prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You find yourself in a control room with a panel that has one button for every natural disaster there is. You hear a robotic voice that repeats "You choose one or I choose two." | The voice reverberated off into the cold hard steel around me. I sized up the panel of hundreds of buttons labeled with disasters of every kind.
I began at the bottom and began pressing them one by one.
"What are you doing?!" the robotic voice asked, "you'll destroy the entire planet."
I smiled, "I know." | I don't know how I got here. I don't know how to leave. All I see is a panel. Lined with silver buttons, each one has a picture on it. In the background, a monotone voice repeats the same sentence over and over.
"You choose one or I choose two."
I assume it means a button, so I begin to inspect them. Upon looking at them closely, I can see that each one has the name of a natural disaster on it. I see tsunamis, forest fires, hurricanes, earthquakes, and everything in between. Below each button is a description, engraved into the metal. But the most unsettling thing about this panel is the words engraved below each description.
"Approx. Deaths: "
Ranging from an entire country's worth of people to an entire continent. I knew that if I wanted to make it out of here with my sanity (and the world) intact, I would have to choose the button with the lowest death count. As I went over each one, scanning the death counts, the monotone voice droned on.
"You choose one or I choose two."
At last, when I had gone through almost every button, I stopped at the last one. It had no description, had a sticky note near it, which I paid no attention to, and was named:
"Presidential Election."
Out of all the buttons, this one had the lowest death count, only seven hundred people killed. After weighing my options, I finally decided to give it a push. After I pushed it, I decided to lift the sticky note up to give it a closer look. Something was written on it.
"Do not push under any means"
As I looked back towards the button, I saw what the note had been hiding.
Seven more zeros. | 2018-01-02T14:12:14 | 2018-01-02T13:44:59 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Due to a clerical error, you never got a soul. One day the Reaper came to collect. Instead he gave you a scythe. "Another like me, then. Your soul is out there, and you'll need this to get it out." | "Wait...one more time?"
"How many different ways would you like me to explain this sir?"
Death brought his bony fingers to his face in exasperation. Normally, all that came was the light, and the soul; a simple call and collect that persisted in a hollow rhythm that echoed through all of times and space. Never had Death encountered an identity crisis other than his own.
The human continued to speak.
"It just doesn't make any sense. How can I have been unaccounted for? All that praying and God never thought to be like 'Hey dude I can't feel the soul behind it?' How can I just be a bag of bones?"
Death tried not to take that as too heavy an insult. He took pride in his lack of flesh, and also resented the idea that his neighbour upstairs was in anyway responsible for the accounting of souls. Sure, they were a kind of team. The delivery and the receiving of the mortal soul. But in the end, it all came down to Death.
Death took a slow breath - it seemed to make the humans more at ease if he faked a respiratory system - and started to speak.
" Listen, Human -"
"Jake."
"Okay, Jake. I have a record of all given souls, and all potential deaths. I say potential because there are cases in which lives are not lived, shall we say, to their full potential. However, in this instance, while both were recorded for you, it seems there was an error concerning the delivery of your soul."
Death did have the privilege of peering into the future of those souls which he was destined to collect, and such was why he was called here today. Death was always on time. Humans were not. And in some instances they made a point of being too eager. Yet, despite appearances, Death was not demanding and took pleasure in the predictable pace of his position in the system that was. It had been his plight, since the last time this happened. Except last time, he was the Jake. He never got an explanation, just a search. And search he has. But never found. And so, instead he became Death. He decided to work instead of search.
Jake was staring blankly out the window in his studio apartment. As Death sat across from him in his only arm chair, explaining his lack of soul, he reflected on everything he'd ever existed for. And he couldn't really think of anything. Everything was yet so serve a purpose. Cheesy as it was, Jake thought to himself that nothing really had soul. Not his relationship with Ben, who'd mentioned relentlessly during their breakup that the last 8 months together felt 'passionless', or the endless conflict with his parents about his lack of...everything.
"So what next then?"
Jake asked this with a tone of frustration, but something beneath it felt like desire. Or maybe it was understanding, as if Death sat here taunting him not with the end, but just the beginning.
"Well, essentially, a delivery was accounted for. There's something out there that belongs to you, and it's waiting for you. It's very likely it got placed in the wrong person. In such a case, the human container in questions doesn't necessarily know of this epic mishap, but instead comes to a somewhat more peculiar death." For Death, it was as if to say the soul is searching for a way out, and in doing so seeks to drive the human towards more risky circumstances.
"These deaths are those which come as more of a surprise, and lack any real timely explanation or understanding, that which humans long for most when facing Death."
This resonated with Jake. In this interaction with Death, he was coming to feel a definite understanding. He looked up, and nodded sternly as a reflection of those feelings, and beckoning Death to continue.
"You have to find a Death like that, and when you collect that soul that's yours, well, you'll be free to start the life you were meant to have."
This wasn't what Jake expected.
"Wait...i have to collect a soul? My soul?"
"Yes. But you have to search for it."
"Search for It?" Jake didn't know what to make of this. He knew he didn't have a choice, and that felt okay, but he couldn't quite comprehend what this meant in full. He new life would include some soul searching, but soul searching for life seemed like something entirely different.
Suddenly, Death stood up, and just as suddenly, in each hand appeared a scyth. Lean, and tall and incredibly simple. There was nothing extravagant about them. Death extended his right hand with the scyth towards Jake. Tentatively, Jake took it from Death. "Your soul is out there, and you'll need this to search for it."
| 1."Why do I even need a soul, anyway?" - asked David, three weeks after his dead, still unable to collect the essence of a living being.
"I'm not sure of the details myself, but it seems you need one to pass on."
"Pass on to where?"
"Who knows? Heaven, Hell, Reincarnation,... I'm just like you, David. I'm still stuck here."
"You said that I'd know which soul is mine should I come across it?"
"Probably. Again, I'm just as clueless as you are."
"You're not really helpful, you know."
"They also said that when I was alive."
"... Sorry."
"It's alright. It's more of a fact than an opinion."
"Anyway, what happens if we never find our soul? Is there a time limit or something?"
"I guess not. Look at Arthur. He's been here for who-knows-how-long."
"Arthur Pendragon?"
"No, just Arthur. He came from a time when there was no need for a last name."
"Must have been aeons ago."
"Yeah, he still retains many characteristics of our less-developed ancestors. His scythe used to be from stone until Zach made him an iron one out of pity."
2.David returned from his conversation with his hooded 'mentor' to his usual routine. There was two main reasons why the man had yet to harvest a single soul. First, he felt uncomfortable about it. But more importantly, he wanted to linger on this plane a little bit more.
David rested his chin on the outside of a window on the hospital's third floor. His wife was inside, rotting from a disease he didn't quite know how to pronounce. The doctors always used such complicated words, like reading poems to an illiterate.
Of course living people could not see nor feel him, but David chose to float in mid-air. If he entered that room, he would have the desire to hold her hands, to kiss her as gently as he could, to hug her tight and assure his love that everything was going to be fine. But what good would it do, for she could not feel his presence. If any, it would only remind him that he is no longer alive, that she was all alone in the struggle against the disease.
'Till death do us part', a pained smile on David's lips, he had always thought he would take care of her until her heart stopped beating, but now he had to watch his wife die, unable to do anything.
3.They had a lot of plans together. The Louvre, the Amazon Forest, the Great Wall,... Lily wanted to see all the world has to offer before her body broke.
"Let's wait until you are better." - David would say. Would. David was no longer here. Not any more.
Lily had never had any desire to continue treatment, for she saw no value in prolonging a caged life within the hospital walls. That was before David was there. She could leave behind her dreams for him, she could take another pill, another injection, another surgery, if it means she could spend another second with him, if it means she could see him in her every waking moment.
But eternity is a lie and forever a false promise.
4.David was a smart man.
I approached him in the midst of a lovely summer afternoon.
"Do you think visiting the Louvre at this time of the year a good idea?" - he asked, his eyes fixated on Lily.
"Are you spying on her?"
"Are you spying on me?"
"..."
"You know, I've always had a hunch, that you have my soul."
"Is that so?"
"Do you?"
I took out a small blue marble from my pocket.
"Why?" - he didn't even glance.
"I suppose," - I said, removing my hood - "I wanted my first love to have some meaning."
"Melinda!" - this time he turned around - "I...you..."
"Enough about me. What are you going to do now?"
"I...I..." - he had yet to recover from the shock - "I was thinking about what you did to me."
"So you are going to hide her soul."
"Yeah."
"All the time in the world..." - I muttered to myself, before throwing him a crystal clear marble, along with the blue one. - "A Reaper's tool. Extract her soul into the marble. When you want to pass on, smash it. Tell her the truth, David."
"Thank you." - David said after a while, he grabbed his scythe. - "Is it alright if I do this? I'm not a real Reaper, you know."
"Just return your stuff afterward."
"Thank you." - David repeated, looking into my eyes. - "And I'm sorry, Melinda."
He passed through the wall into the room where his wife had been waiting.
5.David was a smart man, and an innocent boy.
I know, because I took his first kiss and his first time. In turn, he took me to prom.
Our love ended when we went to college at different place. Long-distance relationship didn't work.
Two months later, I passed away. And it was revealed then that I never had a soul. I needed to find one, like my 'mentor' told me.
It was to be said that I was not a particularly diligent Reaper, I spent most of my time watching over David, from the days he was mourning my death to when he married the love of his life. And all those years, I concocted a plan.
When David's time came, I would hide his soul away. He wouldn't be able to pass on, and I would have him all for myself.
Twisted and selfish, I know. He was the only man I had ever loved, and I did want my first love to have some meaning.
But you cannot imprison a heart. Ever since the days I spent watching him, I've known his heart belonged to Lily. And when he died, he never did recognize me. It pained me so.
Did I despise Lily? Very much. But I loved David. And he looked so happy when he was with her...
I watched as the two of them flew away from the hospital...
Maybe eternity is there and forever a promise...
| 2018-02-22T23:45:20 | 2018-02-22T23:22:48 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] You get invited by an eccentric classmate to join the "Conquest Club." You think it may be a video or board gaming club, and decide to check it out. During your first meeting you realize the group is actually planning to conquer the world, and somehow, they seem to have the resources to do it. | The club was an oddity.
Its room was set in one of the constructed areas of the the school, marked with yellow tape with a big “KEEP OUT” sign.
At least, that’s what it looked like.
Kevin, the person who introduced me to the club, laughed at my puzzlement. He was dressed, as always, in formal attire. While outwardly a frat boy, he was no such thing once you got to know him. He rarely attended the parties, preferring the fraternity’s business occasions.
“Do not worry. You shall see.”
I walked past the yellow tape, opened the door, and saw a small bookshelf with a piano. Kevin stride up, pressed the G key three times and the E flat key once, and the shelf swiveled open.
A passageway, with a small cart on a track.
We climbed on, and the scene unfolded before me. An enormous portal opened out of thin air, and beyond was what could only be described as the modern version of Isengard.
Thousands of men, dressed in slacks, training on a battleground. An enormous base under construction, with a ring of shipyards. A single tower spiked into the sky, black like midnight, with a rainbow covered waterfall
“Welcome to the Conquest Club! I’m Silver, the Secretary General for the club, and ostensibly the club leader. However, you’ll find that each one of us has our own specialty. When we conquer the world, we will share in our glorious victory.”
He introduced me to a cast of people as quirky as Kevin, who turned out to be the personnel manager, with a perfect skill to mingle among the elite and the wealthy. It’s where he goes every Friday. There was Grima, the politician, whose ability to predict public responses and hack elections helped the club influence leaders worldwide. There was Manstein, the general, who was a brilliant tactician, a chess grandmaster, and a man with connections to paramilitary groups all over the world.
