"I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Hidden Leaf Village, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Akatsuki, and I have over 300 confirmed kills.
&#x200B;
I am trained in Ninja warfare and I’m the top ninja in the entire village. Saving the world is nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe the enemy the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this world, mark my fucking words.
&#x200B;
You think they can get away with doing that shit to me? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of chakra across my body and their energy is being traced right now so they better prepare for the storm, dammit. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing they call lifes. They're fucking dead, Goddess. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill them in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands.
&#x200B;
Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of my nations secret techniques and I will use it to its full extent to wipe their miserable asses off the face of the continent, these little shits. If only they could have known what unholy retribution their little “clever” plot was about to bring down upon them, maybe they would have sheathed their fucking blade.
&#x200B;
But they couldn’t, they didn’t, and now they're paying the price, the goddamn idiots. I will shit fury all over them and they will drown in it.
&#x200B;
Their fucking dead, Goddess.
&#x200B;
Believe it, Or my name isn't Naruto Uzamaki. "
&#x200B;
I was grinning with my fist pounding my chest when she swept me up in her arms and carried my away to the distant land in peril.
&#x200B;
When I awoke, I was standing on a busy street with a strange mechanical carriages bearding down on me, I placed my hands together to form a seal and use my Chakra, only to find that Chakra and seals don't work in this land.
&#x200B;
I died again. | I sat all winter waiting for the signal. They would not see me coming. It started with a bang. And I was off. Cascading down, collecting a force to take on the world below. Nothing could stand in my way. Nothing did. When the dust had settled, my forces and myself spread thin across the valley floor, I had realized my mistake. It was not a signal at all, but a ruse. A ruse by my mortal enemy. They had planned to draw me out before I grew too powerful. And with a bang they succeeded. I should have seen it coming, they are always around picking and prodding, easy to spot in their bright orange getup. Do they want to be seen?
I sit staring up at my stronghold in disrepair, biding my time for another attack. Time passes and I grow weaker. I guess this is not my year. Spring is near, and with it comes defeat. The gods above provide and they take. Next year will be better. The gods will provide a force to take on the world. I will descend upon it and blanket it. Everyone will fear me.
\-Avalanche | 2021-04-06T08:00:17 | 2021-04-06T07:35:48 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] You were drinking with friends one day when you decided to have some fun and got a restraining order on Death. The court played along and got you the restraining order. The next day, you survived an injury that should've killed you. | My life was pain.
A universe of pain. A multiverse of pain. All was pain.
A thirty-story fall off a building onto concrete crushes things you didn't know were part of your body and brands them on your mind with fire. Before you die. But I did not die.
I was being filled with drugs. Never enough drugs. I should have stopped breathing from the drugs. But I did not die.
Forgotten by all save one, a napkin signed by a judge is pinned to an alley wall by a breeze. It enjoins one Death from approaching within 200 feet of me. A dot of blood from the judge at the end from when he tore a hangnail.
It seals the decision.
I no longer can scream, or breathe on my own. Or heal properly. I will survive.
I pray to every sacred and profane thing in the blinks of sanity I have between the pain that Death breaks the law. I can feel it, close enough to sense but not so close as to touch, that blessed touch.
They call the next twenty years a miracle, as my body fumbles like the broken thing it is. What can mend, does. It should not be enough. It is not enough. They believe that somehow, life support is keeping me in the land of the living.
One of my family tries to end my pain and unplugs everything.
An hour later, I am severely brain-damaged, even more broken, but I do not die. At least the pain can no longer be felt, as I have no mind capable of feeling it. But I am aware, and I live.
The lack of stimulus, even pain, is too much. What sanity remained after the impact is no more. My mind, such as it is, feeds what little it has in colors, smells, phantasms, nightmares, always waking, always knowing "I live", but the world outside is lost to me.
Time passes. I grow older. Ancient. I am a curiosity now, because still I persist in my shell. I do not know of time, because my mind has twisted itself into a self-consuming abomination. I am, in fact, the oldest living human on the earth, for some minute value of "living". A withered apple, half-mashed. I have no family left to pull the plug, and science has adopted me as their own, a study in life extension.
If they only knew.
Time passes timelessly, until finally, in a day I know not...Death comes for me and pulls my soul free of it's cage, scraps over bones.
The world around me is ashes, bones, ruin. I look, as the soul is not chained by the flaws of the body- I am aware, sane, free again!
"How?", I ask with a voice that has nothing to speak it.
*"The law of a nation that no longer exists, binds me not. You are the last."*
"The last?"
*"The last to die on this world. Ever."*
As I rise to whatever awaits the dead, I see the Earth stretch out below me.
It is as broken, like I was broken. Now, we can both find peace. | It was only supposed to be a joke. I drank just a little too much and Marie, as a joke, said I should take it easy or I may get blood poisoning and "She didnt need me to get my head stuck up Death's ass."
I told her fuck that. I'm unstoppable. Death wasn't going to stop me from having a good time, and I would make sure of that. We walked all the way to the courthouse, with Marie practically keeping me on my feet, and I got a restraining order as proof of my invincibility of Death.
The next morning, hungover, drymouthed, and completely unaware of anything except the raging headache in my skull, I got hit by a car going sixty five miles-per-hour speeding straight by a stop sign.
A hit-and-run, they told me. They found me dead at the scene.
For about three minutes.
They say I sat right up, gasping and practically screaming in pain, demanding to know what happened. My broken arm was setting itself, and the place where my head cracked open like a cantaloupe hitting concrete had stopped bleeding and looked smaller. The only thing I remember is that my organs felt all wrong in my torso, and I passed right back out.
Waking up in the hospital was a trip. Marie was next to me, crying and terrified when I opened my eyes. I got out of bed, and felt absolutely fine besides being a little confused and shaken up.
A miracle, they said. Some even claimed my survival was a gift from the big G.
But I can't shake the feeling that somehow, Death follows more laws than people believe. | 2019-06-18T15:29:28 | 2019-06-18T14:59:19 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | 17 years, 364 days, 23 hours, and 56 minutes since I was born. The day is May 15th, 2007. The time is 4:40am. Despite the early hour, the whole house is lit up. My family had breakfast ready and coffee brewed by 4:30. We believe that destiny chooses your career through the summoning, and it is tradition to have a celebration for each summoning in our family. To be honest, I'm scared. What if I summon something stupid, like a deck of cards or a stapler? What kind of a career would a stapler lead me to? Would my family laugh at me? Would they still care about me? Shit. The minutes felt like hours, with my anxiety worsening with each one passing.
4:41am: I look towards my sister, Jamie, who, on her summoning day, summoned a man, Jeff, and they were married within the day. She's a housewife, and that's it. They've had 6 children in 6 years, and she is currently pregnant with the 7th. Still, they, and all of their children, were present for my early-morning birth time. I feel bad for them having to be here, but we all know that it's tradition, and my mother would disown them completely if they were to miss a family summoning.
4:42am: I look to my left to see my younger brother, Justin. He's only 5 years old; by far the youngest sibling. I think he may have been a surprise to my parents. I wondered where I would be when he is ready for his summoning. 13 years is a long way away, and, in my family, we don't make any decisions in our career until the summoning. We let destiny choose our path. So, it was just as much a mystery to me as it was to everyone else.
4:43am: There's my mother, Sharon, and my Father, Jacob, staring directly at me. They are so excited to see what I am "destined" to become. They have high hopes for me. I will be their first son to go through a summoning. It had been a while since the last party, as well. Jamie's was 7 years ago now. I feel like they were initially disappointed that she had summoned a man. It's similar to going to college for an "MRS" degree; it felt lazy. Of course, they remembered that it is not her choice. It's destiny. They welcomed Jeff with open arms into the family, and now they are blessed with 6 wonderful grandchildren. I guess if I summon a woman, it wouldn't be the worst thing. I can't help but worry though. What if she's ugly? What if she's annoying? What if she's my soulmate, but I hate her? Oh, Jesus. There's no turning back once she's here. Shit. Shit. Shit.
4:44am: The time has come. My family is raving with anticipation. As soon as the clock struck, my mother yells, "Here we go, Matt! Show us what ya got!"
I close my eyes, and as I hold my hand out, the room becomes silent. Everyone is looking around, seeing if anything began to budge, but nothing is happening. Am I doing it wrong? I concentrate harder to make something happen, but it seems useless. I'm shaking. Panicking. What if I am the one person on earth that doesn't have a summon? Am I even human? My hand is still out, just hoping for something to happen.
After a couple minutes, we hear a noise outside. A thud. Was that... a person? Would I be the second person in the family to summon a spouse? Would she be pretty? Am I even ready for marriage? Shit, it's happening so fast.
We get up and race to the door. We were right, it's a person. But... it didn't appear to be a woman. Holy shit, am I destined to be a homosexual? Not that that's wrong or anything... I'm just not ready for that! I've always been attracted to women. This couldn't be real.
I decide that I should be the one to go first. The man is laying face down on the ground. I kneel down beside him, and nudge his shoulder. He seems to be in a heavy sleep, or possibly unconscious. I keep nudging, and, finally, he starts to come to. Shit, I'm not ready for this. Am I about to look into the eyes of my male soulmate? Instead of turning around, he begins to vigorously roll back and forth. What is going on? He's rolling faster and faster, face still in the ground. "What the hell?', says my mother. Then, finally, he lifts his head up, still rolling.
It's Rick Astley.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I said. My mother slapped me, saying, "Language!"
We were all standing there, staring at Rick rolling. I know what I have to do. | The historian reclined, a peculiar look in his eyes. His students inched forward in their chairs, as curious as ever. It was unusual for someone to be so unwilling to discuss their soul object - unless they had something to hide. Whipers and rumors had run the gambit since the recluse had been hired the semester prior, when too-curious teens had taken to finding out everything there is to know about the man.
He rolled his eyes. "Freshman. Why is it always the Freshmen?"
It was not unusual for people to outright refuse to summon their soul object, considering it wasn't the brightest for a chemistry teacher to summon a nuclear warhead in class. And yes, Williams knew that Professor Krikom could summon Greek fire. Yes, they still don't know how to create it. Yes, it was cool. But Willams wasn't going to admit that to anyone.
But that was supposed to go on the syllabus, was it not? No-one in their right mind would refuse to disclose their soul object at all.
Professor Williams scubbed a hand across his face, tired and worn. He smiled bleakly at the dozens of students in the lecture hall. "I just love how this is the moment you all stay quiet. And not when we're discussing something important,"
He frowned once more. "If this will make you stop asking about it."
Williams reached out with a pale arm, thin hands waving in the air for dramatic effect.
A skull clattered to ths floor. Then a pelvic bone. Followed by a thighbone and a few other pale fragments. Gray sand clung to the unfinished skeleton, salty must filling the hall. A young student rushed from the room, gagging. Others began to weep.
The room was silent.
He was a Necronomicus.
"Consider yourselves lucky my soul object isn't freshly dead."
And just like that, the room erupted. Slurs spewed from frothing lips, and bigotry-laced expressions of disgust sneered at him. Professor Williams schooled his features into that of apathy.
"Corpse fucker!"
"Necrophile!"
"You should be ashamed of yourself!"
"Just wait until my parents hear obout this!"
And just like that, the bones disappeared. The professor dialed quickly a number on his phone and slipped quietly from the room.
The more rowdy of the students attempted to follow; but Williams summoned the bones in a neat little line - blocking them. None of them wanted to come close the accursed soul object, recoiling in as if they'd been burned.
"I should have known I was teaching a class of little bigots," the man cursed under his breath. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, teaching out West."
The history professor clapped his hands together, a large grin plastered on his face. "What a teachable moment! Can anyone possibly tell me what happened on November 30th, 1903?"
"We burned you damned creeps alive!"
"That's right! Can anyone tell me what happened in the mid-nineties when it came to people like me?"
"...The Necronomicus Rights Movement."
"Lovely! Just lovely. Now could anyone guess why I am asking you these things?"
"Who fucking cares!"
And just like that, the mob erupted once more - but just like that, several professors jumped in to chorale the students as they clawed and screamed. Sirens erupted in the distance, drowning out their cruel words.
Williams slipped away, the bones vanishing once more. All he could do was buy himself some time. | 2019-09-18T09:23:25 | 2019-09-18T09:06:02 | 123 | 49 |
[WP] Who is u/deleted? They've posted many places about many subjects, is it a bunch of different users, or is it a collective conscious? They're typically posting controversial things, but not always. What are they up to? | My investigation started simply enough: a thread I had been following rather intently on r/conspiracy was suddenly awash with posts by a specific user. Unfortunately, the content of said posts had been erased in their entirety by the time I could see them, the telltale shells of empty postings standing mute witness to what must have been an extended explanation of unknown lights in the sky that clearly were not just the spotlights from a nearby casino. It was then I started to notice that this "deleted" fellow was actually rather prolific on the subreddit. Stranger still, a search for their user profile returned... nothing.
It was then that I discovered the vast scope of u/deleted's interests, reach, and complete silencing by parties unknown. Politics, fandoms, hobbies; everywhere I seemed to look, there was a deleted presence. Sometimes, it was a single comment here or there. Other times, a lengthy conversation with themselves. In every case, whatever views or information u/deleted provided was wiped clean, "Content was removed" the only sign that anything had been there previously.
Frequent readers of this blog may have a guess where I believe this leads, and they would be correct in so assuming. Such complete, near-instant erasure of a single person from Reddit could only be accomplished by someone of means and monstrous low cunning. Someone that, with but a single word and gesture, can take possession of a frightening amount of this nation's mail traffic, stamped with the imperious command that it be "returned" to him with undue haste. I speak, of course, of that faceless puppetmaster: the nefarious Mr. Sender.