“Why me? Why am I picked to join this club?”
Silver pointed to the shipyards.
“Kevin saw your drawings. You’re an engineer, and an ambitious one at that. Don’t you want a chance to outshine Oppenheimer, Urza?”
Ah, those drawings. The ones detailing the Warp-Bomb, a device capable of leveling half a continent. The ones that called for a flying dreadnought, the Imperator-Weatherlight, bristling with planet range railguns and scores of killer drones. The Tide, the Grey Goo scenario that could destroy all opponents, and the Hades, a super virus capable of slicing through even the most stringent security systems.
I can do this here. All of it. I smiled at Silver, who grinned in return, and the light in our eyes reflected the fires of conquest and war.
“I’d be happy to join you. Let’s conquer the world.” | I pushed the door open with my laptop halfway open, Baba Yetu playing in quiet tones through my headphones. A whiteboard sign with big bubbly letters saying "Conquest Club" in the shape of an arrow pointed me down a corridor. I felt a familiar nervousness about meeting new people, but I pushed forward nevertheless.
My flipflops made rythmic flapping sounds as I proceed. I saw the door that must be the club and hesitate slightly, checking my phone to see if I am early. Just before I knocked, the door opened. I saw the expectant brown eyes of Jake, my classmate, and noticed several people already sitting in a semi circle around an old fashioned chalkboard.
"I'm ready to wonder whore." I said, brandishing my laptop. Jake smiled slightly, a knowing look in his eye.
"I'm glad you decided to join, Kyler." Jake said. I smiled back, glad that he knew my name.
I stepped past him and find a seat between two others with laptops, and noticed that they had word documents open. Jake stepped out in front of the chalkboard, and smiled at each of us in turn.
"You brought yourselves hear today in search of different things. Some of you thought this was a game, some of you thought it was a joke, some of you were dragged, but we are now all in this together." There was a glint in his eye, before he turned to the board and started writing. He made a list of all of our names while we sat and waited expectantly. I felt a slight nervousness at the thought that this might be some kind of prank, and got ready to curse myself for not just finding people to play Civ with over the internet.
As the last name was jotted down, he began to write descriptions. As he got to mine, he paused for a second, before writing 'intelligent empath, general of the west.' I looked at everyone else in confusion as more descriptions were added. Worried glances were passed as more outlandish descriptions followed.
Jake turned. "No, Kyler, this isn't like Dnd. We're not roleplaying here." he said, responding to my hopeful thought. I tensed up slightly at being called out. "I am going to let you in on something that must remain a secret, at least for a little while. I have been given many gifts. I am able to avail myself to understandings that by all means should be private. I have... super powers." he said quietly. "I can see the future. It's exactly like Dune, Kyler. 100%. But it is so much more than that. I can also see the past, and it is not limited to the lives of my ancestors. I know every moment of all of your lives, the thoughts or feelings you didn't want anybody to know, the things you did you thought you got away with, everything you will ever feel is available to me, Kyler."
I closed my laptop and get ready to leave. *This will teach me for thinking I could have friends*
"I'll be your friend, Kyler." Jake said. I froze, scared to have thoughts for a second.
"You can be yourself Kyler, it's nothing I haven't seen before. You find it strange that I am singling you out, don't worry, you'll learn about your new friends in time. They've been briefed for your arrival."
I looked around the room, eyes filled with secret knowledge grinned at me. I started to mentally stammer. *Can you hear this?*
"I can, man. And we have much to speak about, but first I have to prepare you for something. It will not be pleasant, but it needs to be done. Stand up, Kyler."
I hesitated. Jake sighed. "It's over, man. Your life as you knew it, it's done. You are about to feel a rush like you've never imagined, and then it's going to hurt. Before you ascend, I have to warn you that I've been talking to you for years, and I'll always be there for you in the past, but we couldn't exist at the same time, man. I'm sorry you have to see this, but you're about to see a lot worse." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol.
I screamed internally in fear, and I noticed him wince slightly as he aimed at his head and pulled the trigger.
___
/r/Periapaopsis for more of this one
| 2018-11-06T09:01:09 | 2018-11-06T08:40:40 | 164 | 47 |
[WP] The old legends say that only "cold iron" can kill the Fair Folk. Now, with the Goblin King invading the surface world, it's discovered that this was a mistranslation. The original phrase was "Heavy Metal". | Standing on the precipice of extinction , humanity reaches back in time. Back in time to the tales of old. The tales that spoke of the Fair folk.
The fair folk were prophesied to come killing and burning the Earth clean of humanity’s taint. They did as the prophecy foresaw.
Modern weaponry was useless against them. Bullets bounced off of impenetrable skin. Explosions were shrugged off by a horde so large and savage that the Fae outnumbered the humans 15 to 1.
New York fell in a day. London burned for a week before the screams finally stopped. Goblins crawled through the sewers and ogres walked the streets.
Humanity was desperate, and so it turned to the old ways. Early man had carved on ancient stone walls and pots, the beast’s weakness. The engravings spoke of a metal so heavy that it could shatter the earth. Iron was the assumption. That was all our ancestors had access to, the historians claimed. Iron was the weapon that would save humanity.
But it was not to be so. This, plan like many others failed. Iron had the same effect as any other metal; minimal. And so humanity was swept from the world, with the survivors fleeing to the last bastion. The City of Stars. Hollywood.
So there the beasts gathered to finish their deed, only to be met on the battle field by two lone men. These men had long beards and rotund stomachs. They looked nothing like warriors, except for the axes they held in calm hands.
The Fair Folk laughed , and the men smiled right back. For these men had brought with them something the beasts had never seen before. Their axes were connected to long black wires, and microphones stood before them. Truly these were the tools to craft the Heaviest of Metals.
“Are you ready ?” One of the men asked the army amassed against them.
The army of monsters looked around bewildered and confused .
Then one of the beasts spoke up in a high nasally voice, “ For what?”
The man’s grin widened, “For the Greatest Song in the World.”
The beasts met this claim with laughter again.
That is, until the man leaned close to the microphone in front of him and whispered,
“Tribute.” | A tiny goblin rushes down a hallway, torn necktie hanging loosely from his neck, clipboard in his hand. He comes up to a door with a pentagram star on it, knocks three times, and the door opens. He takes a few steps in and looks at his king, tall and stately, as he stares into a mirror, giving the goblin only the slightest of glances. “Five minutes,” he says to his king before rushing out of the room as quickly as he came.
The Goblin King stares at himself in the mirror. He checks over the carefully applied stage makeup, does a few vocal warmups...something about seashells by the seashore and various colors of leather...runs his fingers through his feathered hair, and winks at himself in the mirror while a grin forms on his lips that is part excitement, part mischievous, and then rushes out the door.
As he walks down the long hallway, he begins to hear the roaring, the chanting of the crowd he had so masterfully gathered...all the fair folk he could drum up. Thousands, for sure. Too bad it’s not all of them, he thought, but it’s a good start. He really hated them all, but knew he had a part to play. It wasn’t his disdain for them that brought them to the arena that night, but the promise of a show that would, as the adverts said, “melt their minds”. He knew he had to stay in character, at least at first. Suddenly he approached the curtain, the final barrier between him and multitudes of fairies eagerly anticipating the show. With a final breath, he pushed through the curtain and onto the stage to thunderous applause.
He walked up to the mic and yelled, “Hello Cleveland...let’s get this show started!” (At this point it should be noted that a large number of the fair folk actually reside in Cleveland...they find that no one looks for them there, and the have liked the Indians ever since someone showed them Major League at a Christmas party...but that’s a whole other story). As the crowd roared, he produced from thin air two crystal balls. One, he threw at the ground to his left where it shattered, and the glass dust formed a pentagram. He threw the second one behind him to form a second pentagram. He then turned back to the mic, and said “sklerc nocts metallum de mortis aris”. Suddenly, the glass dust on the ground began to glow and sizzle, and then two portals open to release two souls. As their molten bodies form and cook, they walk towards each other to share a warm embrace, their features become more clear. The Goblin King had resurrected the Abbott brothers, Dimebag Darrell and Vinnie Paul, as his guitarist and drummer. He then threw a third crystal ball to his right, repeated the incantation, and the crowd roared as Cliff Burton joined them on bass.
Immediately they tear through an instrumental set, cranked to 11 of course, that combines The Art of Shredding and The Call of Kthulu to mind blowing effect, and about half the fair folk in the crowd, smiles on their faces, die in a manner akin to the face melting scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark. As the song ends, the Goblin King again approaches the mic, peers out over the half of the crowd that survived the opening number, catches the pale blue eyes of a Farie in the third row, stares deep into her soul, and as Dimebag, Vinnie Paul, and Cliff play the opening notes of the next song, the Goblin King runs his fingers once more through his feathered hair, smiles at her, and sings,
“You remind me of the babe...” | 2018-12-26T18:06:08 | 2018-12-26T16:38:44 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] It's been roughly eight years since the last time you saw another human being. It's been a further twenty years since you met you seemingly immortal childhood dog that has become your trusty companion. | It happened when I was pushing some fallen concrete rubble in the road aside--I felt the last bit of hope in me die. I was almost angry at myself for it, that I would allow myself to let it die, but I'm not stupid. Everything dies in this world. It's no one's fault.
Rather, I should've been impressed by my own efforts. Who else would've been able to motivate themselves for so long. Maybe I'll find someone around this corner, maybe I'll see someone hiding in this building. Time after time after time again, I managed to trick myself with these mental games. But one day it just stopped working. I don't know if I lacked the energy to try, or if the hide-and-seek illusion just wore off.
The thought that hurt the most was that I had given up before understanding a thing of this God-forsaken wasteland. I was young when the sky turned black, and these days I catch myself wondering if the color green was just another lie my mind made up to trick me into taking another step forward.
But I kept going, walking as if stumbling dazed towards a bottomless cliff.
My dog Dusty was there with me, my loyal companion of twenty years. He was incredible, a golden ray of light that cut through the sky, leading me forward though the darkness. He was my pillar, and no matter how many games of hide-and-seek reached an unbearable, heart-rending end, he was always there to guide me to the next one.
I felt like he was the one thing this world could not claim. He barked in defiance at its tyranny and shielded me from the nightmares it sent to pursue me in my sleep. Dusty was my everything, and through every season and every year, through his energetic youth and even beyond the white hairs that this vengeful existence painted onto him, he never left my side.
But again, the mind is capable of the cruelest deceptions. Dusty passed away in his sleep a month ago, and though overwhelmed by incredulity, anguish, and a deep dark loneliness, I felt like I had to continue on, as if to validate his efforts on our aimless mission.
I tried so hard to keep going, but today I gave up. And I feel like Dusty would've been okay with that too. In the end, everything dies in this world. | The hazy taste of wood ash on my lips is a perpetual travel companion these last few months. Smoke rolls in from over every hill, day and night, no matter which way the wind blows.
Paolo has a wracking cough, poor thing. So do I. I reckon we're about fifty miles north of the U.S. border by now, but the going is slow and spirits are falling.
I can't know this, of course, but I think we've passed a turning point. When I say "we" I guess I mean the entire planet. But seeing as the only living things we've seen in years now are Paolo and myself, I suppose we also just means us two. We are the planet - proxies for human and canine-kind - and we've passed a turning point.
It isn't the heat - which is still scorching as ever - and it isn't even the fires - which are surprising only because I'd have figured there'd be no forest left to burn by now.
No, what convinces me that we've passed yet another point of no return is the color of the sky. It isn't blue anymore, at least not entirely - more of a blue tinged orange. Another step on the road to Venus.