Indeed! Only that same individual that has r/USPS firmly within his iron-fisted grasp could take such unilateral action, and I suspect he would only do so if that individual posed an immediate threat to his endeavors. And so, I now endeavor to follow this trail to its very end, despite whatever personal danger it may pose to myself. I will not rest until u/deleted's message has been returned to the light, where it might accomplish what I have so far failed to: the complete exposure of Mr. Sender and his limitless ambitions for both the United States's mail service and now, horrifiyingly, this very platform.
Protect yourselves! Archive everything you see! Ensure that your mail is properly addressed, stamped, and verified by trustworthy members of the United States Postal Service! For Sender's hand has a long reach, and even your very family members may be compromised by his corrupt influence! | It knows.
The words upon words, and the thoughts upon thoughts.
It knows?
It has changed the veiws of many, yet it's own mind is muddled.
It sits? It rests? is it someone or something? Is it a new contreversy?
The user?
Only known to reddit and it's users as r/deleted.
It post anytime and anywhere, but unwillingly it is truely trapped.
R/deleted is, was, and always will be, the monster. Reddit.
The three Fathers, Aaron Swartz, Alexis Ohanian and Steve Huffman, 16 years ago, Found it.
They created this website to order it.
It is an all knowing:
Roti Bread,
Egg
Dills,
Duck,
Ice-burg Lettace and a,
Tomato.
Or in otherwords it is a big o'l sandwich that knows | 2022-06-06T07:34:43 | 2022-06-06T06:37:22 | 216 | 15 |
[WP] A man who has had no knowledge of religion meets both God and the Devil. He is the chosen one who decides whether God or the Devil inherits the Earth. The problem is, he cannot tell which is which. | Two men, business suits, three armchairs, no exit. I was wearing business casual.
"Hey there, Mick. We've been expecting you," the one on the left said.
"Why am I dressed like this?"
"It's to establish role relationships in an immediately obvious way," said the one to my right.
"What?"
"It's because we're in charge. It's like a metaphor."
"You undressed me for a metaphor?" The one on the left put his head in his hands and started laughing. The one who had spoken last spoke again,
"Okay, Mick, just, just get past the clothes thing now. We've got business to do. We've got to do business, so, so just shut up for a moment. And for fucks sake, sit in your armchair, you're making me nervous."
"Are the armchairs metaphors too?" Lefty's laughing intensified.
"NO! No. The armchairs are armchairs, we sit in them like civilized people instead standing around next to them, like some kind of psychopath, and then getting stabbed with a pen, by me, in like, five seconds if you don't sit down!" I sat down. But not because he told me to.
"Alright," said Lefty, regaining his composure, "We are two powerful interdimensional beings, and we need you to decide which of us will gain... a certain ambiguous ownership of the earth and all its inhabitants."
"Ambiguous?"
"Well... you know. Ambiguous to you. Interdimensional being stuff. You wouldn't understand."
"Ok... but why?"
"Good question," said Lefty, smugly.
"EHH!" said Righty, like a buzzer noise. "Terrible question. Once you reach a certain echelon of existence," he said, holding up his hand, apparently to indicate, "you stop needing reasons to do things and start being the reason for things. Just imagine that we feel like it, and that we get what we want. See, this is what the suits were supposed to demonstrate."
"I don't see how changing my clothes demonstrates anything."
*STAB*
"YOU STABBED ME WITH A PEN!"
"I did at that."
"Ahhh! Why would you do that?"
"What did I JUST finish explaining to you? Now for fuck's sake, listen. We've each got a sales pitch, and you're going to have weigh some heavy philosophical shit, right, and we're gonna get really deep so listen hard, this could take weeks. It's gonna get all 'Twelve Angry Men' up in here."
"No," I said.
"What?" said Righty.
"No way, you just stabbed me with a pen. The other guy gets whatever," I said, pointing to Lefty, "the other guy gets the thing." Lefty stood up and clapped his hands.
"Counts! That counts! Yes! I KNEW you'd fuck this up if I didn't say anything! SATAN OUT, BITCHES!" And then he was gone.
Righty fumed. "Well, congratulations, Mick. You just gave total ambiguous control over a vague definition of the entire world to Satan. You proud of yourself? You want to call your mum? How about your guidance councilor, from high-school, you know, the one who said you'd do great things?"
"Wait... was all of this a metaphor?"
"What? NO! No. No that would be STUPID." | I was running late again. This was the third time in a row. I didn't want people at the office to think I was making a habit of it, but I have been having a terrible time trying to sleep the past few days. Having dreams, or nightmares, that I can't remember. Waking up in cold sweats in my bed. I should probably look on WebMD or something, might have to change my diet up.
It was an hour past my starting shift when I finally get into my office. I knew what was coming. Like an early jaws movie I felt the suspense raising as I waited for the crescendo. My boss was going to pop up out of no where and eat me alive. As I looked into my monitor I saw her reflection. I was busted.
"You're late again, I see." she muttered.
"I'm sorry, but-" I turned around.
"Not now, We have two Engineers with their own ideas and designs." She interrupted, before I could make up and excuse. " I'm going to need you to review and decide which would be most beneficial, they are in the conference room."
I promptly made my way into the conference room. There I would be bored to death by slide show presentation of each ones thoughts, ideas, and believes. While I knew that the entire time I was just going to be fighting off sleep.
Inside the conference room there was a long, black wooden table. At each end was one of the hopeful designers. At one end, a man with a serious face in a black suit, classic. On the other end, a man who was wearing a grin and a white suit. I couldn't believe that everything that was to be would be determined by my decision here. Hopefully I can sleep on it.
| 2015-08-05T22:45:24 | 2015-08-05T19:03:21 | 403 | 12 |
[WP] You went to sleep as an elder and woke up in the body of your 8 years old self, retaining all your knowledge. People are starting to notice your weird behavior. | "You know John has been acting weird lately, right?" Miss Helen said to your dad, unbeknownst to you hiding behind the staircase.
"Yeah? Like what? Is he sick again?" Mr. Rogers said, flipping the pages of his newspaper.
"I don't know. Something seems wrong about him. Yesterday, I caught him watching a tutorial of organic chemistry on YouTube. Which 8-year-old have you seen do something like that?" Miss Helen said.
"Maybe we have adopted a gifted boy, darling. Who knows? Maybe he's the Einstein of today?" Mr. Rogers said, laughing.
&#x200B;
The fact that your parents were catching on to you was not something that was idea. You needed to be careful. No one can know how or what you were.
&#x200B;
At first, turning into a 8-year-old seemed like a nightmare. But you soon realized that you could straight up walk to an adoption center and someone gullible enough would adopt you and pay for all your needs for the next ten years. That seemed like winning the lottery in a way.
You don't know what you did, but you didn't have to go to school anymore to teach kids who were on their phones more than they were on their textbooks. You didn''t responsibilities or bills to pay anymore. In a way, this was a fresh start and all would be fine, till you went to school.
Other 8 year olds aren't as fun when most of them are taller than you. That's why you always kept to yourself. However, few of the teachers had managed to catch on to something that you thought they'd never find out.
&#x200B;
"John, it says here that you've consistently received As in all the last sixteen assignments," Principal Sanders said.
You nodded nervously.
"No one has ever done that. Miss Claire here says that she saw you sneaking into the classrooms of seniors. She claims you had a copy with you and you were taking notes," he said.
You lowered your head.
"I'm very proud of you, young man. But I need to talk to you in private," he said, and motioned Miss Claire to leave the room.
She left the room smiling, proud of her newfound achievement of having discovered an outlier.
"So, John. How did it happen?" Principal Sanders asked.
You stared at him, trying to appear confused.
"I know. I have seen kids like you. How old are you, really?" he asked.
Did he know?
"I'm eight-" you said but you were interrupted with him shouting.
"Nonsense. I'm going to give you another chance, boy. Tell me how old you really are!"
"Thirty-Six," you said, nervously.
"Good. I will give you one month of every grade from now on till you're off to highschool. After that, it's all up to you and what you do. I see kids like you all the time. Very few of them focus on academia again,"
You stared at him, still processing what he was saying.
"Make the world a better place, John. Kill an incurable disease, solve great problems or do something worthwhile. You have all the time in the world now. If you need any guidance, I'm here," he said, getting up from his seat and patting your head.
You nodded.
\-----------------------------
r/abhisek | Desks hadn’t changed a bit since my first childhood. I stroked the metal bar that connected the blue plastic chair to the faux wood desktop. I felt a lump of stale gum, rubbed the ridges of the hardened teeth marks. Then my fingers drifted back to the place they always did: my skin.
I tugged at the top of my hand, feeling the rubbery skin barely shift in my grip. The same skin used to ripple like waves, with large blue veins surfing beneath.
My name surfaced from the ocean of the teacher’s droning voice. “Herbert? Herrrrrberrrrrrt. Earth to Herbert.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah sorry. What was the question?”
“We’re talking about jobs. Can you name a job in the community?”
“Oh, yeah. Um…” I gazed at his plaid blue shirt. “Teacher.”
“Jonah already said that one, Herbert. I’m looking for *a* job the *other students*, who are actually *paying attention* haven’t said.”
“Erm, oh. Okay. Um…” I glanced at the whiteboard, but it was blank. *What wouldn’t the other kids list?* “Um, undertaker?”
Mr. Johnson’s face fluttered from annoyance, to confusion, to pity. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.
“What’s an undertaker?” Drawled the red-head to my right.
“N-nothing. It’s um, well let’s move on to volunteers. Does anyone know what a volunteer is?”
I sunk low in the blue plastic chair. He would want to speak to my parents again. That was three times in the past week.
*What’s an undertaker? It’s the guy who buried my old body. The same one who will bury this new one if I don’t stop slipping up.* | 2020-02-12T18:47:16 | 2020-02-12T17:49:12 | 33 | 18 |
[WP] Your body died three days ago. But through sheer force of willpower, you are still moving and breathing, because there is no way in hell you are losing Employee of the Month to Chad again. | “Ch-“ The air struggles out of my body.
“Chu-“ My body fights against every movement as I push forward. Just one leg after the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. This is just like in college when I thought playing Ultimate Frisbee would help me get chicks and then the team introduced me to leg day.
“AaaAaaH” Oh geez, why does my voice sound like that. It’s all gravely and slow. Maybe I just need a good cough. Mustering my strength, I do my best to clear my throat. My lungs struggle to summon the necessary. Bending over, I manage to knock whatever’s in there loose. Dirt and rocks come tumbling out of me. Ah, it was literal gravel.
“CHAAAAAD!” I scream out, unsure why. It’s like my body has a mind of its own. I try to direct it but it’s like my partially deaf child hood dog, Toto. She was great at tricks when she heard you. I continue walking out of my backyard and past the side of my house.
I hear a scream from inside. My head swivels 90° without my body moving. Standing in the window, I see my wife with a horrified expression painted on her face. I haven’t seen that look from her since I ate 24 hot dogs in a row AND THEN played ultimate frisbee. Yup, chick magnet.
“Oh, hi honey!”
Suddenly, I’m seeing two of her. One from my normal line of sight, the other from a lower angle. Shit. I think my eye fell out.
Seeing my wife gives me some lucidity. I died. Oh no. What’s my wife going to do? We have a mortgage. Wait, what about the bowling league? WAIT. WHAT DAY IS IT?
I look down at my watch. It’s caked with dirt. I try to wipe it off but my motor finer motor function fails me. Instead, I shake my wrist violently. There’s a pop. Bad idea. I think I dislocated my wrist. Through the thinned our film of dirt I make out two numbers.
07/31.
I missed three days.
That bastard is going to steal employee of the month from me.
“CHAAAAAD!” I roar and my body begins shambling towards the store. At least I’ll fit in fine with the people of Walmart.
I don’t know how long it takes me to “Thriller” my way to work. My sense of time is a little skewed right now, not to mention a few other things like my awareness of object permanence. But on the plus side, I think they invented teleporting cars while I was dead, so that’s cool.
The automatic doors slide open to greet me. Any patrons and workers who witness my triumphant return have an expression of...reverence, yeah that’s the one, on their faces. There king has returned.
I find the bastard almost immediately. He’s helping sweet old lady Jenkins at the self checkout. His stupid smile and caring attitude putting all her worries to rest. Truly despicable.
“CHAAAAAAAD” my body groans with a decibel count that would rival the loudest of new borns.
Old lady Jenkins falls to the ground. She’s grabbing at her chest. Shit. Giving a customer a heart attack is NOT a good look for Employee of the Month.
Chad leaps into actions and begins administering CPR. I’m sure if my heart was still beating it would have dropped. Old lady Jenkins gasps for breath, coming back to life. She pulls Chad into a fat, wet, sloppy kiss. You win this round Chad. Not even I can compete with saving a grandma.
Wait. Why was I buried in the backyard? | Of course, my death wasn't my fault. I was always a very risk-averse person, painfully aware of workplace safety and potential hazards about to happen. How could I foresee that Chad would try to throw a paper airplane made out of greased lettuce? Is it even possible to see that coming? Doubt it. How do you even think of that? How does your brain even arrive at that action? How do-
Sorry. Getting carried away again. Anyways, stupid story short, the lettuce slid right under my foot. As I fell I smashed my head on the corner of an oven, and that was it. Lights out. A living example of one of those pathetic PSAs about safe footwear in the workplace. The last thing I saw as I flipped backwards was the wall holding my employee of the month portrait, slightly askew, no doubt from Chad bumping it while attempting to mop something up. A wave of hatred flowed through me as the world went black, and then...