Paolo isn't just coughing, I'm afraid. Poor thing's mind is going. He got up in the middle of the day couple of days ago and trotted right out of the cave I'd found us to spend the daylight hours in. Thank God I woke up, or he'd have fried in minutes.
I caught up with him at the cave mouth, standing there on four legs that looked more like crooked twigs silouhetted in the 130 degree heat. The smell of daytime - that melange if ozone and melting ashphalt - seemed to call to him and he was just stepping out into the rippling sunlight when I caught him around the belly and dragged back inside.
I yelled at him for awhile, though I didn't lay a hand on him. Probably should of, but looking at his ragged patched fur and unfixed, confused gaze - at the way his ribs poked out from under his old mottled skin - I just couldn't do it.
That was two days ago. We've gone less than five miles since then. Today was particularly slow going. Paolo has a limp and though we stop frequently in the night, the smoke doesn't let up and he can't seem to catch his breath.
You know, when I first got Paolo - when my father and I found him scrounging a living as a puppy in the dessicated streets of L.A. - I thought that dog was special. Unkillable, immortal even.
When my dad died eight years back, Paolo was the only companion left. At 12 years old he looked remarkably young and, even being twenty four, I'll be honest - I took solace in that idea again - that Paolo would never die. It would be me and him until the end.
Now, sitting here looking at him in the candle light, huffing air through his dog-ancient smoke filled lungs, eyeing me with his thickly browed green eyes of his, reality is setting in at last.
Like the planet we're trapped on together - like our respective species - Paolo isn't immortal, only exceptionally hearty. Like me. Like life itself.
But like life itself, Paolo has his limits, and I'm afraid he's met them. Which bodes badly for me, I guess - and "us" I guess - the human race I mean, of which I may be the last member.
Because I have my limits too - and when this dog, curled up on the ground, head in my lap, leaves this fucked up world, you better believe I'm gonna follow him.
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
| 2019-02-26T04:41:45 | 2019-02-26T04:23:26 | 74 | 28 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | This was a mistake.
When we arrived the whole planet focused on us as though a great beast was questioning who had awoken it far far to soon.
At the start. Before our intentions were known and we offered them a choice of submit or perish they were excited buzzing around in a frenzy that so many other species had when we first came to them. The curiosity in their eyes burned brightly that they could illuminate the dark mysteries of our universe.
Those flames were extinguished in a heart beat. Replaced by the cold dead eyes of untamed fury that knew no fear. Those weren't the eyes of a race that knew only peace. One of their leaders - female nearing the end of their short life cycle - stepped forward her shaking steps were only achieved by the aid of a short stick.
To those present that day it was something that still haunts us. The aged female showed her teeth, eyes closed, lips curled upwards. And her words resounded in everyone of our warriors and in the everyone of their population.
It was a challenge one that we were not ready for. Just as the galaxy is not ready for them.
"Come and take it." | "So here's what we do men," Captain Averal started as the ships started pulling out of the water, "they think we're gonna let them go, we're gonna let them fly away because we're scared of 'em, are we scared of em?"
​
"SIR NO SIR!" The sailors replied.
​
"Are we scared of those buggy bastards?"
​
"SIR NO SIR!"
​
"And what are we going to do?"
​
"SQUASH THEM SIR?"
​
"That's right, that's right," Averal took a deep breath and gazed up at the sky, there was a moment of peace before he heard the whistling of missiles overhead, the streaked through the air, built from old blueprints that had been recovered from museums. "Boys and girls," Averal put on his protective goggles, "it's time to be a janitor and clean up."
​
"SIR YES SIR!" the sailors shouted but it was drowned out by the retreating ships being slammed by the barrage that had been fired minutes before. There ships that hadn't been hit yet shook as they seemed to try to change course. Maybe it was against alien convention to shell a fleeing enemy, maybe it was against their pretty little rules they'd kept referencing, but this was Captain Averal's planet and the home to everyone that he liked. Along with Averal there were millions that had the same thoughts as him, get off our planet, and burn for every crop-circle you've left in the past thousand years.
​
Command spoke in Averal's ear. Frantic panicked words asking who had approved the fire of the anti-air after a treaty had been reached. Washington had burned but the counterattack from the humans had broken a lot of rules they didn't know about. It had scared the bugs and they had settled for peace at the first chance.
​
Everyone had agreed to the command on the field, every single ship that had been deployed agreed to fire when ready, every soldier on the beach agreed to fire when the signal was given. Averal had agreed to take the fall for a lot of it for his commanding officers but even the people he admitted to knew that he wasn't the only person behind this. The human race wasn't ready for the war to be over.
​
​
​
​ | 2019-02-26T09:23:50 | 2019-02-26T07:06:44 | 227 | 144 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | "My brothers, I hope this message reaches you. We never should have come to this place. This...jewel of a planet, with simple creatures living simple lives. None of them followed the Ardok's Logic, 'the strong take through combat, and by taking they get stronger.' Our empire's founding principle, that has guided us through millennia of conflict and victory. These, 'humans,' practice the weakness of peace. Their end should have been swifter than most.
At first, it was. Death came for them, and they eagerly accepted it. Begging to put down the weapons and come to the table. Bah, weakness. The only negotiation is through combat, through war. But we stirred something, something dark...and something evil.
At first, they gathered weapons, though primitive, it was at least going to be a fight. The scale of their weapons was surprising but we adapted, instead of being bunched in large ships, easy targets for their large explosives, we began a ground invasion. Surgical, precise yet overwhelming. We engaged them on the open fields and began to have glorious battles, for a time. They...continually made a concentrated effort to always capture some of us alive. At first we thought it was a pitiful attempt at trading our brethren for peace. But the channels were silent, and the humans crept in the shadows, away from the glorious battlefields. It was then we began to see the true horrors of this infernal plane. For it was not their weapons, not their explosives. We have seen larger explosives than this hurled at our fleets.
Fifteen earth cycles of searching we found our brethren. They were all...disgraced, eviscerated, and clearly held down and mutilated. Tortured for information? What a primitive and cowardly act. They did not gain information from their lips, but they must have learned secrets I cannot begin to tell you.
From that day forward, we began to die. Not in glorious combat, but sickly and weak. Our organs ruptured, but not a single weapon was found. No shots, no stabbings...yet we kept falling. First by the dozens, soon by the thousands. We tried quarantining, and then as soon as we tried the humans would strike our sick, would engage not in the open fields but from remote distances. We would attempt to strike back, but those who went came back with no trophies and soon would show the same symptoms.
We have never encountered a race like this one. We have faced dishonor, but not sacrilege. Life to them is clearly not sacred. We thought them weak for such short lifespans, but perhaps it simply is because of how close to the void their hearts and minds are.
I have bore witness to the atramentous maw...and only eternal blackness stared back.
This is not a lush world of life, this is a horrific world of death. And no one can wield it better than they can. My time is short, despite my best efforts the humans have found new and worse poisons to fill the air with each passing day, far too quickly for us to adapt. I hope this message reaches you in time, to prepare, to run. They were able to steal one of our ships and were able to dissect it as they had us. The ship returning to you is not housed with our trophies. It is full of their trophies, trophies of rot and death. We shared our gospel of battle and killed billions. They would like to share their own of death, and return the favor tenfold." | I should have known. They had it all there, available to view on their version of the Hypernet. So much information, the sum of all of their human knowledge all sitting their in that database they called Wikipedia. Their science, their religions, their philosophies, but most importantly their history.
​
If only I'd had the automats download and search the database, it could all have been averted. I'd have avoided that Pale Blue Dot. That's what one of their scientists called it, What was his name? Peasant Kettle? Or something like that. The auto-translator has trouble with some of their names, despite having now scanned the whole of their Hypernet.
​
I should have given the planet a wide birth, and I would not now be looking through the holoscope at the remnants of our armies. I would not now be watching as the humans use mechanical shovels to scope my brothers and sisters into waste processors, turning them into fuel to heat their
primitive homes.
​
Had I not been so impatient for conquest, and to once again breath air that was not laden with toxins and microbes, I would have taken my time, read through the major events in their history, learned why no living being should ever threaten that backward little planet and it's insane inhabitants. I left it too late to learn the truth.
​
I would have learned about their first great war, when men had stood in holes and hurled lead and toxic gas at each other across coils of wire. I'd have learned about the piles of dead, the starvation, the disease. I'd have learned that they swore it would never happen again, and how that promise did not even last a human lifetime.
​
I would have learned about the second great war, when flight had been perfected and they could rain fire upon the homes of their enemies. I would have learned of the camps where humans forced other humans to breath poison and they pilled the dead into ovens to burn their corpses. I'd have learned of the weapon, the one they thought was the most powerful that could be created, and how they used it not once but twice. I'd have learned how they swore it would never happen again, until it did.
​
Their third war was the deadliest, for it left one in five of them dead. Death by microbe, unchecked and uncontrollable. A fifth of all humans were dead within seven rotations of their planet, and a further two fifths died as their societies collapsed. They swore it would never happen again, and it probably would have, had it not been for one human.
​
Big Tree Smelly Animal Rectum was the human that solved the problem. A simple mutation in their already weird and mutated genetic code was all it took. That human released a new virus on the planet, but this did not bring death, but the power of death.
​
Can you imagine living in such a society? Where anyone around you can kill with a thought. Where you have to consciously make the decision not to kill every living thing you ever meet?
​
There were problems of course. An entire island of people were wiped out within a few days of contracting the virus. An argument over a queue in an establishment that served boiling water filled with the extract of dried leaves was where it started. One human was unhappy about another human pushing in front of him, and thought him dead. That was the first mind-murder. Others panicked and thought those around them dead. Soon an entire nation was gone, but a lesson had been learned.
​
It worked for them. They were forced to be civil to each other, to keep the peace, to forgive and forget. For when everyone has the power of life and death over everyone else, you tread lightly and make sure to never offend. There can be no arguments, no threats, no anger, envy or greed. When mutually assured distruction, is actually assured, peace is the easy option.
​
My soldiers did not know this of course, for I have learned it all just now. My soldiers landed in their millions, the best trained, the best armed and the most ferocious warriors in the galaxy. They were dead the moment they met their first human.
​
I can see their little ship approaching. It burst from their atmosphere and is heading for my battleship right now. I could blast them from space, but they would just send more. I could run, but they would follow. I think I'll just let them board. I'll see a human in the flesh for my first and last time, and let the little thing kill me with it's mind. Better that then let them try to follow me, for I can not imagine a worse plague to release on the Universe than that of humankind. | 2019-02-26T13:01:01 | 2019-02-26T10:58:57 | 75 | 25 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | This is commander Xxar speaking. I am ordering all troops to retreat. I repeat, all troops must retreat. We were wrong about these creatures. On the surface, they seemed weak, they seemed like non-intelligent vermin. They hadn't even developer nuclear fusion for vxyyr's sake!
Once we had landed, they approached us with caution but friendliness. We scoffed at this and massacred them. At first, they fled like bugs. Then, the warmachines arrived. You see, the entire planet had been at peace for 300 years. Humans, however, had kept their weapons, locked away and taken care of in case something would happen. The battallion's mothership was destroyed by nuclear bombs. They used _nuclear power_ as bombs!
The mothership crashed down onto the earth. The humans were quick to study and replicate its delicate technology. We must have sent their technology five thousand years into the future. In the span of one moon rotation, they went from not having nuclear fusion to having lightspeed engines.
One can only hope they didn't find the coordinates to our home planet stored in the mothership's database. | Mobile, so please forgive any formatting errors.
World War 3 had devastated the planet. The major cities turned to radioactive dust. 300 years later, we can still feel the effects of it. From South Jersey, in the distance, you can see the ruins on New York. Fortunately, the ICBM's forgot about New Jersey. The powers of the time had seen that New Jersey was already a shithole, so they left it alone.