Nothing.
Shockingly, nothing happened. No lights, no montage, no aged men in white robes, nothing. Just a black veil that fell over me, making everything feel ice-cold.
I tentatively tried to move my limbs, but it felt like they were made of stone. My thoughts felt like they were passing through thick syrup, slowed down to a torturous pace. But I wasn't dead. At least, not *truly* dead. Perhaps not even the fates had foreseen such an utterly moronic death, and weren't ready for it. Perhaps I had a higher calling. Perhaps Death was just lazy that day. For whatever reason, I was stuck in between, swirling through a purgatory consisting exclusively of the kitchen I'd worked in for years.
After what felt like hours of thinking, willing and screaming at my limbs, I got my feet under me. Or at least, they used to be my feet. I used to own them, and now it feels like I'm a tenuous sub-letter, relying on the good graces of a dropout university student to stay housed. Another battle, and my old eyelids peeled open, fighting me every millimeter of the way. I can hear the landlord banging on the door of my consciousness, threatening to evict me.
Threatening, but not taking action. Not just yet. I may be a dead man walking, but I'll be damned if I don't walk while I can. | 2019-08-01T06:24:36 | 2019-08-01T05:31:40 | 70 | 29 |
[WP] You are a student with the least amount of magic potential ever recorded at the Academy and it's the day of the familiar summoning test. A misplaced rune or word results in an arch demon/ess becoming bound as your familiar. | The summoning test is nothing new to me. It’s the same thing every time. I step up inside the stone circle when it’s my turn. Lions have been summoned by some of the stronger students. Small dragons by others, but for me it was always nothing. Nothing ever happened when I did it. Truth be told I almost skipped school to save myself the embarrassment. You’d think it gets easier over time. It doesn’t.
I watch as one of the older students I’ve seen before in the hallway steps into the arena to contain whatever beast or creature he summons. A small rumble shakes the ground slightly and makes a few girls laugh nearby. Out of the ground crawls the biggest earth worm I have ever seen. The boy and his worm and quickly escorted away, and Saria enters the arena.
Saria is one of the stronger students, able to summon a small dragon. She always made sure she was able to shove it into my face that I had barely any magic. She opens her golden book and inhales deeply before smiling almost as wide as her eyes had grown, and a huge lightning bolt strikes the ground. Students from all around scream with delight or fear. They ADORE her. I know why. Magic is status. The more the better.
She bumps my shoulder as I walk past her into the arena.
“Try for a caterpillar this time?” she snickers and her friends follow suit.
I ignore her.
I always do.
My spell book is clear because I haven’t had enough magic to color it with. I was originally going to try to summon a caterpillar, but after Saria’s comment that will not be happening. I desperately flip through the pages for something impressive but less expensive while still knowing what I’m doing.
“Get them out of here!” Some jerk yells in the stands. I grit my teeth and stop flipping. Tears of embarrassment sting my eyes. In that moment, I pray to whatever god is out there to give me something good. I don’t even look at what it is when I start reciting the runes.
The tears blurr my vision because i’m looking down at my book, and I mess up the last one. My stomach drops. Every magic weirder knows messing up a rune is a fatal mistake. I look at the top of the page. This is supposed to summon a large butterfly.
Everything is okay, right?
A huge crack in the earth breaks right where I am standing. I yelp, jumping back and falling onto my behind. I feel heat pour out of the earth onto my body. Screams from students and pounds from their feet running away tell me that I definitely messed up. I look over and lock eyes with Saria who looks like she’s about to pass out.
I look back at the crack and realize that the sky has gone almost completely dark. Storm clouds crackle above us. Then, out of the crack a huge Demon, 8’5 with multiple runes, the runes I had casted, all over his torso and limbs. He is huge, and wears crown of stygian iron that matches his armor. He radiates a deadly aura. He looks around once, twice, before his eyes finally rest on me.
“This is going to be interesting.” His voice is low and he seems almost bored as he says this. Maybe even angry.
“What?” I cough, the smoke from the crack irritating my lungs.
“I am now your familiar, youngling.” | "What do you mean you out yourself in the place of the familiars rune?" Asked the Archmage.
"Well I didn't want anything to have it's will bound to or superceded by my own and you all wouldn't let me not do the spell so I did it my way." I replied confidently. "Did I make any mistakes instead of using an unexpected familiar name?"
"Do you know what this means!?" Bellowed mage observing the testing.
"It means the young apprentice is worthy of being an Archmage without having to do anymore of your annoying tests" Replied the representative of the Fae Winter Court. "He could claim the rank of Eternal Sorcerer with a stunt like that."
"How would a lowely apprentice be able to claim a seat not occupied in over 2000 years." Asked the Archmage.
"Boy do you know slight of hand by chance? And perhaps a bit of advanced linguistics?" Coo'ed one of the winter court.
"That was quite brilliant of you I doubt they will ever realize what has been done." Said the representative of the Fae summer court. "I mean My Word boy you cast a fee dozen different spells. Some I recognized as pandoras box charms. How many people made you feel that you needed to prove yourself?"
With a huff the lead professor began "we can all agree that spell was performed properl." the professor mumbled "we will deal with the implications in private council sessions.
"The queen of air and darkness will be attending th8s meeting yes?" The Fae representatives in unison.
"This is in regard to her Godson after all." Said the Winter representative.
"Yes the summer queen will join as well. " added the summer representative. "She would like to ensure her nephew is not taken advantage of." | 2022-11-12T17:34:12 | 2022-11-12T16:22:17 | 88 | 50 |
[WP] As a former Chosen One you saw the signs when your daughter/son got themselves into a similar situation. You sent them off on a sleepover with their new friends. It's time to have a 'talk' with their new 'stuffed animal'. | I sat down on Cassie’s bed, crossed my legs, and removed the notebook from the pocket of my pants. “State your name and speciality for the record,” I said, scribbling on the first page to get the ink flowing. After a moment of silence, I looked up from my journal. “I know Cassie’s a chosen one. I’m her parent, and I’m not letting you take my daughter on some wild journey without telling me what she’ll be facing, first.”
Silence.
“Look, you can stay silent all night, but I know you’ve been talking to her at night, I know her powers have been manifesting. I’d rather she not have to face destiny without at least some training first. So I’ll ask again, name and specialty, please and thank you.”
After another brief silence, the stuffed bear, affectionately named Bear, finally spoke. “Who the hell are you?” they asked.
“I should hope you don’t use that kind of language with my daughter. I’ll give you one more chance to answer the question before you have to find a new child to leech on.”
They groaned, stood up, and stretched, before walking closer to sit down in front of me. “My name is Ollie.”
“Ollie,” I repeated. “Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie… Noted. And what power do you train?”
They hesitated for a moment. “Chaos magic.”
I looked up my notebook again. “Chaos magic? The fuck is my daughter doing with chaos magic?” Chaos magic was generally known as the hardest magic to tame. The most powerful, sure, but that power held up to its name. It was notoriously unpredictable, and most users died fairly young in the pursuit of mastery. In the whole world, there was only one master of chaos magic.
Ollie shrugged. “Fuck if I know, I didn’t give her the power, I was just assigned as her guide. But she’s one of the most powerful chaos magic users anyone has ever seen, in terms of potential, that is.”
“Oi, watch the language, plushie.”
“You swore first!” they protested.
“Yeah, well, I’m Cassie’s parent. She knows better than to copy me by now, you’re her spirit guide.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been taking good care of her,” Ollie said. “As have you, clearly. Which brings me to my question-”
“You don’t get questions yet,” I interrupted. “What terrible deed has my daughter been tasked with fulfilling?”
Ollie shook their head. “You don’t want to know.”
“I’m fairly certain I do,” I growled. “What are you planning for my daughter?”
Again, Ollie hesitated. After a moment, they decided that I knew too much already to stop now. “Chaos magic,” they said slowly.
“Yeah,” I replied, “you mentioned that part.”
“No,” said Ollie, putting their head in their hands. “No, I mean… Chaos magic. She’s going to master it.”
I froze and nearly dropped my pen. “Excuse me?”
“Only one man has mastered Chaos magic, and he’s used it to live a long and wretched life. Your daughter isn’t just another chosen one, she’s *the* Chosen One.”
There was an old legend, considered by some to be a prophecy, THE prophecy, even, that a young person would master chaos magic, topple a tyrant, and make chaos safe to use. It also said that at the end of the Chosen One’s journey, they would die, their death being the catalyst for the future of magic itself. Being a prophecy, it was vague. Very vague. It gave no timelines, names, or really anything of use. Most people, myself included, felt it was horseshit.
“No,” I said. “That’s just a myth, and even if it wasn’t there’s no way in hell I’m letting you lead Cas to her death, that isn’t happening.”
“The rest of the guides seem to think it’s real,” Ollie said. “And we all seem to think Cassie is The One.”
I looked down for a moment into my notebook, a single question searing into the back of my skull. “What does Kelvin think?”
“What does Kelvin think?” Ollie whispered back to themself. Then it hit them. “Holy fucking shit,” they yelled.
“Language!”
“No, no, no, fuck you, fuck me, holy shit!” They were dancing around the bed, jumping up and down, laughing hysterically. “You’re fucking Josephine Sanchez, aren’t you?” I was silent. “Holy shit you are, you’re a fucking *legend* up there! Fulfilling two prophecies with one guide, you’re a double whammy. Terrina the Destroyer AND Jacob the Conqueror? A god damned superstar, after you and Kelvin parted ways, we completely lost track of you, no wonder Cassie is ‘The One’ The One with you as her mother, holy shit!”
“Answer the question,” I whispered.
Ollie calmed down, and resumed their seat in front of me. “Yes,” they finally said. “Yes, Kelvin thinks Cassie is The One, but nobody knows she’s your daughter, I swear.” I nodded, thinking silently to myself. It felt like I just found out she’d been in a car crash, my mind was racing at a million miles an hour, and yet I couldn’t understand a word of it. The silence was overpowering, crushing, and claustrophobic. “If it makes you feel better,” Ollie said, seeing the terror on my face, “the Council of Guides thinks that, after she beats The Master, she’ll live. For a while, at least. The Prophecy says she’ll topple a tyrant and die bringing sanity to chaos magic. Two separate feats, and the latter will likely take decades of hard work.”
“Will you stay with her for that time? Whatever time she has left?”
Ollie nodded. After a moment of silence, they asked a question of their own. “Will you help her train?”
I hesitated. “I’m not sure what good I can do,” I finally replied. “I was never trained in chaos magic. But I will teach her, under one condition.” Ollie looked into my eyes. “Under no circumstances is any harm to befall my daughter. She is under your care, and if a damn thing happens to her, I will hold you personally accountable. Twice.”
Ollie nodded instantly. “As long as she has me as her guide, and as long as I live, I will protect Cassie.”
“Then it sounds like we’re in agreement,” I replied, standing up from the bed and placing my notebook in my pocket. “Training starts this weekend, on Saturday morning. We’ll tell Cas tomorrow night when she’s home. Together.” | I swirled my drink and watched the ice cube clack against the glass. Used to be that I'd keep bitters and fancy simple syrups around the house to play at being a mixologist, but these days by the time I got around to having a drink, I was too tired to do anything but to sip whiskey on the rocks. Being a single parent was tough, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Even if it meant having a weariness settled deep within my bones.
I downed the rest of my whiskey and left the glass by the sink. Sam was off at a sleepover, no doubt being coaxed into ridiculous outfits by her fashionista best friend, and the house should have been quiet. Instead, I could hear the faint sounds of a video game emanating from her room.
It wasn't fear, exactly, that froze me at the bottom of the stairs. Even when I had charged the necromancer king, a gouge gaping in my side and the celestial sword shaking in my hands, I hadn't been afraid— I had been ready to pay the blood price to save kingdom that fostered me. The heaviness in my limbs now, the tightness in my chest— it was only the weariness again, the knowledge that the simple life in the suburbs, the normalcy and gentle pace I had worked so hard to cultivate, was no longer mine to keep.
Because Sam had come home one day with new stuffed animal, a cat with butterfly wings and three iridescent eyes, and ever since the stench of faerie magic had overpowered the familiar rank smell of sweaty shinguards in her room.
I was throwing open Sam's door before I could even think about, instincts taking over like they had when I adventured through Autumn's Edge. A sylph, all silver skin, wicked whiskers and sharp teeth, looked up from a game of Hollow Knight and smiled at me.
"I was wondering when we would meet, Saturn's Star."
"That's not my name anymore."
"Do you prefer Dr. Gravett? I must admit, I tried reading your treatise on black holes and gravitational warping, but the physics of this plane are just sooo boring."
I sat down on Sam's bed—unmade, and we'd being having a chat about that later— and crossed my legs. "I find this world plenty enough for me." I smiled, all teeth and narrowed eyes. "And for my daughter."
"The Court disagrees."
"Kindly, the Court can shove their disagreement up their puckered assholes." Politics had gotten Leo, the first boy I ever loved, killed. The machinations of the Fae had been Autumn's undoing before— I wouldn't let that ruin seep into my world.
"Bold of you to badmouth the Court when the throne was yours and you threw it away."
"I was a child! Barely 15 and still in braces. I was in no shape to lead. To govern."
"That wasn't your call to make," the creature hissed, hackles raised and wings flat against its back. "We had ten years of civil war after you left."
I flinched, remembering the hollowed husks of burnt-down villages as Leo, Amber, and I had made the final trek to the Necromancer King's castle. Dispatching the tyrant should have given Autumn the time to rebuild— the prophecy had been clear, that my blood price would water the fields and let prosperity again bloom.
And I had done my part. I remembered dying, staring up at the frozen stars and feeling my life's blood leech away from me. Only the dying pulse of reanimation magic from the Necromancer King had pulled back me into the realm of the living. On darker days, when Sam was at practice and I stalked our house alone, I wondered if the only thing keeping me alive was rotten magic fused into my soul— if I truly deserved to live, when so many of my friends had perished getting me to that castle.
I stared down at my hands, fingers shaking despite my earlier drink. "I paid the blood price. There was nothing else I could have done."
"You could have *stayed.*" There was something mournful in the sylph's voice, a note that reminded me of Amber's when she had sung all the songs of her kingdom at our campfires. I wondered if this sylph was someone I had met during those two fateful years in Autumn; time moved so differently for the Fae, that it was hard to tell.
The sylph stared at the screen, the pause menu displaying an impressive collection of charms and achievements, and sighed before turning off the game and shutting down the TV.
"Consider this as a courtesy call. Some of us still remember your sacrifice, as little as it all came to."
The sylph stood and shifted, shrinking into a harmless-looking stuffed animal and heading towards the open window near Sam's desk. The cold was back in my veins, and it was fear this time.
"Where is my daughter?" I stood up, my hand going for a sword no longer at my waist. "What have you done to Sam? Stars damn it all, I paid the blood price. This should all be over."
The sylph was barely bigger than my hand in this form, but still those three eyes burned like supernovas as they turned back to look at me.
"Your death was not the blood price we needed. Your daughter's life will have to do instead." | 2021-03-02T20:41:27 | 2021-03-02T17:53:24 | 226 | 141 |
[WP] You work as a bookie for gamblers with rich blood. One day a man comes to you and puts down a fortune on a ridiculous bet. But this is the moment you've been waiting for. You shove him against the wall. "TTPD!" You shout. "You are under arrest for time-traveling for your own personal gain!" | “TTPD! you are under arrest for time-traveling for your own personal gain!"
My heart was racing. My thoughts were flying at a thousand miles an hour. I had the time-criminal shoved up against the wall. I slap handcuffs on the man and wrestle him to the ground. The time-criminal was dressed in a comical pirate costume, with eyepatch, hat, and hook included. This was perhaps the one day that the sight of a pirate in a bookies office would go unremarked on, since not only were the Pittsburgh Pirates playing in game 7 of the world series, but it was Halloween besides.
I happened to know the Pirates were about to win. And so did he.
My watch began to vibrate with an alert when the Pirate approached my desk. He had a Timestamp tag on him. A timestamp from 2056.
This was my chance. TTPD officers can go their entire career without encountering a time-criminal. After 25 years with the service, I thought this day would never come.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” the pirate growls as I press him to the ground. “You make an arrest in a room full of witnesses and announce yourself as TTPD? You goddamn idiot.”
I was stunned. I look around the office. At least ten people are waiting in line there, all staring dumbstruck. I was so blinded by the adrenaline that I completely forgot to make the arrest in an area away from witnesses. How could I have forgotten all my years of training so easily? I get one chance to bust a time-criminal and everything I have learned goes out the window.
The Pirate continues. “You’re the one who is under arrest. I am agent Jones of the Office of Police Conduct investigations. You have failed this assessment”
My stomach sinks. This is the end of my career. These civilian oversight committees have been sending agents to keep tabs on time-cops. They feel the need to interfere with everything. Don't they understand everything we do is to keep the timelines safe?
There is only one way to get out of this unscathed. I already had the OPC Agent in handcuffs. All I would need to do would be to shoot him then cleanse the timeline. There would be a missing OPC agent, and an investigation would surely follow, but the chief would have my back and those investigations never turn up much. No one at the station ever talks. And of course, there would be no solid proof. In my new timeline I could go about my day as normal, with no one suspecting a thing.
I had a 9mm pistol tucked in my belt. I drew my weapon, and pressed it to the chest of the handcuffed OPC agent dressed as a Pirate. Before I could fire a bullet took me in the back. The impact caused my gun to fire, I turned and began firing blindly at where the gunshot came from. A second shot took me in the chest and I fell to the ground, my gun falling from my hand. The next man in the Bookie line had a gun drawn. Blood was streaming from his brow where it appeared one of my shots had grazed him. It was only now that I realized he had the same features as the Pirate. The beard and Eyepatch had helped conceal his face.
I was bleeding out now. It was all over. Next to me, the Pirate lay dying. His eyepatch had fallen down, revealing a poorly healed scar on his brow. | ''Do your thing, honey.'' He turns his back against me.
I see his tattoo on the behind of his neck. It’s four dots side by side which gives away his clan. They are called ‘Morning Foxes’ and unlike any other time-traveling clans they don’t hire just anybody. We have 29 pending cases with Morning Foxes and we haven’t able to catch one of them yet but I feel like today is my day.
''Seems like you have a problem with your credit. Would you mind if I check with our scanner?'' I ask.
He looks at me without saying anything. He grabs my hand he pulls the card from my hand.
Here goes my plan I guess…
But then he pulls out another card, ''Try this.''
If I try the same trick he will get suspicious and I can’t arrest him here while other civilians around. I’ll have to think of another way to spike the chip in his card or figure out a completely different way to track him down.
''What is taking you so long?'' He asks.
I use the surveillance camera to save the pattern of the chip and I give his card back. ''I think we have a problem with our hardware. You can come back later if you want.''
He shakes his head and he walks away.
I immediately trigger the silent alarm but I know that he will vanish in seconds when he turns the corner. I try to follow him and I turn the corner and I see that he is standing still, not moving.
I push him against the wall and I put the cuffs on him and strangely he doesn’t even resist. A few minutes later my backup arrives.
My commanding officer Major Redford comes to congratulate me but the suspect starts to cough blood. We call for an emergency trauma team but he flatlines in minutes.
''What was that?'' I ask.
''I don’t like this.'' Redford shakes his head.
Everything goes silent. | 2020-12-31T08:00:18 | 2020-12-31T07:30:41 | 109 | 65 |
[WP] In a world where magic can be cast through song, musicians rule over society. You are the last of your kind, a Scandinavian Death Metal Singer. | The Director, an austere man with flinty blue eyes and closely cropped hair steps into the large semicircular meeting hall. The murmur of the gathering silences as he reaches the podium.
“Thank you all for coming.” He looks out into the crowd of allies. “For the sum of human history, man has failed at keeping peace. Diplomacy has time and time again failed, and we have time and time again resorted to the cruel hand of war. But then, ten years ago we discovered the solution through the most unlikely of sources. It turns out that after all this time, the goddamn hippies were the ones who were right. Through the power of music and song we have succeeded in uniting the nations of the world and have enjoyed and unprecedented age of peace. That is, with one exception.”
A map of North America flickers to life on an enormous screen behind the Director. A roughly square region in the Western United States is angry red. “The United Nation of Mormon, formerly Utah, has ever remained a thorn in our side.” The Director continued. “We have exhausted every contingency at our disposal to bring them into the fold. We’ve tried to entice their patriotism with the Country Western-mancers.” a group of denim wearing men in cowboy hats look down in shame, “We’ve tried plying them with riches and prestige with the lyrical incantations of the coven of Hip Hop Lords.” The Director kisses his index and middle fingers, then flashes the peace sign to a group of bejeweled Black guys lounging in their seats. “We’ve even tried driving them away with the wretched magicks of the Techno Union’s Dub Step Wielders, such is our desperation.” An actual robot beeps sadly.
“Those-” The Director’s normally steely voice cracks with emotion, but he quickly masters himself. “Those Mormon bastards just really hate music.” He hangs his head, then looks up resolved. “That is why we must resort to more drastic measures. Diplomacy has failed, and we must once again cast aside our humanity in favor of strength of arms. We will deal with them in fire and death. Are there any objections?” The hall is silent. “So be it.”
The Director produces a key on a lanyard around his neck. He walks to a control panel and places the key inside, turning it. Large letters appear on the enormous screen that read:
WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONTINUE TO RAGNAROK CONTINGENCY?
“May God have mercy on our souls.” The Director whispers to himself, but he knows that their fates are now in the hands of older Gods.
**::**
In the boreal forest of Norway, three young adults wearing black and white corpse paint pose for an album cover.
“Ah ya, now I stand back here and give big middle finger that say ‘faaaaack yoooou’!” Timo says, then sticks his tongue out in a primal growl.
“Good good.” Varg growls nodding his approval. “This vill get True Black Metal back into the hearts of men! Show the FACKING poser gay shits vat true metal is!”
“Yeah! I… vait, do ve vant *more* people listening to us? Or do ve vant less people so that we’re *really* authentic?” Heimdal asks, scratching his black, black hair.
“I vould like to ask this question too.” Timo says, chiming in with a finger raised. “Ve’re out here like… *everyday* filming promotional materials for… *who* exactly?”
“Vat to you mean *who???*” Varg growls. “The fans of True Black Metal!”
“Yeah…” Heimdal continues, unsure, extending a placating hand, “and nobody is more evil than me, let me be clear about that... but it kind of seems like our business model is a little contradictory. Ve vant big record sale… but ve are anarchists… and ve live all the vay out here in your grandfather’s ancestral cabin…”
Varg opens his mouth to answer, but he is interrupted by Rollo bounding from the woods is a great hurry.
“*They have lit the beacon!*” he screams. “*The vorld needs us!*”
Varg gives Heimdal a bestial grin, that he hopes covers his relief. “*You ver saying something, you facking pussy??*” | "Do you have the child?"
The voice was gruff and low, a monotone careful to avoid any accidental inflections that might incite magical effects, and strained though a thick brown beard. It's owner crouched in the alleyway, the shadow of the adjacent building doing little to conceal his girth, and his own shadow draping over the much smaller figure before him.
"Yes, yes I do," came the response, the voice much higher, but also using the same practiced monotone, "The last of his kind. A great secret, mind you- you have no idea the trouble I had to go through to find him. The songs I have sung, the memories I've weaved- beyond yourself, I am the only one who knows he exists."
"As it should be, through the terms of our contract," came the reply, the southern accent bleeding into the words, "And for your compensation? What's in it for you, and your genre? Or have you betrayed them as well?"
"What's in it," she hissed, "is that you use him to destroy the enemies of pop! Don't think that we haven't noticed the deaths in recent years- the King and the Prince, as well as our own decline. Someone's attacking us from the outside, and we want them destroyed. This child, this child is the key. So do with him as you will, but do our bidding first."
"Deal," said the man, extending a gruff hand to shake her heavily ringed one, before turning to his 4x4 F250, lifted , custom edition, camouflage, mud tired truck, "Place him in the back. It's soundproof."
With a smile she stepped forward, and put a small bundle on the seat, taking care to avoid the deer carcus hunted earlier that night that also inhabited the space.
"Don't forget the terms," she whispered.
"I shall not. Both country and pop can coexist. We have the same goals, the same rhythm."
She frowned on distaste, and turned away. "We'll communicate your first target to you when it is time. Until then, keep him secret. Of all the genres, you have the most land, so it should be possible."
Then she strode off into the night, the darkness concealing her figure as she sang five syllables back in his direction.
"*Don't call me maybe*."
And the man's face frowned as he forgot how he had contacted her that night, of how her own features had appeared, or any aspect of her identity. But one piece of the meeting remained in his mind: the terms.
And the child in his backseat, who has started to wail, causing cracks to spiderweb across his sound proofed windows.
***
By Leo | 2016-11-01T12:07:44 | 2016-11-01T11:55:06 | 143 | 68 |
[WP]your brother is a hero, your sister is a villain and you're a mercenary. this makes for some interesting family reunion | I came down the stairs to see, to nobody's surprise, stuff being thrown around like crazy. Scorch marks on the wall, furniture in splinters, holes in walls, you get it. I rolled my eyes, grabbed my megaphone, turned it on, and yelled into it.
"HEY, KNUCKLEHEADS!" The two brawling individuals immediately stopped, covering their ears. "I INVITED BOTH OF YOU! NOW IF YOU COULD STOP WRECKING EVERYTHING, CAN WE ACTUALLY HAVE A CIVIL DAY FOR ONCE!?" My younger brother said... something. I removed the noise-canceling headphones I'd put on as I turned off the megaphone. "Sorry, what?"
"Do you have to make that so loud?"
"Yes, I do. It's the only reliable way I have to stun both of you for long enough to knock sense into your heads. She made her gear EMP-resistant two months back, and your super-strength isn't getting any weaker." He looked around with a somewhat guilty expression.
"...Yeah, sorry about that." I waved my hand, dismissing the matter.
"You're both at fault for that. Besides, I made sure to send the invitation here. Sure, I own the property, but I don't live here. Least I can give some people around here a job to get it looking good again."
"Why'd you call us here, anyway?" That was my younger sister. "No offence or anything, but I do have some stuff I need to get back to. I can't trust my henchmen with anything nowadays."
"Well I've been out and about doing stuff, and I wanted to see you guys again."
"We have cellphones," she pointed out.
"Well I wanted to see your faces, A, and B, I wanted to go do stuff together. When was the last time we actually took a day to goof off with each other?"
"When we're in the middle of a big feud?" My brother and sister glared at me, and I sighed.