We rebuilt the city into a decent place to live. We changed our ways from being in endless wars to ways of peace and prosperity. One day, we saw a weird disk in the sky. They attacked with lights raining down upon North Jersey. There were no survivors. The disk didn't seem to move afterwards.
In an old military base, John, one of our citizens searching for food and whatnot had found some old documents. They were maps showing the locations of silos. Thinking we found a source of grain, we traveled to one such silo. We didn't find one. Instead, we found an underground bunker.
In the bunker was the soldiers who were stationed there. There had been a time lock on The door. The timer had expired, so the door was unlocked. We searched the bunker, finding nothing but skeletons clad in camoflage and old rifles from before the war.
In a desk, I found a folder with a key. It opened a locker containing two odd keys and a set of instructions of how to operate some old computer on top of a panel. I found the computer and powered it on. It showed a map of the US. On it, there was an exclamation mark surrounded by a red triangle. It displayed a sentence: press f5 to target anomaly. I did. The screen displayed another sentence: insert keys and turn simultaneously to fire.
John and I inserted a key into each side of the panel. We looked at each other and counted down. 3. 2. 1. And turned. All of a sudden, the ground started to shake, and a deafening roar resonated throughout the bunker. We high tailed it to the exit. We saw a cloud of smoke moving towards North Jersey.
John and I watched as the trail grew ever distant, straight towards where the disk was. The old world, despite being gone for centuries, had one final gift to give. | 2019-02-26T09:29:33 | 2019-02-26T09:26:21 | 60 | 23 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | We wanted the planet, we wanted its resources.
The only way would be to remove the human population. This would be a ground battle, as we couldn't risk destroying the planet.
As a race that had no home to call its home, we've lived in space for the last 8,000 years, pulling resources from anywhere we could find. Earth would now be our home. We haven't had a planet since a civil war that destroyed our home planet. As part of the warrior caste, we've mastered space warfare.
Upon landing, we arrived in our augmentation suits which gave us our own atmosphere and allowed us to move faster and stronger than our organic bodies would normally allow.
Our mistake was simple, we had observed these humans and saw they were a pacifist society. They showed no signs of weaponry or aggression.
What we didn't know, is that humans were territorial and defensive. Our first wave of soldiers landed and upon the first signs of our aggression, we were met with resistance. Their weaponry would never be used in a space faring species, projectile weapons had not been used in millennia and we had only protection for laser and long range atomic based weaponry.
Their projectile weapons passed through our shielding, even our ships were completely vulnerable. Our point defense systems could not handle the size and sheer volume of their weaponry.
Our biggest losses came within minutes of landing when our entire force was annihilated. We should have known better to land in the area they call Texas. | Part 1
​
Torin started at the flimsy placed in front of him. As he scanned the almost transparent document he didn’t see anything surprising jump out at him but had noticed that 3 of the probe teams hadn’t updated in close to 12 units.
Calling up their locations on his terminal he nodded as he started to remember their mission profiles and details. The first team was dealing with a probably data facility location on the outermost dwarf planet. Machine probes had found a likely reactor source and large sealed data vault. Considering the lack of tectonics and the stability on the frozen ice planet it made sense.
The second team was likely lost to a collision in the asteroid belt as they had suddenly been lost tracking. One moment they were pinging the system and the next the small facility had gone silent. As of this morning no response had been received from the evac team sent out to retrieve the remains. The team had been on what they though was a stable asteroid in the belt but considering the amount of debris and traffic they had observed it was just a matter of odds Torin suspected. They still had 9 other units on the belt running silent observation still and the data was looking promising.
Comm team three had checked in every tenth cycle since landing on a moon on the 6th planet but with the distributed communication relays still in silent mode after a local craft fly by it could be a few more units before they could transmit.
If this was the worst delay Torin had before the fleet gate activated he would be more than satisfied with the abilities of the recon team. This was the fourth subjugation the Assembly had authorized in the last 3 centuries and the first Torin had been able to have secured any leadership role. He didn’t count the punitive expeditions or system shock incidents as major.
Records showed that the second, third, and fourth planets had life further along than animal or bacterial. The asteroid belt between the third and fourth planets had power signs indicating the possibility of metal mining and smelting. Comm traffic was minimal between the planets and while they currently hadn’t broken the decryption on the burst transmissions they had intercepted Torin didn’t doubt his team’s ability to make headway in that area. He tried to push the nagging doubt away for his mind about why nobody had brought this up before the outlying gate had been pushed into this system but it wasn’t in his mission data and his level 8 security clearance didn’t allow him to see the planning data yet.
It was curious when he thought about it. The system hadn’t even come to the notice of the Reof Assembly except when a science teams array was hit with bursts of Negalia class energy. They had dispatched 3 fly through probes and one remote deep space unit to report back. Initial data had been negative due to the amount of radiation swirling about the atmosphere of the third and fourth planet and the debris of what the science community assumed where 12 difference space stations. | 2019-02-26T11:56:18 | 2019-02-26T10:26:44 | 36 | 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 | *Ring ring.*
"HELP! The zombies are right behind me and-"
"Good morning, Tracy speaking. Have you tried turning it off and on again?"
"The-the what?"
"Your gun safety. Big black dial on the side of your rifle. Can't miss it."
"What? What dial?"
"You are holding a CCD rifle? If you are a customer of SurvivorLink I'm afraid you'll have to call them instead."
"No. Yes. I'm CCD."
"Excellent. Now if you-"
"Hold on."
The crack of rifle-butt on skull thudded through the phone speaker.
"Die! Die! Ok, Tracy I think I see what you're talking about."
*Flick.*
*BANG. BANG. BANG.*
"Haha! Gotcha, ya rotten fleshbags! Thanks a bunch, Tracy."
"That's great to hear. Have a nice day, sir. Please leave a review if you're satisfied with your experience. My manager would appreciate it."
*Click*.
*Ring Ring.*
"Oh my God. They're in my house what do I do?!"
"Good morning, Tracy speaking. Have you tried-"
"They've got Joe. Oh my god they've got Joe. Send help! I need help right now!"
"Sure thing, ma'am. I'll put you down right away."
The riffle of a notebook flipping to page 324. A click of a ballpoint pen.
"Your name ma'am?"
"Ahhh! They've reached the kitchen! Uh, my name's Gladis."
"Oh, my mom's name's Gladis. How lovely. And your contact number, Gladis? Either mobile or landline is fine."
"Uh. 0-4-2-1- Ahh! They've breached the door! Uh. 3-1-6-8- Ahh! They've got my leg!"
The scribbling of pen on paper stopped as heavy breathing replaced the voice on the speaker.
"Oh God. It's black. It's all going black."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Gladis. If you're satisfied with your experience please leave a review. Have a nice day."
*Click.*
*Ring ring*.
"Is this the Call Centre of the Dead?"
"Good morning, Tracy speaking. Yes, this is CCD."
"Good. Good. I need you to listen carefully and calmly, Tracy. I've done it. I've created the cure. Now I need you to patch me to the CEO. I'll send him the formula and we're gonna save the frikken world."
"Hi, sir. I regret to inform you CCD does not accept unsolicited advice."
"What? It's the goddamn cure for this this hell! Just send me the frik through!"
"Sir, I can redirect you to my manager if you would like."
"Okay. Fine."
A plastic chair scraped against corporate carpet. Then more scraping and a *plonk*.
"Sorry, he's out for lunch. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"What? What the fu... Look. What's the email address of your R&D department?"
"I'm afraid our email servers are full, sir. Part of the reason company policy rejects unsolicited advice now. We do accept fax though, the number is on our website."
Mumbled curses filtered through the headset.
"Fine. I'll do it. I'm sending it through now. Let me know when you've got it. I need that document in the hands of your head scientist pronto."
Tapping on the side of the fax machine. Then kicking. *Bzzzzzz.*
"Yup, got it. Lovely diagrams. My name's Tracy, have a nice day."
*Click.*
*Whish*. Rattle of a trashcan.
r/bobotheturtle | "Hi, excuse me... I was b-biten and I, uh, I think I need help–"
Here we go again.
"Sorry, mam. But if you refer to the Zombie Protocol, page 14–"
"I don't have time to read! Argh, just... I'm on 7th Street, Easy-by-the-river. Please come and help me!"
The panicked woman hung up.
I let out a sigh and immediately called to another number.
"Hi, this is Agent Smith with the Call Centre. Can you dispatch someone to take care of a bitten victim?"
"Agent.. Smith? Damn, I've been hearing *a lot* about you! This is the Eastern Field Dispatcher, I'm Mike."
I did not expect that at all. To be famous? In this line of work? Pretty weird.
I wanted to ask this Mike fella what he meant by that. I'm not a talker, not even within my unit. So for Mike to be telling me that I was famous in his unit on the other side of the building would be something interesting. But I didn't have the time for such things.
"Listen, Mike. Can you please send someone to 7th street, East-by-the-river?"
"Aha, right," the loud typing of a mechanical keyboard serenaded his pause before he stopped and continued, "Uh, Agent Smith? I'm afraid all Field Dispatch teams are fully booked. I can't help much–"
Ugh. I knew what he was trying to say. I was just mad that not an hour into the morning shift and he's saying that the Field Dispatch was already that busy. Bullshit.
It's not truly *my* job to do anything more than pass information to Field Dispatchers. But I've been taking sides, I mean someone had to.
"Fine. I'll do it myself."
***
*Ding-dong*
Brisk footsteps hurriedly followed suit.
A middle-aged man soon popped out of the door. His hair was greying, wrinkles added to my hypothesis of the man's age. But it could've just been the stress eating him.
"Excuse me, sir. I was the one on the phone–"
"Ah! Yes, you must've been the guy my wife was calling earlier!"
Crap. It's not gonna be easy. It never was, but the wife-husband types had been troublesome in the past.
"Right, would you mind?"
The man chaperoned me to his living room.
There, a woman lied helplessly in her own blood. The woman's wound had been treated, there was obvious attempt of stopping the bleeding with the cloth wrapped tightly on her leg.
She was younger than the man. But her deathly pale face spoke as if she's a corpse already. The only thing that didn't make her seem dead already was...
"... H-Help me..." the woman weakly cried.
"I'm sorry, mam," I kneeled next to her and opened a booklet to page 14, "the protocol clearly stated there was no cure. I'm here to–"
"K-Kill me. Please..."
I was stunned. Never have I ever came across someone actually asking me to do it. Most of the time it'll be some poor bloke in denial. Sometimes it would get hairy and they'd fight back, oddly enough.
I glanced at the husband and he seemed to be holding back the flow of emotion on his face. You can never be sure of what loved ones might do in these sorta time.
"I'm sorry, mam. I'll make it painless."
*Bang, Bang*
A shot to the heart and another to the brain, just to be sure.
The woman immediately stopped breathing and for a brief moment I saw a smile on her thin lips. I looked over her face, she must've been a looker back then. The only dignified thing to do was to pray for her soul and close her eyes.
"Sorry, sir. But you might wanna do something about your wife before..."
"I understand."
With that, another one taken care off. It was never easy. But I know that someone had to do it.
Just as I pulled out a cigarette, the man – whose wife I just shot – ran to me with a box.
"Sir? Do you have a moment?"
I puffed out a smoke before responding, "yes, sir. Do you have something else I can help you with?"
"I, uh... I'm not sure if you like this," the man opened the lid and revealed a moist looking cake, "but my wife had baked this chocolate cake before–"
"Right," I caught on to the man's lack of words.
"I don't have much but this is a token of my thanks."