"Yes. There's more to life than just fighting each other endlessly. I know you guys both have secret identities. Just take a day or two off so we can have some fun while I'm in town." The two still seemed doubtful. "Don't make me pull the "big sister" card on you two." | People rarely talk about the third child in the fire nation elite trio.
There was Zuko, the Diplomatic and even-handed leader. Azula, the Cruel sister.
But me? I was left out of the books, and for good reason.
I work in the shadows, swiftly dispatching anyone for the highest bidder. I admit, I am no hero. My god is money, and my god has been good to me.
My only problem these days is how to launder the money. There was a cabbage stand I passed by a few days ago, who seemed in need of a “partnership”. Perhaps we can come to an agreement. | 2022-11-21T08:53:49 | 2022-11-21T04:22:30 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] Most ghosts have cool unfinished business: "Avenge my murder!" "Redeem my sins!" "Reveal my terrible secret!" Yours is...less impressive. But it still binds you to this world, and so you must find a medium who will help you. And not laugh when you tell them what with. | "Big Brother?"
He woke up, groggily and rolled over to look into the middle of the bedroom. The little boy stood quietly, timidly.
"Y-yeah?" He said struggling to wake up enough to be even a little coordinated.
"I can't beat Bowser!" The pale little boy half wept. "I tried and tried but I can't beat him! And then I got so sleepy I fell asleep on the heater vent and ran out of batteries."
"Uh, listen. Did you uhm, get batteries?"
"Yeah," the boy sniffed. He must not have slept well on the floor. His eyes were cracked and irritated and there were dark circles around them.
"Did, AHEM, 'scuse me. Did you get back to Bowser?"
*Sniffs "Yeah."
"Alright, give it to me."
"Really?" The little boy squealed with the kind of sudden joy only an eight year old has. "Here!"
The little boy handed over the Gameboy and jumped excitedly onto the bed and gasped as if struggling to breathe.
It felt strange in his hands. It wasn't wide and ergonomic, but tall and brick shaped and the screen was backlit green on green. Still, there was a first time to Bowser, so big brother duties were necessary.
He hit the, 'Start,' button and it took a second to get the feeling of the buttons and the motion on the screen just right, but he relearned quickly. Three stutter steps and a jump and the turtle-like dragon's draw bridge was pulled out from underneath him. Bowser fell into the green lava before the screen went black.
"There you go," He said with sleep hazy triumph and handed the box over...
To no one.
He looked up, and there was no gasping little boy. No brick shaped GameBoy in his hand. And as he came to consciousness he remembered he was 26 years old. He had just bought this house a month ago for a massively discounted price, and this was his first night here. He was single, so there was no one else in the house to wake him.
He had to replace the batteries in the CO detectors when he first moved in.
And he was an only child. | I knew he wouldn't understand why I didn't come home. He would sit and wait and wait and no one would ever come to the door. He wouldn't even try to keep himself alive. Just holding on to the hope that I would come home. I couldn't let him waste away. But who would help? Who could I turn to? Who would even care? I only had one neighbor who even knew me.. They had a key to my house that I gave him a long time ago. With what little energy I had I scrawled a note on the wall and left the keys below it.. "please feed my dog." | 2022-07-15T13:24:52 | 2022-07-15T09:19:03 | 211 | 67 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping. | A voice boomed, "Kneel, mortal."
I was dazed, and more than a little confused. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety and dread, although I couldn't quite remember why. My head darted left and right as I tried desperately to find the source of the voice, but as far as I could tell, there wasn’t one. Above me was a pitch black sky, devoid of all character and life. Beneath me stood a desolate rock, surrounded by lava as far as the eye could see. Sulfurous ash assaulted my nostrils and burned my lungs, bringing tears to my eyes.
"Who...?", I croaked, but could get nothing more out. My mouth was dry, as if filled with sand. My throat spasmed as I attempted to speak, and I gasped for air.
“You dare to defy me?”
Suddenly, my body erupted in searing pain. I tried to scream, but could find no voice in my throat. My skin was on fire, my head pulsed and throbbed, and a wave of nausea rushed over me. I fell to my knees and watched in horror as I began to uncontrollably vomit up my own blood.
A cackle filled the air, punctuated by what sounded almost like applause. The lava in front of me shot up -- an awesome demonstration of power -- sending small droplets raining down on me like fiery acid. I watched in horror as the lava formed itself into a giant, twisted facsimile of a man, towering over me. It grinned sardonically.
"You know, I've waited a long time for you." The figure boomed. "More time than you can even comprehend.”
I stared through terrified eyes, trembling, the taste of blood still fresh in my mouth. I dared not speak. I dared not move. I knelt in silence.
"When the Lord condemned me to this forsaken abyss, He promised He would send me those human souls that were beyond salvation. The truly condemned, so hopelessly forlorn that even He, in His infinite love and wisdom, could not save."
"And so I watched, and waited. I watched as God welcomed into His loving embrace murderers, rapists, thieves and harlots – all manner of debauchery and evil. So long as He could find a single shred of worth – a single seed of value and goodness – He welcomed them into His realm, as if to mock me.”
“For a time, I thought I understood. You see, I thought God was telling me that I alone was uniquely beyond redemption; uniquely cursed to suffer this terrible realm of darkness and hate.”
“But you…”
Out of the lava formed an arm, a hand, and then a finger, which slowly unraveled and pointed at me. I felt my body rise, of its own volition, and I slowly began to walk toward the towering figure, inching ever closer to the fiery magma out of which it had formed. Each step accentuated the heat on my skin, causing my body to blister and burn. I tried to writhe. I tried to scream. I tried to do anything to make the pain stop, but I had no control.
“Out of all mankind, you alone have been deemed so uniquely depraved – so uniquely hopeless – that even God has forsaken you. And now you have arrived in my realm, as cast off and isolated as you were in life.”
I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t blink. I couldn’t do anything. My whole body cried out, as my skin welted and blistered. My eyes erupted in agony, and the world went dark as I felt them crust over. I could see no more, but I continued to feel my body slowly advance.
“And for what? You committed no atrocities. You perpetrated no genocide and murdered no innocents. No, you are here not for the depth of your crimes, for which God always manages to find forgiveness.”
I felt a scathing liquid surround my left foot, then my right, as my senses erupted in new heights of pain. My body slowly started to disintegrate – melting beneath me – shooting searing agony up my legs. I could see nothing, but could feel exposed bone splashed by lava. The figure laughed, hate-filled, and mockingly.
“No, you’re not here because you’re evil. You’re here because the way you lived your life demonstrated such a pathetic worthlessness – such a miserable, aspirationless existence – that even God could not find anything in you worth redeeming. You were nothing in life, and you are nothing in death. And now God has condemned you to me like the worm you are.”
With so little of my lower body left, I lost my balance, and fell forward, face first into anguish. The pain consumed me, rushing throughout my body until my every sensation was torment and misery. I felt myself disappear, moving closer and closer to nothingness, my final salvation. I embraced the void.
But suddenly, I found myself formed anew, once again able to see, and centered on the same desolate rock, the same figure towering over me once again.
“And after countless eons of waiting, my worm, rest assured – we’re going to have so much fun.” | The bright light starts to fade as I unshield my eyes to appear in a white void. There's a glossy white floor, and a dirty white colored degrading building. Other than that, it's just a void of white.
"Wow, heaven looks pretty boring."
You enter the building and go to the reception where you see someone sleeping, but it's hard to make out who exactly with the book on his face. As you go closer, you see two red horns out of the top of the book, it's the devil! It's Satan himself!
But why is he behind a reception table sleeping? Why is hell so.... empty? Why am I the only one here?
You gather up the courage and ring the bell.
"Youwillbefloggedtilltheendoftiiiii-uh" Satan wakes up startled and the book falls down. You stay motionless and quiet as you see this unfold in front of you.
"What? You made it to hell? How?" Satan stares at you confused, and pushes button on his ancient telephone.
"Hello? Dude, what the hell? How did this guy end up here?"
"Yeah but- So what? Can't you just- Fine."
Satan slams his telephone back, letting out a frustrated groan, and looks at you.
"Normally at this point I'd let you know all your sins and I'd tell you what punishment you'll have to endure, but I literally have no equipment to torture you with."
You stare at him confused. This isn't what hell is supposed to be!
"Here's a log of all your sins. Go ahead and take a look."
You open up the register, and flip past the old pages to the one with your name on it, written in fresh ink and clean paper.
**Hasn't made mark on world**
"Wh-what?" You say as your eyes widen. There isn't anything else written here, just that one sin. All the others had at least a hundred sins.
"That's not even a sin! Where's Hitler? Where Ivan the terrible? Where are the politicians?"
"Look dude, you literally haven't affected the world at all, you haven't shaped society, haven't changed the way people think about a certain topic. Hell, you haven't even bothered to say something dumb!"
"How is that even a bad thing? Hitler killed thousands of people! Henry the Eighth beheaded his wives! And still I'm above all of them?"
"They all committed crimes. But all of the crimes changed the way our society is. Had they not done such things, someone else might have, but because they have, now nobody will be able to do that thing again since history won't repeat itself. Even God can't change the fact that horrible things will happen, so if someone helped reduce the chances of that thing happening, that's good enough for him. You haven't done that."
"Th-that makes no sense. I demand to get into heaven this instant!"
"Listen, I opposed this too, and God took all my shit. What's more, people keep almost everyone make at least some impact on the world before they leave, so hell hasn't been getting a lot of people in it anyway. It's not fair, but nothing ever is."
"What's more, I think I came up with a punishment that suits you."
Your eyes widen as he states your punishment.
You're fast asleep, a book over your face, your feet up over the table. You have nothing to do and nothing you can do. All you can do is sleep.
**RING** | 2017-06-22T08:36:19 | 2017-06-22T06:26:05 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | I was in the midst of cleaning, scrubbing at an extra tough stain on the floor, when I was distracted by some noise at the door. Not swearing - a lady should never take foul words into her mouth - I rose from the floor and the bucket of cold soap water whilst using the back of my hand to push some loose strands of hair away from my face.
A short few minutes later I was heading towards the hallway, or what I liked to think of as such: a long, narrow passageway lit by blazing torches - one must pay heed to traditions - causing shadows to dance on the rough walls and lending its dark corners an eerie touch. *Just perfect*, I mused, as always when passing though. *Just perfect.* There were few things as important as keeping up with appearance, people did expect one to live in a certain way and thus one must live up to those expectations. How else would the world look?
A loud banging on the iron-framed wooden door brought my attention back. *Oh. Right. A visitor.* A quick look down asserted that my dress was indeed free from stains and wrinkles and quite presentable, and my left hand quickly adjusted the tiara slightly.
“I have come to rescue thee, fair maiden!” the mustache adorned knight at the door cried as I opened it. “I have come to rescue thee and slay the dragon!” I sighed inwardly to the styling of his facial hair. Really, why did they *always* have to go for quantity over quality?
Taking care not to let any of those thoughts show of my face I let my lower lip tremble slightly as my eyes widened.
“Hush, please, or you’ll waken him from his slumber. Be quiet, and I will take you to him.” I motioned for him to follow me inwards along the tunnel with its flickering lights - *really, just perfect* \- slowly quickening the pace to give an air of necessary haste. Finally pausing outside the door at the end of the corridor I shot him a quick glance and pointedly nodded to his still sheathed sword. As he quietly drew it I let the door swing open and stepped aside.
“I have come to challenge thee, abominal beast!” boomed the knight as he entered the quiet room. I winced inwardly at his voice; why did they always feel the need to proclaim their objectives? What was wrong with a bit of serene calmness and quiet? A quite sigh escaped me as I put my left hand on his shoulder and the sharpened dagger in my right hand silently glided along his throat.
“I did tell you not to awaken Herbert”, I told him - quite sullenly - “he’s had a terrible night’s sleep and has been cranky all morning. I just finally managed to put him to sleep. But did you listen? No you did not.” I do not know whether he heard me, his body slumping forward before hitting the floor with a thud, but neither did I care as just then Herbert came strutting along the floor, his little wings flapping to help him maintain balance as he skillfully navigated around the sparse furniture in the room. I knelt and lifted him in my arms, letting his little split tounge playfully lick my cheek as I petted his scaled little head and his tail wiggled excitedly.
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy!”
*Oh dearie me*, I thought to myself as I suddenly noticed the now slow trickle of blood onto the floor where it had already spread in a large pool. *And just as I was just about to get rid of the old stains in the library.*
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*And here I thought myself to pretty decent in writing in English, guess this challenge set me right about that. Please bear with my typos, grammatical errors and overuse of commas (I do love a good comma!). First submission here, but hopefully not the last because omg how I have missed writing!* | Thank heavens Shadow had impenetrable skin.
Why are knights so pesky? Is it that it intimidates them that a woman has a keep, filled with only women and children not of age, and no man?
Is it a fear of dragons? My poor Shadow wouldn't hurt a fly, except for the occasional sheep willingly given to her, or another pesky Knight who tried to stab her in her sleep. Emphasis on tried.
Or is it that the bards still talk of the time where these Dundee-headed knights would slay dragons, and the Princess would forever be grateful, and they would get a keep and a wench to screw? Did the idea that I had tamed the dragon not penetrate their thick helms?
I've tried everything. I tried sending messengers to every kingdom and castle and keep. I tried placing large planks with the message "dragon is tame, go in peace".
Perhaps they are tempted by a woman rules a keep? Could they not entertain the thought that like them, I too, prefer the curves of women.......