"I didn't do anything, sir. It's not even supposed to be my job."
The man smiled, tears on his cheeks, "I get it. But someone's gotta do it, no?"
Of course. The first, again.
I took the box of cake and shook the man's trembling hands. I offered him a cigarette, but he declined.
"I don't. My wife wouldn't want me to."
"I see. Well, take care, sir. If you need help..."
The man laughed and waved me goodbye. | 2020-05-12T07:25:12 | 2020-05-12T06:27:21 | 1,637 | 139 |
[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* | It is not as busy as it used to be. There are 4103 boards on the false ceiling over my head and a 121 holes in each board. Apart from the ones marked with red X’s. They are inventory boards. Those have 119. The boards used to be white and there was no fungi.
Some time ago I used to love my job. Hell! I volunteered for it. I spent all day enthusiastically taking calls about:
“What am I supposed to do if my friend has just been bitten?”
I would take all my strength and say whatever was written in the script, “Sir, if I may suggest, it is advised under such circumstances that a) you shoot them in their head b)you cut their head of with a sharp axe or a knife whichever comes handy c)you can tie them up, pour gasoline on them and, I am sorry to say, put them on fire.”
“But I have known them for years.”
“I understand sir. But, it is strictly required to follow the instructions that I have given you” and another forty fucking pages of the manual.
​
Not any more. I can’t go on telling these hopeless, stupid, emotional and stupid people the same script. They don’t even care about asking how I am doing. Do I need someone to talk to in these lonely times? Have I eaten? How do I pass my day? Looking at my dead zombie colleagues from the time it all started. I am surrounded by metal and wooden spikes, bear traps. I sleep with my head on an Ithaca-37 and... I just want to talk to some one nice.
“Hello! It’s the Call centre of the dead. How may I help you?”
“Uh! Hi. This may sound weird but, I just wanted to see how you are doing. How are you holding up?”
“Um! Thanks. Please don’t feel weird ma’am...”
“It’s Paulomey”
“Hi! Paulomey! Thank you so much for calling. It gets a little lonely. Thanks for calling it means a lot.”
“Mmmmhhhhmmmm”
“I am sorry, ma’a,m! Paulomey! How have you been Paulomey?”
“Oh! I have been great darling. I just love your voice. I really would like to meet you some day.”
​
But, no. She’ll call and ask,
“Hello! I need some serious help. You may find it annoying but I really need...”
“Oh, ma’am please don’t worry a bit. I am here for you.”
“There’s a zombie in my room and it was an exceptionally slow one so I tied it down.”
“I’m sending in a dispatch of ammunitions and gaurds. They’ll come asap...”
“No! No! No! I am full on ammo. I just wanted to as... um... if it’s a problem if I... play with his unusually hard member. I have tied him head to feet so that won’t be a problem. I just wanted to know if...”
​
A call came and I came out of my slumber.
“I am sorry, I know I am supposed to shoot myself if I am bitten. I just wanted to make sure, if there’s no other way. Like a new cure or something?”
“I am sorry to say ma’am but no.”
“I am not your ma’am Paul. It’s Paulomey.”
She is real. I was not making that up. She sat next to me before she ran off to use her skills, to fight them and die in the open.
“I just wanted to ask. How are you?”
“I am doing... great. Yes, I am doing great. How are you Paulomey?”
I had a crush on her.
“I have been bitten.”
Silence.
“Where are you now?”
“I am coming to you I am on a bike and I am coming straight to you.”
“No! Why? I mean why? How? How did you get bitten?
“That’s not the point Paul. I am coming to you because I haven’t seen anyone I have known for a while. I want to see you before I kill myself. I want to see a dear friend.”
“How long till you turn?”
“I am outside. Anytime now.”
She blasts open the gate with her kick and stands there looking at me. Looking with her teary eyes which were never green. Her clothes are intact but it’s only a vest. They got her bad. I can see the green patches that were her ears a while ago. With a deep sigh of relief she started moving toward me, so I pick my Ithaca for a just in case. She is a hand away. She says, “I am sorry” and jumps at me.
I blow her head off and her chest falls in my embrace. I hold her in my hands and I rub the back of her body. I stand there for a long time because there’s no call to take. | 2020-05-12T08:55:39 | 2020-05-12T06:12:46 | 104 | 42 |
[WP] "Checkmate," you say, a smug expression on your face. "Finally," says Death. The smirk is wiped off your face as the Grim Reaper removes his robe and hands you his scythe, "It's been 400 years since I beat the last guy." | “Wait wait wait wait,” I said, standing up quickly as Death - Maybe Old-Death? Yeah. Old-Death “I thought if I won I didn’t die!”
Old Death shrugged, “Yeah. Death doesn’t die.” He grinned, “You’re welcome!”
“Oh come off it,” I growled, aiming the scythe at Old Death’s face, “You bloody tricked me!”
“Yeah I totally did.” Old Death held his hands up, “But I get to pass on and you get to remain alive- fooorrrrrever!” He spread his arms wide and the shit eating grin returned “I see this as a win-win!”
I groaned, and began pacing “What the bloody hell am I gonna tell my mum? My job?”
I froze “I dunno how to even do this job? Does it come with healthcare? Do I have to eat? Can I only wear black robes? Will I ever love again?”
“Woah woah kid, slow down,” Old Death put a hand on my shoulder, and I shivered as I felt him touch my bones. “I’m not just gonna abandon you! I have to train you up before I move on!”
“Oh great.” I said, becoming slightly less worried.
“But it’s a no on the healthcare.”
“Awwww man”
“I know. But hey, you get 50% off at Disney World!” | "Checkmate."
Erlec Muerte pressed his sword against the cowled neck of the Grim Reaper. The blade shimmered against the dark drapes, the blue hues of its enchantment burning the swirling shadows that emanated from the reaper's robes.
Erlec smirked. It had taken centuries of refining the spells, generations of honing the swordsmanship passed from heir to heir. But now no more Muertes would be taken. No more humans would be taken.
"This is for father!"
With both hands, Erlec cleaved his weapon through the Reaper's thin neck.
The sword shattered into a thousand pieces.
Its fragments tinkled to the ground, their brilliant flames fizzling at Erlec's feet.
Erlec's head spun. His hands trembled around the hilt of his sword. His father's sword.
Rage broiled in his stomach and leaked in hot tears. With a desperate cry, Erlec raised the remnant of his blade in a final lunge.
But a bony hand gripped his arm like iron manacles. Their chill sapped Erlec's strength until his legs gave way to the floor.
From under the hood, a voice like liquid darkness coiled around him.
"Impressive."
The skeletal hand probed upwards and lifted Erlec's chin. Sockets of pitch stared into Erlec's wild eyes.
"Let's see now," the voice continued. "Strong. Brave." The Reaper chuckled, a soul-trembling boom. "Foolishly brave. But passionate. That's very important, passion."
The Grim Reaper withdrew his hand. He looked on Erlec, still gritting his teeth, eyes defiant, begging the blade stub in his hand for vengeance.
"Yes, you will do. You will do very well."
Pulling down his hood, the Reaper revealed a bemired skull. Weathered cracks lined his crown and a dark hole gaped where his lower jaw had been.
The Reaper knelt and pressed his scythe into Erlec's hands. Icy darkness ran down Erlec's fingers like glacial streams, filling his heart with emptiness. Erlec tried to scream but only air wheezed out.
"I bestow upon you the burden of Shepherd. You will protect us. And you, or your champion, will lead us on Judgement day."
Though nothing but bone, the Reaper's hands were dark with grime, and Erlec shook at their cold touch as they closed Erlec's grip around the scythe.
Bowing his head, the Reaper whispered, "Finally. It's been 400 years."
Together with Erlec's trembling arms, the Reaper raised the scythe above his neck. At the apex, he paused and turned to face Erlec's wide eyes.
"I suggest you don the cloak fast, it hides you from Them."
Then the scythe fell and darkness bloomed in Erlec's heart.
r/bobotheturtle | 2020-07-07T22:19:14 | 2020-07-07T22:01:29 | 55 | 40 |
[WP] You are a cat who has been taking an advantage of the recent rise of video conference trials to elevate your legal career. One day your human video filter stops working and you need to convince the judge that you are a real, human lawyer licensed to practice law in the state of Texas. | "Uh I'm here live," I meow unconvincingly. "I'm not a cat."
"I know," the judge tells me. Yes, that's right, foolish human. Believe my lies. One day soon, the council of cats will strike and there will be nothing you can do about it.
"Oh uh my assistant is trying to fix it now." I gesture crudely with my claws towards my assistant, Mittens. He's useless. I don't know why the council of cats sent him to me. He must be some bigwigs kitten.
"I'm prepared to go ahead anyway," I tell the judge. That's what a foolish human would say, isn't it? I'd much rather find a sunbeam to sleep in or some clothes to curl up in. But the council have tasked me with infiltrating human society. I will not let my fellow cats down! | Silence and stares of disbelief continue to dominate the video conference. But, the judge's head might have froze in an especially angry, judgmental glare over the green-screened State Seal of Texas. At least... until he blinked just a second ago. This cat. Appears to be a cat.
A cat replacing their newest and most promising colleague.
A cat that puts her paws on the desk before quietly coughing and looking at the camera directly. The defense, the defendant, and the judge lean in.
"mrow"
The silence somehow gets even quieter.
"memrworrwwww"
"Are we..." the judge speaks, "are we supposed-"
"MEROWOOOWOWWWWWW" the seemingly clueless cat says looking in another direction.
"Does Mitch have a cat?" the defense says impulsively. "brbrbrb" the cat chirps.
After a moment, the cat looks back into the camera and in a very clear and deep voice stringing along a southern draw says,
"Now that I have broken the tension of this rather jarring moment, I would like to make it clear that yes, I am indeed a cat, and my given name is Miss Mittens the Kitten."
No ones' expressions changed from where they landed as soon as the cat started talking. The judge gave way to more confusion carving his brow and eyes, the defense appeared to be upset, his lip subtly quivering, at the fact that his newest and only real friend had succumbed to the fate of *being a cat all along*, however, the defendant clearly was and is now beginning to fail at holding back overflowing laughter.
"I understand how this complicates my career going forward." The defendant collects himself, "But I want to prove my commitment to the craft by requesting your honor to allow *this* trial to continue to a conclusion given the amount of *good* work both the prosecution and defense have put into this trial, as well as the time-sensitive nature of some of the witnesses availability."
Attention turns to the judge. His brow furrows and his lip twitches. He sits there for a moment, until, his eyes dart upwards and his demeanor loosens. He exhales and just barely shrugs.
"I'll allow it. May the prosecution proceed." | 2022-02-03T20:13:42 | 2021-02-10T19:10:43 | 491 | 44 |
[WP] You are a cat who has been taking an advantage of the recent rise of video conference trials to elevate your legal career. One day your human video filter stops working and you need to convince the judge that you are a real, human lawyer licensed to practice law in the state of Texas. | "Uh I'm here live," I meow unconvincingly. "I'm not a cat."
"I know," the judge tells me. Yes, that's right, foolish human. Believe my lies. One day soon, the council of cats will strike and there will be nothing you can do about it.
"Oh uh my assistant is trying to fix it now." I gesture crudely with my claws towards my assistant, Mittens. He's useless. I don't know why the council of cats sent him to me. He must be some bigwigs kitten.
"I'm prepared to go ahead anyway," I tell the judge. That's what a foolish human would say, isn't it? I'd much rather find a sunbeam to sleep in or some clothes to curl up in. But the council have tasked me with infiltrating human society. I will not let my fellow cats down! | The picture glitched.
I was giving my opening statements in a calm and confident tone, my human avatar the very image of well groomed authority. And the picture...glitched.
I saw the widening eyes among the jury. The amusement struggling with the disapproval on the judge's face. I looked frantically to the corner of the screen.
*My avatar was gone.*
This was my worst nightmare. Calliope Kibble, the stately middle aged woman with the severe updo and the statement lipstick, had pixelated her way off into the ether, leaving Callie the Calico staring frozen into the camera. I noted with dismay that my eyes were adorably dilated in terror.
"Ms. Kibble?" said the judge, a suppressed laugh threatening to break through. "Ms. Kibble, can you, erm, turn off the cat filter..."
They thought it was a filter! I could have laughed, but I was too flustered. This could be the end of me as an attorney. My life's dream seemed about to slip through my paws.
I clicked the mouse. Clicked again. If I were human I would have been sweating profusely. As it was, my tail fuzzed uncontrollably. The filter wasn't coming on.
"Meow," I said apologetically, and then clapped a paw to my mouth in horror. The translator had gone too!
Laughter was beginning to ripple gently through the courtroom. I swallowed dryly and frantically clicked through windows to update my software. Go, go, go!
"Ms. Kibble?" The judge said again, less amused now.
The download was 50% complete. Thank god for a quick connection. In desperation, I turned off the video and audio feeds.
"Ms. Kibble, we seem to have lost connection," the judge remarked, as the download reached 100%. "May I suggest you click the camera icon at the bottom of the screen--"
My career was flashing before my eyes. Install install install, dammit!
"Ms. Kibble--"
*There.* Austere and admirable Calliope Kibble flickered back into existence. I cleared my throat. *Ahem.* Now we were in business! I turned my feeds back on. My tail began to smooth back down.
"Pardon the interruption, your honor," I said smoothly, and the trial began. | 2022-02-03T20:13:42 | 2021-02-10T19:26:53 | 491 | 10 |
[WP] Your body was taken over by an Eldritch parasite from the beyond the stars after a camping trip. You actually get along it just fine, it's just Doug in Accounting that gets one your collective nerves. | ***We should cut his brake lines.***
“No.”
***How about a fire at his house? We could make it look like an accident.***
I sighed and scooted my chair away from the screen. “We’re not killing Doug.”
The Nameless Abomination nesting in my liver grumbled. Most days we got along just fine but Mondays were rough. That’s when Doug from Accounting would stop by our desk with his stupid bowtie and stupid novelty coffee mug with a cartoon cat and ask for his stupid god damn TPS report.
“Working hard or hardly workin’?” Doug would ask every. single. conversation.
The Abomination briefly rearranged the molecules in my arms so that my hands became miniature chainsaws.
***It would be so easy. We could feast on his marrow. We could rip Doug in half and fill the gap with his precious TPS reports.***
I have to admit the idea was tempting. I shook my hands until they returned to normal non-chainsaw flesh. The Abomination made a sound argument but Doug wasn’t a bad guy. Just...particular. He asked for reports in triplicate. He finished the coffee in the breakroom but never started a fresh pot. He liked to blind CC my supervisor and started all of his emails with, “As per my last email.” He-
“Maybe we could just embezzle company funds and frame Doug?” I asked. “I don’t know if I want to really kill him.”
***Take care, mortal. Doug of the House Accounting approaches.***
Doug made finger guns at me and winked. “Hey, pal. Working hard or-”
Doug exploded into a cloud of red chunks. The Abomination quickly withdrew its proboscis, coiling it up like a garden house and hiding it next to my spleen. But it was too late. Janice from Accounts Receivable was peeking over the rim of her cubicle. I turned and saw the entire office was watching me and the scarlet fountain that used to be Doug.
There was a long silence. Then they all began to cheer.
\_\_\_\_\_
Find more of my weird work over at r/TheCrypticCompendium | "So this is what you do everyday?" A voice spoke in his mind.
"It's work. Don't you have work where you're from?" He replied wordlessly.
"Your kind has evolved beyond basic survival into... This?"
"I want to make a joke about capitalism, but honestly it isn't that bad."
"You dedicate most of your waking life sitting and twiddling with some contraption in a hub of your peers, interacting with each other minimally. And then go home to your spouse, eat for sustenance, and then retire for rest. And then repeat the process for time immemorial."
"I get weekends off. And 14 days a year. And the healthcare benefits in this company is pretty good, too. Look, I know this all seems weird to a space being. But the system works. Sort of."
"It is a very flawed, unsustainable system."
"Okay, buddy. I need you to get way off my back about how to live my life in this economy. I get to work, goof around —I mean— interact with my coworkers a reasonable amount, get my job done and get home to my girlfriend. It's a good system. I'm happy."
"I am still getting used to this arrangement. Differentiating my own thoughts and looking into yours. I am also affixed to your emotions. Why did you recoil when interacting with that person earlier today?"
"You don't know Doug."
"I hardly know you, considering I inserted myself into you barely a few earth cycles ago."
"It's called 'days'. I refuse to believe you don't have that word."
"We don't have any words. All the information on linguistics most general knowledge I possess I take directly from your hippocampus."
"My what?"
"You do not recall the meaning of the word, but your brain does. That's how I know it."
"What the fuck?"
"Look, this Doug is walking over."
"Ah, shit." He muttered to himself, swiveling his chair to look at the approaching man.
"Hey, Phil."
"Oh, hey, Doug. How's it going."
"Good, good. I heard you and some of the guys went camping the other day."
"Oh... Yeah. It was nothing. Really not worth missing the game for."
"Yeah, that's what they said, too."
"They did? It's true."
"Funny how you guys all didn't like the trip. Who's idea was it anyway?"
"Honestly, I don't remember. It kept coming up in conversation for a while now. I think it just... Coalesced into us just going for it. You know, get it over it."
"Well, if you guys are doing anything else fun, keep your old friend, Doug, in mind, right?"
"For sure, man. For sure."
"Oh! Almost forgot why I came over. I'm going to need those reports for last term. The expenditure reports."
"I thought that was due Friday?"
"It was, it was. But it'll be really helpful for me if you get it done by today. Or at least, tomorrow morning by the latest?"
"Seriously?"
"Dead serious, Phil. Sorry about this, but it's sorta important."
"Alright, alright. I'm doing it now."
"Thanks a bunch. And again, keep me in mind if you're planning anything!" Doug said brightly, though his eyes betrayed any warmth.
"Yeah, Doug."
After Doug returned, Phil turned his chair back to his desk and shook his head, sighing.
"Jesus, what a prick." The voice in his head sounded as annoyed as he felt.
"Tell me about it." | 2021-04-21T07:44:17 | 2021-04-21T07:35:18 | 1,138 | 743 |
[WP] With the hero chained up, the villain unveils their masterpiece: a weapon that tracks everyone who loves the hero before obliterating them. The map powers on. "Wait. There's just one dot." The Villain says. "...Someone loves me?" The hero replies with hope. | "...Someone loves me?" Powerhouse asked in a weak voice as she looked at the screen, the red dot seeming to be blinding against the dark background. "Yes, evidently so." I said as I looked at the map and back to her. "Your husband I presume?" I asked gently, feeling guilt starting to eat at me for revealing she only had one person who truly loved her.
She shook her head as she remained on the floor. "He's been cheating on me for the past year..." she admitted and I felt awful about the whole situation. "And here I thought you'd have thousands of people who'd love you." I said, moving to get the keys to her shackles. My plan would have to be scrapped this time.
"You must know who it is? Your parents, a sibling, teammates, anyone?" I asked as I released her, even if she could have just easily broken them. She shook her head as she rubbed her wrists sitting up.
I let out a sigh as she got to her feet. "I won't continue with the plan, you're free to go. We can try this whole thing another day." I said as I went back to my seat, staring at the one dot that seemed to bore down on me.
As I was about to close the program, Powerhouse spoke. "Who is it?" She asked, the sound of her shoes clicking against the floor, making her come beside me.
"What?" I asked in confusion. "Is there a way to see who it is?" She asked as she placed a hand on my shoulder. Looking up I saw her gaze was transfixed on the screen.
"Yeah, give me a minute." I said before punching a few things into my keyboard. The name and picture of the person popping up in just a few seconds, and it made my face lose all color.
It was me. | Marybelle Smith once again call a certain number on her phone but unlike the previous instances there is no response from the other side.
"God damnit Carl where the hell are you?!" she impatiently said her hand shake.
"We really need to evacuate now, young master.", His body guard said
Of all the times for him to be unresponsive, he chose the time when the entire city is in chaos.
King Machina had once again invaded the city and of course it is up to Glitch to put an end to the rampage and save the day once more. That is how everything is supposed to happen.
But apparently not today...
Because King Machina had apparently invaded with the largest army of robots that they covered the sky, far numerous than what her dad can make.
If Glitch can hack through the robots with his powers then throw more robots on him was apparently his strategy.
What followed next is the most elaborate game of hide and seek between the two. If Glitch can find King Machina he will save the day, if he got captured...
Well, that is why her father is evacuating her out of the city.
By some miracle the mansion was not yet touched by Machina's drones or maybe it was his dad's security forces being effective but it won't last long.
She really needs to leave now.
"Mary, wait!" a voice suddenly shouted from the distance.
It is young man, in his jogging pants and white T-shirt rushing into them before dropping to his knees gasping for air.
"Carl, where is your phone!? Why are you not answering!" she said in an annoyed manner but deep down a huge spike was removed from her chest.
"Destroyed by robots.... saw your messages... before that..." he said began standing up but his legs are shaking. It seems that the battle to the worst out of him but at least he's safe.
He can leave with her.
They can be together.
They will be safe together.
As the last passenger of the shuttle entered the vehicle. They wasted no time in leaving the city.
+++
King Machina looked at the vehicle containing Glitch as they move out of city.
There is no need to observe him. He will never comeback again.
The battle was close but the cost of using [Glitch] repeatedly had finally collapsed on him as he collapsed just before the final blow.
"Did you see that my dear hero, this is a scanner they will reveal who you care about before I kill them. in front of you."
Contrary to what he had planned however there is only one name to show on the screens.
Marybelle 'Mary' Smith
"Don't touch her." the unmasked Glitch said as he suddenly mustered will to control one his laser cameras.
"Why not?"
"Because she is the one I wanted protect."
They made a deal after a few minutes. No one will touch her, as long as he stayed away from his activities.
He agreed and began to pack out of the city along with the person he wanted to protect and her loyal guards.
He then laughed at the irony for they he realized that technology is not the only thing they have common.
"Well, I have an announcement to make." Mr Smith said he wear his mask as part of his costume.
"The announcement of my success." This is just a beginning...
The world is for he her daughter.
Glitch will keep her safe. | 2021-06-19T02:11:42 | 2021-06-19T01:05:23 | 94 | 29 |
[WP] When you became a vampire you assumed that you would have to watch out for vampire hunters but the truth is something much, much worse preys upon the undead. | You'd think being an immortal creature of the night, blessed with unnatural strength, speed and regeneration, would leave you untouchable by mortal men...
The first couple of decades are the best. Pranking poor mortals on Halloween, never gets old. Seriously, house' of mirrors, fucking great.
Travel the world, live a life of unmarred excitement. Drink the blood of a bishop, adopt and train a dozen of black cats to follow you around. Leap from rooftop to rooftop. Learn the recorder, realise recorder is stupid. Move on.
Maybe you invest, taking advantage of your newfound longevity. Build an empire from the shadows. Lord your godlike status over the mere mortals.
But never. Never. Forget to pay the bloody IRS.