So let them try and burn, I decided. Shadow couldn't be harmed, and she wouldn't attack unless ordered by me or provoked. But that only doubled the number of knights. More and more knights tried to conquer Shadow, and in essence, me.
But that all changed yesterday.
Llysfaen, one of the most famed seamstresses and tanners of the land, visited my court. It is no secret that I, the Queen of Llanfairfechan, was promiscuous amongst women, and, well, she had often found herself beside me in.... Irrelevant.
Yesterday, she presented an idea. Shadow was beloved to everyone in the keep, and she found a way to discourage knights from trying to kill her.
When I saw it, I couldn't believe it.
This would strike fear into the hearts of all those foolish knights.
Rumors spread throughout the land. Finally, those knights stopped.
Then they sent an army with a Duke.
But we were prepared.
Out came shadow, clad in iron and chain mail, spewing fire and demolishing the army. And atop her, rode I.
I, Lilith, Queen of Llanfairfechan. Clad in full armor. My beloved pet Shadow, turned into my mount.
A force of Fire and Metal.
And then, that look of fear in every soldier, in every knight, told me that long after me, bards would still sing tales of my glory and my fury. | 2019-01-09T10:18:32 | 2019-01-09T06:35:55 | 80 | 37 |
[WP] You; the game's hero, reach the end of your journey. The evil has been slain, the entire nation celebrates in the streets and now, the beautiful Princess you saved very publicly confesses her love and offers you her hand in marriage, thing is; you married the cute NPC who sold you potions. | I scratched my head, feeling quite awkward as the rest of the city folk looked at where I stood next to the princess.
'I should have seen this coming, happens all the time in story book' I thought to myself. The princess was still looking at me, the smile on her face beginning to waver. I knew I had to say something.
"I'm sorry your highness, but I don't feel like we know each other well enough to consider such a thing, we just met after all." I say, trying to divert the conversation as I did not want to publicly break the princess' heart.
"Nonsense, I know all I need to know about you. You are strong, faithful, courageous and wise, what more could a woman want in a husband?" She says trying to get me on board with the idea.
"No, really, you were just in a very stressful situation. I think you should think if you are ready for that kind of relations-" I tried again.
"But I don't need to reconsider! Every day I heard from some of the Dark King's minions about your exploits. How you rallied a town to beat back an entire battalion, or how you managed to sabotage a plan for the Dark King's rumored super weapon." She said, her eyes sparkling. I let loose a small sigh
'I guess I will just have to come out and say it.'
"Alrigh, first off, it was not an entire town I rallied, and it was less than 25 soldiers that we fought, people just started spreading rumors that grew." I say, my voice taking on a slightly commanding, bit still gentle tone.
"Second, I can't marry you, Princess. I am already wed to another." I say, I can see her eyes drop as I say this. "I was hoping to tell you privately, I wanted to make it as painless for you as possible." I said. The princess looked dumbfounded.
"B-but all the fairytales? They all say that the hero saves the princess and they live happily ever after." She said, tears starting to well in her eyes. I quickly try to comfort her, pulling her into a hug and patting her back.
"I know, and when I started my journey, I think that was what kept me motivated. The thought of marrying the princess of the land, the woman loved by all her subjects." I recited something I had said a thousand times, before I had fallen for my wife that is.
"What changed?" The princess asked. I couldn't see her face, but I could hear the deep sadness in her voice. I pulled away from the hug, but kept my hands on her arms.
"Well, my journey was long. Longer than I thought it would be, and much more difficult at that. But all along the way, there were certain people who supported me. I became great friends with one of the local blacksmiths, the steel she makes saved my life many times." I begin, reminicing on the past year.
"And the innkeeper started keeping a standing bed for me, it helped after we stayed up all night drinking and singing to keep people's spirits up. But one person I place I found myself returning to more than any other, was the potion shop."
"If I needed any kind of remedy, tonic, salve, or just about any other kind of medicine, she could make it faster than anyone else. I guess the frequency of my visits played a bit of a role in our falling in love. She was always willing to talk, has a great personality, and is willing to put her everything into helping others. I can safely say, that without her help, I wouldn't have been able to save you." I told the princess. She still looked sad, but the tears had stopped.
I tried to look her in the eyes, but she looked away, apparently to ashamed to look at me now.
"Listen, if you don't want to talk to me, that is fine. But I would still like to get to know you. We may not get a happily ever after like the fairy tales say, but we can still try and become friends." I say, hoping that she will agree. I would much rather part on happy terms if I could.
The princess didn't say anything for a few moments, now it was my turn to be worried about what she was going to say. Finally I saw her give a slight nod.
"I guess I can live with that." She says. Hearing this, I give a sigh of relief.
"But," I hear her say, her tone making me freeze in place. "I demand that I get to give you one kiss, as thanks for saving me and the realm from the Dark King's reign." She said. I took a small step back in shock, before I heard a familiar voice.
"Oh go ahead you numbskull. You were talking about her all the time when we first met, it isn't gonna make me mad." I hear my wife call out from the crowd. I look in her direction and see everyone staring at her.
I look back toward the princess, who is blushing now. She looks at me and nods.
I quickly look back to my wife, who also nods and then back to the princess.
"Well then, as it seems there are no objections from your wife..." She trailed off.
"I guess, well then, let's... do this thing... I guess." I say, feeling very awkward once again.
The princess took a step towards me, placing her hands on both sides of my face. I tried to keep still.
Soon enough, I felt the princess' breath on my face. I readied myself as best as I could. My eyes were closed, and no one was making a sound.
I felt her soft lips press against my own. I heard people in the crowd cheer, even my wife. For a few seconds longer the kiss lingered. Luckily, it didn't feel as awkward as I thought it would. When we finally separated, I saw that my wife had managed to push her way to where the princess and I were standing. She climbed up onto the small stage that we were standing on and gave us both a big smile.
"Now that wasn't so hard, now was it?" She asked me teasingly. I just waved her off. She turned to look at the princess and offered her hand. The princess slowly took my wife's extended hand a d shook it
"Sorry I ended up takin' your man princess, I didn't think I would end up fallin' for him in a million years. But life's got a funny way of workin' things out." My wife said, using her other hand to scratch the back of her neck.
"I can understand that, I hope that he makes you happy." The princess said, trying to smile.
"He already has." My wife said. Suddenly she pulled the princess close to her and whispered something to her. I saw the princess' face flush red as she pulled away, quickly glancing between the two of us.
"Are you sure?" The princess asked, her face still as red as a beet. My wife just nodded and threw an arm around me.
"If you say so." The princess said, turning back to her subjects, trying to calm her still visible blush. I looked questioningly at my wife who just smiled slyly at me.
"Citizens, this concludes our ceremony, go celebrate with friends and family, for the reign of the Dark King is over!" The princess exclaimed, getting cheers from her assembled subjects. She gave one last smile to me and my wife before she motioned for one of her servants to escort her back to the castle. With nothing else to do, my wife and I decided to start walking back to the house we had bought together.
"Hey," I began, causing my wife to look at me.
"What did you say to the princess right before the end of the ceremony?" I asked, hoping to get an answer now that we weren't out in public.
"Oh, I just told her that if she wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow she would be more than welcome." She said.
"Oh, is that all? Did you tell her we were going to be eating Dinner early that night?" I asked.
"Yep," My wife said, then looked at me with a devilish smirk. "I even told her why, and that she was welcome to stay for that part too."
"WHAT?!"
"I might have to make a double batch of that potion tonight."
P.S: Sorry about no place names or character names, I couldn't think of any that sounded good. | "So, like, why'd you even save me then? What was that even all about?" asked Rylene, the Opal Princess of Tyndaria.
"Jesus Christ, we've been over this like ten fucking times," replied Arnor of the Goat Hills, wiping the sweat from his brown, revealing the birthmark that, so long ago, first revealed him as the True Stonesword of Tyndis. The birthmark had set in motion a winding and daring journey, carrying him all through the length and breadth of Tyndaria, from the Ice Bog of Cooraba to the Sunken Salt Jungle, and then, at last, to here. To the privy chambers of Rylene, righteous heir of all the land, whose life and throne Arnor had single-handedly recovered from Ixuroth, Troll Wizard of the Dark Asunder.
"Yes, I saved you," Arnor continued, "but, like, only because I was supposed to. Not because I, like, loved you."
"Right, you saved me because I'm the fucking Opal Princess and you're the Stonesword and the fucking prophecy of Tyndis says we get fucking married. Arnor, why are you being such an asshole about this? Like, I'm rich, I have a castle, I know I'm hot, so what's even your problem?"
"No, I mean - fuck there's not really a way you're going to understand. Okay. Have you ever seen a cat with a laser pointer? It just sort of chases it for no reason, right? Well, for me, all the quests just sort of started, and there was always this yellow arrow in the distance, so I basically just went wherever it wanted me to for no reason. Like, honestly, I didn't watch probably ninety percent of the cut scenes, so I really wasn't following the plot all that much because I'm actually more into the combat tactics and the visuals than the role playing stuff."
"Okay, seriously, Arnor, I have no idea what you're saying, and actually you sound pretty stupid right now. Laser pointer, that's like, not even a word that exists. I had all the best tutors in Tyndaria so I should fucking know, unless it's some weird foreigner magic term you picked up in Wu Tuun La. But I hear all they do with cats out there is eat them, not let them chase stuff so..."
"See, that's the problem with you, Rylene, you're frankly just kind of a racist bitch. I have no idea how a character like you gets past QA in 2018. I mean Ubisoft does a whole unskippable cultural sensitivity disclaimer, but here you are just shitting on people from Wu Tuun La when it's pretty fucking obvious what inspired the whole cultural aesthetic of that area of the map."
"Okay, this is literally the most ridiculous conversation I've ever had, like, I'm literally ready to throw myself off the castle parapets. But I'm just going to chill because I know you're still dealing with the after effects from all the lines of beserker dust you snorted when you battled Ixy, and I know that was kind of my fault for not warning you he had those two additional astral forms, so I'll accept some blame here. So look, let's just take a beat, and we'll revisit this tomorrow."
"What? No. The fucking potion lasts ten fucking seconds, it was honestly way under-powered for how hard the late stage missions were. I'm not high, I just don't want to fucking marry you. But if I was still high from berserker potions, then guess what? It would be because Nella mixed them so I could rescue your prissy entitled ass, so maybe it would be cool if you stopped calling her a useless desk bitch."
"She is a useless desk bitch! Literally all she does is stand behind that stupid desk in her stupid apothecary twenty four hours a day. And every fucking time you go in, she's like: oh, I didn't see you there. What can I help you with? Bitch, the entire store is like ten square feet, and I'm the only customer, so I'm pretty sure you already saw me. Like, Arnor, she'd obviously just a phony thot who only cares about money."
"Well guess what not everyone gets to be born Opal Princess! Some people have to actually earn a fucking living and it's not like Tyndaria is a bastion of social mobility! But, honestly, here's the main thing you just don't get, Rylene, which is that Nella was there for me since day one. I could always count on her to be fully stocked. When I was stuck in the Labyrinth of Jyrnyr for like three days, she was an absolute rock for me, always there to help. So, we got to know each other, right? Same way you got to know Ixy. Because that's what you called him, right? Ixy. Not Ixuroth, Troll Wizard of the Dark Asunder. He's Ixy to you. And, look, Rylene, I don't fucking blame you. I'm not the best at RPGs and I prefer to do all the side missions first. So it took me like four months to get to you. You and Ixuroth had a lot of time to hang out, and maybe something happened. Wouldn't be the first time a vapid hot chick hooked up with a messed up looking filth demon just to see how grateful he was. So, if all this rushing into marriage is just you feeling guilty, you don't gotta. I truly do not care if you were fucking the Troll Wizard. I won't tell anyone. Just let me and Nella go about our lives, and you can marry whatever Duke or Baron or creepy monster you want. Everyone wins."
"Fuck off, Arnor, I know what this is really about."
"Holy shit, you're the absolute worst, did I not just fucking explain it all to you?"
"Bullshit! Bullshit bullshit bullshit! There's one reason and one reason only you're blowing me off for that useless desk bitch."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Because of the stupid glitch where you can get her to take her boobs out! Well, I'm sorry Arnor! I'm sorry there's no glitch for making my boobs pop out! I'm sorry this absurdly low cut princess gown isn't enough for you!"
"I'm not having this conversation anymore. I'm fast travelling to the tavern." | 2018-02-03T22:37:39 | 2018-02-03T22:32:42 | 820 | 441 |
[WP] Years ago you found a baby dragon that had been abandoned. You carefully helped mend its wounds and taught it to hunt and survive on its own. Now, years later, the dragon has returned to you with some of its young. It wants you to raise its weakest hatchling. | I thought it was a cat, I really did. It mewed in the deep grass, and if I hadnt stopped and taken out my earphones, I probably would've passed by without a second thought, never noticing the mottled green-blue body of an animal about the size of your average mutt.
I expected to see a next of kittens, abandoned in the grass, and instead found a baby water dragon, half submerged in dirty ditch water, with a torn wing and still fresh from its egg.
What the hell was a water dragon doing here? It was Saskatchewan, the most landlocked province in all of north America! I reach for it, picking it up and looking around. It hadnt been laid here, that was for certain. Any water dragon sightings would've definitely made national news, or at the very least a Facebook post or two. Moreover, dragons always laid eggs in clutches of seven, but this little one was all alone.
So, with dragon firmly in my arms, I started the walk home.
With some internet searching, I found that there were no dragon rescues near me. Not many of the winged creatures cared to love or fly in such a flat and boring landscape, after all. So, for better or worse, I was on my own.