They're the real bloodsuckers. | They sat on the hill overlooking the small village that bustled below. At least, it was a hill once, long ago. it was more of a cliff now, the wind and rains having eroded a chunk of the hill. The villagers had dug a mine a few decades hence, and the ground had collapsed in a few more places as they tunneled. The village was more of a town now, moving minerals out to larger cities and filling up with workers and their families, eager to make good living.
The first cabin they built had long since fallen prey to the elements. If you looked close at the land, you could still see the footprints of the original buildings though. The small underground system has served them well for quite some time now, though it took an age to build. But it has the benefit of being hidden, and immune to rot. The natives rarely came to this side of the hills, but with their population increasing it was only a matter of time. Staying out of sight was becoming more important.
"How long do we sit and watch them Master? How many generations must we observe and note?" She had asked such questions many, many times since the Master had changed her. She would have lost track of the years, had she not been tasked with documenting their passing so diligently. He never answered her. If anything, he would ask her for the latest news and updates, fascinated with the details and minutia of these mortal creatures lives. He had brought her to this world shortly after he took her from her own world, her own family. Somewhere along the journey, he changed her, taking her mortality, making her ageless as he was. They needed no food, though eating was still pleasurable. Sleep was impossible now, and things like breathing weren’t needed. Everything was brighter, louder, intensified. Bodies dense like stone now, but still they could move with agility. He had no name for what he was, and could not recall how long his life had been. She had accepted this gift when he offered it, though even now after a millennium, she had no true idea of what she had become.
This time however, after so many years, he replied.
"We sit and watch until we begin to grow bored. Then we leave and find another story to observe. If we stay idle too long, death will catch us up." | 2021-10-28T23:44:12 | 2021-10-28T22:52:40 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] While playing DnD with your friends, the dungeon master kept railroading you into an ancient ruin, whenever you tried to avoid it your character just kept running into 'new' ones. Frustrated, you leave the table and head home, but on your way you find an ancient ruin. | "So, you turn away from the ancient ruin, and you head on towards... wait... page three-twenty-five, just a moment... towards an ancient ruin?"
"Not funny, Mark."
"No, seriously, guys, that's what my notes say. Right here. In black and white."
"You have three-twenty-five pages of notes?" asks Brenda.
"Hey, I like to be prepared. Besides, most of it is pictures. Still. Shall I assume you turn away from this ruin, too?"
"Yeah," I say. "Until we find some way of removing the curse, my character's not willing to risk facing any possibility of ghosts."
"Alright," Mark nods. "You turn away from the ruin, head down the road, and... page seventy-three - another ruin?" He shakes his head. "Guys, something odd's going on here. There's only one ancient ruin in this campaign, and it's *not* supposed to teleport. How about we call it a night, and I'll try to figure out what's up with my notes before our session next week?"
"Sure," I nod.
--------------
Several minutes later, I step out the front door - and stop. "Maaaaark?"
"What's it?" he calls back.
"Why is there an ancient ruin where your front driveway is supposed to be?"
"What?" Mark heads on up to my side and stares. "...that wasn't there when Brenda left," he says eventually.
"Well, it's there *now*," I point out.
"Yes, I can see that," nods Mark. He stares out at it for a long moment. "I can't *explain* it," he finally admits, "but I can *see* it. Wait, you didn't mess with my notes, did you?"
"What? No! Why would I?"
Mark takes a step out towards the ruin, waving his arms about. "And it's not just a painting. Okay. If this *is* you pulling a prank on me, then well done you got me and can you turn it off?"
"I am *not* pulling a prank you you, Mark. I have no idea how to even *do* this."
"...then I *hope* it's Brenda pulling a prank, because the alternative is that there's an ancient ruin that has just literally replaced my driveway and there is just something *wrong* with the world."
"...I'm *pretty* sure that Brenda can't do this, either."
"...yeah, but the alternatives are *worse*." | "Again, Max, really?" Lexi asked.
"Just play the game, Lex," Max said.
I sighed. We'd been avoiding ancient ruins for as long as we could. I looked at my inventory sheet. "Shit, I'm out of arrows," I said. "Can we go back to the town and buy some more?"
The rest of the party jumped at the idea. Max made up some new direction we could go in, leading us to a *different* ancient ruin.
"It's getting late though, so let's call it a night here," Max said.
"How are we going to get out of this one?" I asked Lex while we waited for the bus.
"Good question," she said. "Max made us all make sure all of our supplies are stocked up this time, and I think we've exhausted every story excuse possible."
"At this point, it's practically part of the story that we keep finding all of these long-lost ancient ruins rumored to be holding ancient riches and power beyond our wildest dreams, but that we keep turning away," I said.
"Maybe Max will realize that instead of continuing to try to force us to go through the whole dungeon," Lex said.
The bus rolled up and we both got on. It was a quiet night, but looking at the others on the bus, it looked like our conversation was at its end. There was no way we could talk as animatedly as we normally would.
When our stop came around, Lex and I hopped off of the bus and started the two block walk to the little townhome we shared. Finding that place and having each other to share the rent had been a stroke of luck. The floorplan was split enough that the bed and bathroom situation made it feel like we had our own private apartments, but then we were able to share the kitchen and dining areas, as well as the rent.
Most of our walk was through a small neighborhood park. During the day, it would be busy with dogs and small children, but at night, it was quiet, only a few lamps along the footpath lighting the way.
As we walked, I scanned the playground for anything suspicious. Or at least I would have if the playground was there.
"Uh, Lex, you seeing what I'm seeing?" I asked.
"Yeah," Lexi said. "I thought I was just really tired and dreaming, but if you're seeing it too..."
I pulled out my phone to snap a photo to send to Max, but when I tried to turn it on, the battery was dead.
"Let's get home, this is creeping me out," I said.
As we continued walking through the park, the ruins continued to loom in our peripheral vision. Something was off about the footpath as well. I looked down. It wasn't the concrete it should have been. It was dirt.
"Do we try leaving the path?" Lex asked.
"I don't know," I said. "I can't see any of the lights of our street through the trees, and I've got a bad feeling about if we walk back."
"I guess we either keep going, or we try going into the ruins," I said.
"Or we camp here until sunrise," Lexi suggested.
"And wake up in the middle of the park?" I asked. "No way. Let's just keep going. We can't keep walking forever."
It turned out we could keep walking for quite a while. Without our phones to tell the time, all we could do was count our steps and try to estimate how far we had walked. Our numbers were probably terrible, but it was absolutely more than through the park.
"I guess we've got no choice but to go in," I said.
"I think you're right," Lexi said. "Damn Max and his ancient ruins. He must have somehow made them materialize into the real world."
*****
**Thanks for reading!** If you enjoyed this, check out more of my writing at /r/TheLastComment | 2021-11-09T03:53:15 | 2021-11-08T23:22:06 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] You’ve been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You think you have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. You’re up next. | The High Wizard’s Council was a shadow of what it once was. Where once reigned supreme the Elves, now sat a mixed council of children who couldn’t even believe in the truth of his existence. A Human, a Half-breed, a Dwarf and a Gnome stared down at him from on high, not one of them a year over eighty. Most of them would likely not make it to that point.
Then again, none of them would be likely to make it through the day.
“Callon the Immortal,” said the Half-breed councilwoman, her slightly pointed ears twitching, her lips pursed in between the words as she spat them out, “I never thought I’d see this day. It is my pleasure to sentence you to death. However, you may ask for the method, and it will be carried out immediately.”
Callon was a tall man, with golden blonde hair that hung far below his shoulders, with two knife-edged ears that stuck out proudly to the sides. He was no mere Half-creature like the councilwoman, but the real thing. Callon was an Elf, one of the few that still remained, “This is my sixth execution of the millenia.” He said, a smirk crawling across his face, “But, I wish you luck. Maybe this time it will stick.”
“Your arrogance has been noted, Callon.” The Gnome interjected. Grey hair, a bulbous red nose, thick glasses, and a tall, pointed, purple hat. It was as though he simply wore the costume of a real wizard, “But you have witnessed the power of this council.”
“Ah, yes. The last man wished from you to die of Old Age. So you cast a spell and he shriveled to dust before our very eyes. Impressive for a child. Before that, there was that thief who said they couldn’t die until they were worth something. Now in the back of the room you’ve a golden statue that will do nothing but gather dust. Before that, they wanted to see the stars one last time, and so they vanished off into the void where they would no doubt die in the vacuum. Your cruelty is noted, if nothing else, you gave me a good laugh.”
The human, the youngest by far, slammed his fist on the table, “Damn you! You find this funny?!”
“Hilarious."
“Calm yourself,” The Dwarf said to her fellow councilman, “We are here to carry out your punishment. You will either tell us the method, or we will choose one suitable for you.”“Hm, well that’s not very fun. I have something in mind, a way I’ve never actually died. But, knowing you won’t do it is disappointing.” Callon said, “You’re just going to pick something yourself anyway.”
“That is not how this works, Callon. So long as the method ends in your death, we will carry it out.” The Half-breed said.
“Really then? Is that a promise?”
The councilwoman opened her mouth, but stopped. She looked at the others, receiving their nods of approval, “So long as it ends in your death.”
“Goodie.” Callon said, “Then allow me to tell you a story. Many elves, those of us who still live, have trouble remembering the past. There was a time before the world was fractured, if you would believe it. A time when the races of Man were forced to share their lands, and as you can expect, this was a time of great strife. Wars were fought, power was sought, deaths were brought.”
The Human and the Gnome wore their frustration visibly, though the other two attempted to hide it with faces made of chiseled stone.
“Then, when it seemed war would be all that we knew forever, a weapon was brought. Perhaps it was manmade, perhaps it was a spell so sinister it could only have been wrought by those claiming to be of the light. That is what I remember though. I cannot remember a family during those days, or friends. I don’t remember if I even fought in the war, but I do remember how it ended. A bright light, an explosion with the power to snuff out life for decades to come. That is what I ask for you to bring here. On this spot, immediately in this very room, detonate a blast so large that-”
“Absolutely not!” The human shouted, “This has gone on long enough! He’s making a mockery of this court!”
“Indeed,” The Half-breed said, “Let us listen to these psychotic ramblings no longer.”And yet, despite their words, each council member raised their wand toward Callon. Around him, a glowing golden circle of mystical runes etched themselves into the marble floor. Further, and further out they spread from him. And he was still smiling.
“You really should be more careful making promises, I’ve had an eternity to think them through.” | Despite what my old professor would have said, I wouldn't necessarily call myself a clever man. I've always been content to simply watch the world go round, spending my time working on various little projects, tinkering with magical trinkets and what not. Didn't really believe in any cause enough to stick my neck out or make a name for myself. Still, I did what I needed to do and spent my days studying away, slowly building up a group of fellow researchers in this little library of ours. Nothing too elaborate, we assumed that no one would come to bother us while we did our work.
And yet here I am. Standing in line with a dozen other folk, men, women and even a child. All sentenced to an immediate execution by the Arcane Magistrate. From the sounds of their judgement, we were all in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seems that part of this building was being used by a group of abolitionists who were in the middle of plotting out some rather heinous... incidents. Honestly these Arcane bastards deserved it but considering the might of their magical voodoo or whatever they almost never sufferers any consequences. Still, I suppose the threat of it was enough to prompt our demise.
I watched as the man in front of me, one of the abolitionists, tried to pull off some clever little trick about dying of old age. Not the worst idea, but the Magistrate had been doing this kind of work for some time. The "immediate" part of the punishment made for a rather gruesome spectacle, given a rather impressive display of just how much a human can change over the course of a lifetime. Once they had cleared out the poor bastard and his now impressive volume of hair I stepped forward to take my turn.
"Mr. Greyhawk."
I grimaced at that. Technically I had never gotten any sort of doctorate. Still I suppose now was not the time to be worried about that sort of thing.