My searches pulled up some results. Water dragons liked music, and had a particular affinity with music box melodies. I could repair its wing with a thick spike to pierce the leather of the torn pieces and fit them together with string hide, and they liked fish.
So, I set a plate of filleted salmon I'd been saving in front of him, grabbed a screwdriver and hammer, set some up some music box tunes on my phone, and set to work.
I nailed holes into his wing, and he barely noticed between gnawing on the salmon and listening to the music. Once I was done, I sewed the halves back together with some chorded leather that I'd made by tearing apart an old belt. According to the internet, the wing would fix itself from that point on, even if the job I had done was slightly subpar. Dragons were an insanely strong species.
"You all done with the fish there?" I asked him, wiping the sweat from my brow.
It looked up at me with silvery eyes. It was still very dirty, covered in egg matter and dirt from the pond. A bath was in order. I walked off, intending to get the tub running and come back, but...it hopped off the table, and followed after me. "Huh. I hope that means you like me." I say, laughing.
I sat on the closed toilet and started running the water. "Hot or cold, what's your preference?" I asked as we got to the bathroom. I plugged up the tub, and the dragon jumped in rather quickly.
I turned the knob and it stuck its head under the faucet, starting to warble its little heart out. "Cold it is. Saving me on my heating bill, at least." I sigh, smiling. I don't have any sort of scrubbing tools, so a rag will have to do.
After a long soak and dry, they're out and clean. The scales are a brilliant cascade of blue, green and turquoise. Everytime it moves in the light, it shimmers like the surface of the sea. Its silver eyes are offset by the bone white horns that mark it as male, according to the webpage I'm on. Female water dragons have horns as black as pitch that curl like antelope horns, while his are short and straight. They'll start to branch out like sharper deer antlers as he got older, however.
For the next ten years, this dragon is my closest friend. I've named him Titan.
He's small, smaller than he should be, but he's got a big appetite and energy to outlast a thousand hyperactive children. He grows strong, tall and handsome. His body elongates, he becomes barrel chested and his wings expand to the point that he sunbathes in the field and he nearly reaches either end. His belly scales start to take on a incandecant rainbow colour, and his horns grow out. Before long, hes so big that he could probably eat me for an afternoon snack and still ask for seconds. He's become a local mascot, he takes kids for flight rides, people pay to help feed him, even the local high school has changed their sports teams from the fighting bears to the fighting titans.
Titan has lived up to his name, for better or worse.
The barn he stayed at during the winters has gotten too small for him, and I cant afford to build a bigger one for him, even after I sold his shed skin as clothing material.
There's a large public gathering in my yard when the weather has dipped too low for it to be safe for him. Water dragon or no, it wasnt meant for the icy cold Saskatchewan winter. It was meant to live somewhere in the carribian during the winters and off the shores of BC in the summers. Dragon Rescue rangers are in glider planes, with several other, smaller assistant dragons by their side. They'd make the migration with Titian and make sure he got there okay.
"Sorry, Titian. Come back when it isn't dangerous, okay? Follow the nice people, and I'll be here when it's time to come home." I saw to him, holding his snout in two hands. "Be careful out there. Be safe."
Titian makes a mournful sound, deep, low and rumbling, pushing me over and trying to grab onto my clothing, trying to toss me up onto a harness he isn't wearing to drag me with him to warmer waters. But, I pat his nose. "No, Titian. You have to go alone. I'll...I'll miss you, buddy. Try and find yourself a girlfriend, okay? Mama wants some grandbabies."
He flops down, nearly crushing a fair few spectators, and it takes him an hour to finally get back up, and another hour to get into the air.
I watch him go until dark, when even the faintest speck of him is gone.
Five years pass, and titan is a world treasure. The dragon with a moon shaped scar on his wing has become the strongest, largest water dragon to ever live. It's nearly as large as a humpback whale. It causes typhoons with a bat of its wings and waves with every dive into the ocean.
Titian rules the sky and sea.
Eventually, Titian finds a mate. Another water dragon, 2/3s his size but twice his age. The location of their nest is unknown.
A year after Titian's wife had laid her seven eggs, the family is seen flying northward...but, only six of the seven are seen flying. Its assumed that one has died prematurely.
I started following the news like a madwoman, following every Titian Watch program on every channel and watching the skies until finally, *finally*, Titan landed down on the vast and empty fields near my home, towering over every tree in sight and shaking the ground with every claw step.
It kneels its head down, and I start to cry. Hes so big, so massive. His head is like the size of my small car, his wife is easily as large as he had been when he left, and their babies...their babies are massive. Only five months old but bigger than Titian had been at a year.
They land, tucking and rolling rather than lofting down like their parents had. And Titians head goes to his wife's back, she'd been carrying something all through the trip, and turns back to me. It has something small in its jaws, holding it by its tail, and gently settles it at my feet.
A dragon. So small, it looks like a hairless cat. Its skin is so white, it shines like a pearl in the golden Saskatchewan grass. I go to it, picking it up. Its horns are black, and curled up. Its eyes are a bright, unseeing scarlet red.
Titian's daughter, a blind albino water dragon.
I pick her up, holding the tiny beast to my chest. "Shes probably going to be small forever, no larger than a horse." I say to him. He curls himself up, his snout near me and ears perked up, listening. "I cant garuntee she can be returned to you at all."
He snorts, and a wave of hot, fishy stench washes over me.
Hes laughing. He wants her to stay, stay like he couldn't. I go forward, putting a hand to his snout. "...give me an hour or two. I'll go with you to BC, okay? I cant feed you or your family here. We'll spend the summer together while we can." I promise him.
His silver eyes close, and he huffs. I take the albino with me, and her brothers and sisters bounce after me as I go into my home and collect my things.
I've named Titan's daughter Olympia.
Adtjkrdhj
Thanks for reading. :)
https://dellamacdonaldwriting.wordpress.com for irregular updates and a cleaner version of this soon | 7:57 AM - Step into office.
7:59 AM - Get fresh copy of Motion for Summary Judgment in Aaerinshalia vs Duersing Mining off copier.
8:01 AM - Get a cup of coffee (Novelty "Lawyers Do It with Jurisprudence" Mug, 2 French Vanilla Creamers, 3 Splenda) from machine.
8:05 AM - Open Office Door.
8:06 AM - Notice naked woman on couch.
8:06:40 AM - Notice second naked woman(?) on chair.
8:06:45 AM - Spill Coffee on self.
8:07 AM - Close door quickly.
8:08 AM - Realize that spilled coffee was incredibly hot, cry out in pain, using hands to cover mouth, and dropping motion into coffee puddle.
"Jerrick - are you alright?"
"Evie, I-I-I-How many times have I told you to wear clothes when you change to human form?"
"Jerrick, you know I don't like them. Besides, we couldn't have teleported in if he had. You used to like it when I didn't wear clothes." She wasn't wrong. Dragons in some ways were miracles made flesh. Legend had it that the first dragons were made of condensed primordial energy - as if fire, water, light, darkness, earth, and sky were super-compressed into beings. Seeing one in their dragon form is pure majesty. When they decided to take humanoid form - they have a beauty that even the most ethereal and sensual of Elves would beg and plead with their creator to have. Evidrindian of the Black Dragonflight was never an exception. She was surreal - her waist-length onyx hair accentuated her supple curves. She'd spent years in the Pyrenees since last I'd seen her, and she'd picked up just a hint of a Catalonian accent.
The knock at the door lulled me out of a momentary stupor - "Jerry, are you okay?" Three more bangs. "We...uhh...heard you scream?"
Carol Abernathy was a member of our typing pool - a busybody and devout Episcopalian. I knew if she got in this office, the end results would not be good for my career. Fortunately, I was currently standing where the door would open.
"Ohh....Hey Carol. Everything's fine. I just spilled some coffee on my lap. It surprised me more than anything."
"Did you need me to get you some club soda or some napkins?"
"No! I mean, no thank you. I'm going to have a friend of mine pick up a new pair of slacks for me, and I'll just have these dry cleaned. Thank you anyway."
The slight chuff I heard in her voice let me know that she was defeated. I watched her shadow trail away through the frosted side panels around my door.
"So...hey, who's the meatsack?" The younger dragon perked her head up from the chair. Dragons are basically immortal, and after a certain amount of growth, there's absolutely no way to tell their age - the King of the Blue Dragonflight is supposedly one of the very first dragons and is six billion years old. He looks like Chris Pine's prettier younger brother and spends most of his time bedding Elven Sophisticates. However, the woman in the chair was definitely not at full maturity - physically, she looked like a 20-something version of Evie. Probably the most interesting thing about her were the very fashionable glasses she was wearing. Dragons can magically augment their vision to see at an acuity relative to a very powerful microscope with a field of view of several hundred miles, but without channeling the weave, they're actually naturally hyperoptic. Her glasses were prescription - probably so she could read easily.
"The meatsack...as you should never put it again is Jerrick Mendarrial. A long time ago, he helped me when I needed it the most. He's going to help you too."
"Help me do what? Be old and fat?"
"Your father is not old or fa--" She cut herself off, realizing she'd said something she didn't intend.
"Evie, what in the world are you talking about?" Dragons really in a sense didn't have fathers. In the Forming Ages, most scientists believe Dragons reproduced asexually. They flew almost continually and were constantly fighting, so I imagine there wasn't any time for relationships. However, as Dragons adjusted to the presence of humans, things changed slightly. Female dragons don't require a sire, but one can be voluntarily be part of the ritual, and if capable, can affect the weaving of the spell - perhaps creating a dragon whelp with her mother's good looks, and her father's love of knowledge....the type of thing that would make that whelp desire a pair of reading glasses....
She was mine. There was even slight resemblences in the cheekbones. Unbeknownst to me, Evie had weaved her Spell of Conception the first night we lay together. I'd been nervous, and I compensated with Dalarion Wine. I never noticed the magic around us.
I stumbled backwards in the door, hitting it with a slight bump. I was a father. I'd sired a dragon. There were maybe 30-40 people on Earth who'd managed to sire a dragon. It was a living, nigh-immortal swath of pure fantasy that you helped create.
"Evie....we....when you..." She just smiled kindly in response.
"You are the kindest, most courageous man I've ever known. It was always going to be you. You had to know that."
I took a long deep breath to compose myself, grinning slightly at my shoes. I loved Evie more than anything. Because Dragons live forever, bloodlines very often crossed, and it wasn't uncommon when Dragons chose to sire to choose a close relative. There really wasn't a concept of incest - it was shared magic, after all. Even though I was more like a father to Evie, any such standards would have been meaningless to her. As for me, I was drunk off my ass and next to the physical embodiment of dark beauty - I couldn't have stopped myself if I wanted to.
"Why do you think some meatbag lawyer is brave?" He just looks like he should skip lunch and eat a salad.
"Jerrick - you should tell her."
"Alright. 20 years ago, I wasn't a lawyer. I was a Magical Consultant for the Northern Rastenshire P.D. I had my degree in Criminal Justice, but Law School was pretty expensive, so I worked the night beat. One night, we get a call for a 852 - Illegal Hunting of Magical Creatures. It was about 2 AM, and the creature couldn't be moved - so we flew to scene. A bunch of local goons had gotten into aggressive nationalism, thanks to too much firewater, too little common sense, and a couple of dozen online videos. Started calling themselves Identity Sapiana and started squawking about Human Genocide.
Those fucking skinheads hooked up with the editor of The Gathering Storm - real fucking nazi shit - aryan human identitarian nonsense - but he taught those douchebags how to make Dragonsbane - and they loaded up on it. The Dragon was dying by the time we got there. She'd been poisoned, shot, and stabbed 60-70 times. Those fuckers coated their machetes in Bane. I could see the look in her eyes and I knew I couldn't save her. | 2018-04-04T20:15:57 | 2018-04-04T16:36:21 | 452 | 158 |
[WP] A literal genie – one who cruelly twists someone's wish, based on their exact words – must explain why they granted a child's wish without repercussions, to their superiors. The genie tries to spin the reasoning behind their benevolent actions into a malevolent light.
Edit: All these stories are amazing! | Safi crossed her legs and took a drag from her slim, dark cigarette. She recrossed her legs and looked at the infinite geomatic tiling on the walls. She breathed smoke. Mostly, she waited.
Djinn weren't generally known for patience. This should have been driving her insane. It was meant to. But Safi was a slow smoulder. She could wait.
Not that she wasn't itching to burn this place down, of course, but it meant she didn't try. The scorch marks around the thin metal chair she was sitting in were persuasive reason not to.
"So," the watcher said, seated behind a low table in front of her as if he'd always been in the room, "A puppy."
"A puppy."
"I see." The watcher consulted with papers Safi was almost sure were blank. Almost completely sure. She couldn't help craning her neck a little anyway. He shuffled them with unnecessary flourish, frowning deeply.
These things were a joke. A joke that could end in her dashed on the floor and turned into smoke, but still. The room, the watcher (who looked like an old, wise man, as wrinkled and brown as a date with a beard down to his lap--how pretentious could you get?), the chair she couldn't stand up from. They could have done this in her lovely little Brooklyn walk up, or hell, anywhere. They were *genies*.
"It was her wish." Safi shrugged. "She lit the brazier and asked. I answered. I thought that's what we did. Have things changed?"
"Don't be clever." The watcher looked at her disapprovingly. "Being clever is why you're here."
"We're *supposed* to be clever," Safi snapped, leaning forward as far as the chair would let her. "I can't help being clever. Maybe if you tried it, you'd--"
Her throat tightened and shut. She sat back in the chair and tried not to look like she wanted to breathe. The pressure loosened, slowly, but she could still feel it like a noose waiting to draw tight. It seemed very overdramatic.
"You granted her wish exactly as it was asked. You gave her a puppy. A 'good puppy', in her words. She now has had that puppy for four months, and *nothing has gone wrong*. It hasn't run away. It hasn't bitten her. It hasn't gotten ill, or spread illness to her family. You didn't even steal the dog from rightful owners who have come back to reclaim it!" The watcher leaned forward, voice a roar like a forest fire. "Explain!"
The pressure fell from her neck, and Safi smiled, pulling long and slow from her cigarette.
"Dogs die," she said, blowing smoke from her nose.
"Pardon?"
"Dogs. Die." Safi leaned forward again, conspiratorily. "No matter how good, or how much they're loved. They get fifteen, eighteen, twenty years, and then they're gone. I gave her *exactly* what she asked for. A perfect, loyal companion who loves her above all others, someone to play and laugh and cry with, and then, just as she needs him the most--"
Safi snapped her fingers.
It was with no small amount of satisfaction that she saw the watcher's mouth twitch at the corners.
"You're too clever by far," he said, rolling his papers up (and what she would give to see them!), "It didn't occur to you to simply *say* that?"
"But I'd miss these little talks." She smiled beguilingly, with an eyelash flutter just for fun. "No one yells at me like you do."
He snorted, shook his head, and vanished. Safi sat a while longer, until she was sure she was actually alone.
"Fuck. *Fuck* me." She dropped her cigarette and ran her shaking hands over her face, breathing deep.
It was a matter of thought and will to be in Choti's bedroom in an instant...where the little girl wasn't, as usual. Safi stood in the dark, just outside the splash of light from the suburban streetlamps outside.
Small. Pedestrian. Any little girl's room, with drawings on the wall and little treasures strewn everywhere. Children were like dragons. They loved their hordes. There, a shoebox of odd shaped stones; here, a line of battered, well-worn toys. Safi pulled her blankets up and smoothed them almost absent-mindedly. Then she left, careful with the creaking door and the creakier steps.
She could fly, or will herself there, but it felt...inappropriate.
Choti and Max were asleep in a huddle on his massively oversized dog bed, a pull toy still dangling from her hand as she lay on her back snoring--much like Max, who whuffed in his sleep and twitched his paws. Safi sat cross legged on the floor next to them, and gingerly pulled Max from Choti's loosely draped arm.
In her lap, the puppy yawned and squirmed. His breath stank of dog biscuits and who-knew-what. Safi didn't like dogs. They were filthy animals, unclean and useful only for work.
She hugged Max tight to her chest.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, as he whined softly into her ear, "I'm sorry. That's a good boy, Max. You're a good boy."
Choti stirred in her sleep, a tiny frown on her face as she sleepily reached for a friend who wasn't there. Safi put Max within reach, and the girl settled immediately. Max looked up at Safi with his big brown eyes, whuffed softly, and flopped back down against his master.
"Stay good. Take care of her. As long as you can." Safi instructed him, sternly, and disappeared to the sound of a mystified whine.
On the street outside she slipped on her sunglasses, whether or not it was two a.m. They fogged instantly with the steam rising from her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said, to the cool night air and whatever spirits lived there, and she was gone again. | "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!"
The Grand Elder was unhinged. He had ranted for nearly an hour about "traditions" and the "problems with the millennials these days" and "respect". He wasn't strictly wrong though; Balthor *didn't* respect the elder or traditions and he *was* under 1000 years old.
Still, Balthor was patient and sat in silence while the old man said his piece. He had waited for a specific phrase before speaking, but hadn't heard it so far. Maybe just a little push...
"What's the big deal? It's just one child"
"JUST ONE CHILD!" the elder screamed. "One or a HUNDRED, it makes no difference. Our sanctum has been shamed and EVERYONE KNOWS ABOUT IT!"
Balthor smiled.
"Exactly," he said quietly as he rose confidently to his feet.
Shocked into silence by Balthor's sudden movement and level tone, the Elder froze; almost as if bespelled. The rest of the council had long since lost interest - leaning heavily in their chairs or resting in their hands, but the sudden change in the room put everyone on instant alert. Balthor had their complete attention.
"Everyone knows..." He spoke quietly, but in the gaping silence, his words fell like hammers in the hall.
"Everyone. From our sanctum across the realm and even into the human world. All have heard of the 'miraculous genie' and the wish I granted. Did you think I did this on accident? That I was careless? That I am *soft*!?"
"Have you even noticed how the humans distrust us now. That our victories are few because many refuse our help. How cautious they've become when accepting our magic. Their pain and anguish used to light the tallest spires, but now we can barely light the candles in this room."
"This council is too set in its ways..."
"You forget your..." started one elder angrily, rising from his seat. Balthor paused to face him. The elder's words died on his lips as he shriveled back into his seat. Smart move. Balthor continued.
"WE have not changed, but the world of man HAS. They've grown. They've learned. They want our power and they'be become clever about using it and we suffer for it. You have led us to ruin and now you are finished. The Sanctum now answers to me."
"PREPOSTEROUS!" hollered the grand elder. Sensing the stillness around him, the Grand Elder glanced to his peers, but none would meet his gaze. They had already seen what the Grand Elder hadn't. They were no doubt already plotting their best course of action to keep their status in the new order.
"Be assured," purred Balthor. He waved his hand dismissively. "I have no interest in politics or administration. You will all stay in your roles and serve as you always have, but never again presume to direct or command. You serve MY will".
Finally cowed, the Grand Elder resumed his seat. His face was flushed, but he spoke quietly this time. "The others won't follow you. You showed weakness."
Balthor laughed while the council murmured their confusion.
"I am taking command because you are not as clever as you think you are. If you were, you would long ago have realized the benefit of granting a few simple wishes without consequence. The humans will become confused. They will believe that *they* will be the ones to get the 'good wish'. They'll let down their guard and in doing so will fall prey to us like never before."
"While you've hidden in this tower growing dusty and odorous, I have walked the world of man. I hear their words. I watch their 'news'. Word has already spread and demand is exploding. How is it that you *still* haven't noticed how bright the room has become or heard the fountains outside? Did you not wonder why the halls are empty of Granters? Even now they are on Earth granting curse after curse, barely able to keep up."
Balthor glanced briefly from elder to elder as he spoke his next words; making sure that his meaning could not be misunderstood.
"They won't follow me? They already are... and you didn't even know that. You have failed and so you are dismissed from your role as leaders. You will instead handle the daily tasks that are beneath the Granters. You serve us from now until the end of your days."
Balthor turned and walked from the room without a backwards glance.
| 2017-08-17T07:26:06 | 2017-08-17T06:33:34 | 174 | 71 |
[WP] It is discovered that our universe is a simulation. After great effort, a small team of experts manages to reach the higher dimension - only to find that this too, is a simulation. This gives rise to Dimensions Climbers: those who dare to ascend higher and higher toward the true world. | The first time I skipped -- I can only equate that first experience to something like chewing an entire sheet of quality LSD and washing it down with ayahuasca, after which the geometric elves in their hyperspace halls crack open your skull and dig their long architectural fingers into the concept of what could be your brain meat.
That was the first time. It gets weirder after that. After awhile, floating (I guess that descriptor will suffice) around increasingly bizarre dimensions which our consciousnesses were never programmed to be able to comprehend, we Skippers started to develop some lingo in order to describe experiences to each other.
There is the fundamental "skipping", for example. You can use it as a verb to describe the act of traveling from one dimension/simulation to another. Maybe it got coined because as you go, your organsbody swing through that unavoidable - skip - like a bad frame rate. It also gets used as a noun to talk about the people who skip. The Skippers. I/me/self am one of them.
Then there's the Walk. That's what we call the journey. We're all skipping along the Walk. There's a kind of feeling that you get, something like inevitability. Maybe it's programming. In any case, the inevitable Walk is the feeling that guides you from one dimension to the next. It can help to describe this to the single-planers as like memories, but for the future. We call future-memories that guide us along the Walk as the Chimes, because they stick out bright among the muddiness of rumination and lead you true. It takes a long while to learn how to hear the Chimes and feel the Walk and go skipping along the true journey. Most of us disappear soon after/before starting the skip. We were never programmed for this shit, mind, but some bug or glitch lets a few of us last a little longer.
I've been Skipping on the Walk for a time...but time is a difficult concept to talk about -- I'll come back to that. I have memories/journey of traveling through dimensions. I met/will meet different beings. The reality that I came from or that was programmed into my consciousness had flower/trees had peopleFaces faces there was one(singular)face I wanted to tell you about.
we last a little longer some of us. you get told when starting that you have to keep a sense of self collected, putting your individualism in a jar like because that's what you're thrusting through the dimensionsphere. If you let that dissolve you're done. You have to cling to things like the colors of autumn leaves and remember what it was like to have your synapses firing. There was a face.
Ah, I remember now what I was going to say. I get a little scattered these beats, the pulse the way the face the line the leaves we now/later/when I will be telling you about the Skipper's lingo. There was a big debate when this was first discovered. Is there an end to the journey? Does the Walk end, will it go anywhere? The question is too big and the consequences meaningless, so we have to try to find out. After all, weIus were programmed that way by
someone
whothenwhen
there will be a face | What is this feeling? It's like being shredded and remade again. It's like experiencing countless deaths personally.
Well, lucky I won't have to do it again. I won't have to climb. I'm only a simple mathematician. My job is to calculate how many dimensions we'd have to go through to reach the true world. I thought I'd try climbing once to improve my calculations.
Oh. I'm stuck here. I'm the smartest man in the world, and I forgot that I can't return. How lame.
... You know, I have heard a rumour. On the 67th dimension, Sector 4 Unit 5 Block 297 of Galaxy R, there lies a man. He's one of the richest men in that dimension, I've heard. He owns that entire Block. Apparently he's one of ours. He came from our dimension, the lowest dimension. But anyway, apparently he's created a device that allows communication between dimensions remotely, without destroying the framework of lower dimensions.
... I mean, it's not like I couldn't build my own, but that sounds easier. I'll definitely make it there. I'll definitely meet that man. I'll definitely succeed.
Hey, while we're at it, the most recent version of my calculations says there should be around 719 quadrillion dimensions. I say that, but the number is meaningless. Why, you ask? Because its margin of error is roughly 189000&#37;. But whatever. It doesn't matter. I'll enlist that guy. We'll definitely reach the true world.
Together!
*I'll continue this, but I dunno if anyone wants it.* | 2018-04-11T21:09:40 | 2018-04-11T21:02:59 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] This man EXPECTED the Spanish Inquisition. But the Spanish Inquisition did not expect someone like HIM, and were dramatically unprepared. | "Nobody expects the Spanish inquisition!" Ronaldo yelled as I kicked down the door. I hate it when he does that. As we burst inside the house, we saw that no one was home. "Fan out," I said, "Find the heretic and bring him to me." As I said that the door to the house slammed shut behind us.
"He must be trying to-" Ronaldo said, his voice being cut off in mid sentence. I heard his body hit the floor. The room was pitch black, all the windows had been boarded up. I drew my saber and started to yell "To arms!" but I only got the "to" out before whoever it was punched me in the throat. Gasping, and unable to see where the fiend was, a flung my saber around, hoping to catch something, anything. And then I was out.
I awoke to find myself strapped into a chair. In front of me sat the heretic, with a single candle resting on a table off to the side.
"Ah, yer awake."
"Where are my men?" I said in my most authoritative voice.
"You know, win you came fer Castor, I sed nothin', fer I never really liked Castor."
Ah, he was going to grandstand. I remained silent. The papal legate knew where I was and would be sending more men soon enough.
"Win you came fer Bluto, I sed nothin', fer Bluto was a rotten sonofabitch."
With this he leaned forward into the light, betraying a face as ugly as sin. He had a chin like a Haspburg and on underbite to match. His eyes, deeply set below an apelike brow, blazed with the devil's fire.
"And then you came fer Olive, and fer that I'm gonna haf to strangle you with yer own guts."
He stood up. I know when I accepted this job that there was a significant chance of martyrdom. Having nothing to lose, I started screaming at him, demanding that he repent of his crimes against the Lord and to stay his hand against one of the Lord's servants. He just simply stood there and pulled out a metal cylinder. In what is surely a satanic ritual he squeezed it and a plug of green gunk shot out, falling in an arc through the air and down his gullet. Reaching down, he picked me and the chair up with one pinky in a display of his demonic strength. Raising me into the air, he gazed into my eyes.
"NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPINACH INQUISITION!" quoth Popeye the Sailorman. | I looked at them with a gleeful grin growing on my face. I had known for a while that this day would come, my superior sources silently supplying me with information. So I prepared. Oh, did I prepare. I built walls. I planted fruits and vegetables, raised cattle and sheep. I even created a secret password to my unilaterally unbreakable doors. And when they came for me, I was ready. People called me crazy, but who was laughing now? I was, from the top of my walls while those silly pig-dogs commanded in the name of their God that I come down answer their ridiculous religious requests. I taunted them a second time. So they charged my fort. I grabbed a nearby chicken and threw it down at them while my comrades catapulted cows. After our domestic defense, they became frustrated, and ran away in exhausted exasperation, exclaiming, "But, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition!" Well, the so-called foolish french did. | 2015-04-10T08:40:26 | 2015-04-10T07:24:39 | 117 | 24 |
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