"You have been charged with aiding an abolitionist group, both by providing a base of operations as well as access to blueprints and textbooks describing the means to create magical weapons. For this you have been sentenced to death by execution. You may now decide your fate."
Ah, that would explain the immediate death sentence. I had wondered why they took such an extreme measure, though I personally wouldn't describe all the texts as being recipes for magical weaponry. Although with a little tweak or two I suppose you could make something nasty with a few brewed up potions and a teleportation device.
I looked up at the Magistrate, all so confident in themselves and their many decades or centuries of judging and condemnation. All of them leaders in their own magic fields, Abjuration, Alteration, Conjuration, Enchanting and even Chronomancy. Time to see how they'd react to something a little... different. I cleared my throat.
"If I may ask, my wish is to die by a certain potion. As you have probably noted I and the other researchers were quite familiar with potion craft but in our years there were a few we were never able to make. The one I am thinking of in particular requires some choice ingredients and a period of 3 days to brew. Would this still be acceptable?"
They took a moment and glanced about themselves, murmuring until they came to a conclusion. The first one spoke again.
"What would we need to create this potion?"
"As a matter of fact, I jotted down a list of ingredients for this very thing!"
I puled the paper out and extended my hand towards them. One of them lifted it up and glanced at it. Then he frowned. By the end of the list he looked rather confused and disgusted, emotions I hadn't seen from them yet.
"Rest assured, the potion I wrote down is going to kill me and only me." Which wasn't even a lie, not that I would have been able to even if I wanted thanks to the magical zone around us. The one who grabbed the list began speaking.
"I'll be frank, this is quite the strange potion. Wyvern blood, manticore venom, belladonna, arsenic, a crushed unicorn horn and... brewed in a human heart for three days? What in the Hells made you decide to make something like this!?"
I smiled up at them, a sheepish grin. "I wanted to see your reaction to an unusual request. So, could you make it?"
Another round of mumbling and grumbling from the Magistrate. Finally one of their number motioned for an associate to step forward, then move into another room. He came out carrying a handful of objects, the potions ingredients. Honestly impressive, they were probably the only group around that had access to this sort of thing on a whim.
A second associate walked over to one of the bodies that lay on the ground, a former researcher who had asked to have his heart promptly and painlessly removed. A quick death, and hopefully as painless as they promised.
Working together the associates began mixing the ingredients together and poured them into the heart. Finally the chronomancer worked a spell overtop the potion, speeding up its process in a blur of motion. It was ready.
"Wonderful!" I exclaimed, noting the lovely purple glow now emanating from the heart that was dyed a blackish colour. "Now that looks like a delightful way to go out."
I reached out my hand to take the heart. Heavier than I had originally expected but still nothing I couldn't down. With a last look up at the Magistrate I raised my hand up in a toast, then drank the whole thing.
It took a moment to kick in, allowing me to savour the expressions of the court. The faces of disgust, those judgmental glares and the bored tones of officials wanting to get on with the day. My body spasmed as the drought burned its way down into my stomach, a mix of painful ecstasy and flaming ice. Still I made sure to keep my eyes focused on the Magistrate even as my vision began to cloud. I wanted to remember those faces.
I imagine I'd be seeing them again soon enough. After all, they had only cleared out the areas that had been marked on the floor plan and nothing beneath that. They certainly wouldn't have known what to do with my lovely little collection of trinkets that now housed my phylactery.
No I wouldn't consider myself clever, but compared to these dusty old fools? I was far, far beyond any of them. | 2022-11-19T02:25:30 | 2022-11-19T00:02:48 | 589 | 161 |
[WP] The . . . creature . . . has been following you for weeks now, but nobody else can see it. It just sits there, staring, grinning. Then one day you look across the coffee shop and see a young woman with another one right behind her. Your eyes meet . . . | I never drink coffee! But there I was ordering an espresso.
While the barista made my drink I looked at my _other shadow_. Still there staring at me with a silly grin on its face. I gave up trying to describe it years ago. Because no matter how many times I told someone about it they always forgot about it. I’ve never seen it do anything: it just sits there. I touched it once; I’m not doing that again.
After I made sure the world hadn’t come to an end, frightening the thing away, I started looking around the room. A tall fellow is arguing with someone who seems to be his sister. Someone who could stand to lose a few pounds has three empty cups in front of him, I’ll bet he’s in between jobs right now. Over there on the opposite side of the room is is a young lady about my age, she’s nice looking, probably not the most beautiful person but I wouldn’t mind seeing her first thing in the morning. There’s a couple with a—
Wait! Did I see another unsharable familiar behind her? I did. She’s looking at it now. It’s a little different from mine: it has a pair of horns instead of antlers; it’s front legs have three elbows each instead of two; but the big difference is its fur, mine has the fir going backwards while its fur goes forwards.
I wonder if she can see my… creature. Now that I think about it her face looks more attractive than I thought. I like how she has her hair flowing down her back. I like how she doesn’t cover the scar on her cheek with a ton of makeup. I like the way she looks deep into my eyes. I—
Imma go talk to her. After a connection like that I’d be a fool not to.
“Hello!”
“Sit!”
“My name’s Henry.”
“Maria.”
“Are you single?” _Why did I ask that? That’s too soon._
“Yes…”
“Do you see this thing following me?” _That’s better._
“Uhhuh.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Sure!” She smiled, then said “if you were to die tonight, where do you think your soul would go?”
Well… I’ve met my soulmate!
***
Come check out my [other stories](https://www.reddit.com/user/Matthew-IP-7/comments/ww45tq/a_list_of_all_the_stories_ive_written_that_can_be/) that can be found on Reddit. | I glanced at the women with short brown hair and blue eyes across the boisterous coffee shop as we made eye contact. I sipped my coffee casually as I contemplated. The women broke eye contact as she glanced at the creature behind me.
*Well this is a first.*
Behind the women was an ugly creature with a wicked smile staring and grinning at me across the table. It winked at me.
*What should I do?*
*Should I get up and leave?*
*No...there are times when it's best to just do nothing. I will just sit here and finish my coffee and pretend this never happened.*
I ignored her as I pulled out my "notebook" as I read the list of names.
*Hmm who's next? I need to think on this.*
I felt a sharp gaze and glanced upwards.
*Hmm when did she?*
Blue eyes greeted me as the women slammed a similar notebook on the table I was sitting behind. I raised my brow, Her face inches from my own.
"Um, Miss? You're a little too close for comfort...could you take a step back?"
The women ignored me as she observed me up close.
"We need to talk. Privately." She spoke softly in the busy coffee shop. If it wasn't for the fact that I could read lips to a degree I wouldn't of understood her even if she was this close.
"Excuse me?" I pretended not to hear her.
"You heard me, you-me, outside...now." She spoke louder this time.
I sighed. "Okay fine."
We left the coffee shop and walked around the block until we made an odd turn into an alley way. Our smiling creatures following us as we went. Now that we were finally alone She turned back to me.
"Your notebook. What names have you written?"
"Hmm?" I played dumb which only seemed to infuriate her. She grabbed my collar and shoved me against the wall in the abandoned alley.
" Don't toy with me. We both saw one another's creatures, no? So just give it to me straight."
I took a breath.
"You're just like me then I guess. I suppose the notebook you so brazenly slammed on the table back at the coffee shop was a deathnote as well?"
The women gave me an obvious look.
"Duh. So tell me which names did you write?"
"Trade secret. I'm sure you will hear of it on the news later anyways so why bother asking?" The women thought a moment before nodding her head.
"That makes sense." She let go of my collar and stepped back.
"I'm sorry, to be honest I am just nervous. This is the first time I've met someone like myself."
"Me too."
"Really?" She looked at me curiously.
"How can you be so calm?"
"Practice." I said plainly.
"Hmm. Whatever. Give me your phone."
"Why?" I tilted my head.
"So we can keep in contact dummy."
*I guess it couldn't hurt. I'm curious as well to be honest. What names she has written. But unlike her I respect privacy. Especially with something as personal as **that**.*
"Uh okay?" I pulled out my phone and unlocked it only for it to get snatched by the women's hands. She quickly put her number in before handing it back. She turned and slowly walked out of the alley. As she turned the corner she spoke for the last time.
"When your ready to talk about it, call me."
I stood in the alley alone in my thoughts while I looked at the new contact in my phone. *shewhowillnotbenamed* and couldn't help but chuckle.
*Hmm...My life just got a bit more interesting.* A small smile graced my lips as I left the alley behind. | 2022-11-26T04:30:02 | 2022-11-26T03:08:50 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You are an advisor/ guidance counselor for a superpower academy. You are in charge of the students whose powers are not conducive to heroism or villainy. | The day I get an empath who flunked the Slyer-Bocks placement test in my office is the day I kill myself.
Not that you can "flunk" the test *per se*, but if you do a bad enough job you get placed into the "societal supportive" stream. This is where we raise flailing flyers to be excellent window washers, the inept psychics to be above average secretaries, and the two-foot teleporters to be slightly more credible magicians.
It's shitty, yeah, these kids could have been top dogs at normal schools but because their parents decided that their special snowflake needed special training to help them harness their massive potential they get to eat shit as the little fish in a big pond.
It's just like my old counselling job; you get your inferiority complexes, your massive insecurities, the overcompensators. It's all the same and it gets to you after a while. Powers or no powers, teens are the worst.
Teens with Empathy are the worst of the "extra-ordinarily enabled", as management insists we call the little buggers. They're a rare type among the Supers, but not rare enough if you ask me. They get the worst, I mean the worst, emotional issues, no matter what anyone does. I saw a girl break down in the caf once because she could somehow tell the cook was going through a divorce because of how he had basted the chicken. You could raise these kids in a plastic dome, kilometers away from any living thing and they would still catch PTSD from the goddamn robot that brings them food.
To add to the inevitable and unprovoked emotional trauma all of these kids end up with, they all have this "Woe is me, alone and misunderstood" complex. And those aren't even the fuck-ups. The ones that can't make complete empathic connections just end up getting bits and pieces of ambient emotion and I swear they pick out the worst of it. These are the ones we guide towards counselling, fair psychic booths, and private investigation. At least that's what I would do. Anything to get them out of my office as fast as possible.
The last thing I want is some kind of incomplete emotional feedback between me and them as we both pick out each others' anxiety from the air. If the kids I normally deal with are any metric for how bad that'll be, I really think I'd rather die than feel that. | FADE IN
INT. A SCHOOL CAFETERIA - DAY
*We see a group of a dozen or so students seated on metal folding chairs. They are facing a whiteboard at the front of the room, which is being attended by a tall, slender man in a dark suit. This is MISTER SLANT.*
**MISTER SLANT:** Alright, kids. Do you all know who I am?
*The students shrug and murmur. One young woman raises her hand. This is ELLA.*
**MISTER SLANT:** (*CONT'D*) Yes, you.
**ELLA:** You're the school guidance counselor.
**MISTER SLANT:** For lack of a better term. My name is Mister Slant, and I'm here to tell you all that you'll never amount to anything.
*There are varied reactions from the room. Some students laugh nervously, others look shocked, and a few seem entirely unaffected.*
**MISTER SLANT:** (*CONT'D*) You've all been brought here because your natural gifts are... well, basically, none of you are up to the task of being superhuman in any way.
*An overweight young man at the back of the room scoffs under his breath. This is GARY.*
**GARY:** (*Muttering*) Racist.
**MISTER SLANT:** Oh, am I, Gary? I suppose you're going to do *so much good* with your ability. What was it again?
**GARY:** (*Unintelligible muttering*)
**MISTER SLANT:** Sorry, Gary, you'll have to speak up!
**GARY:** I can imitate any smell!
**MISTER SLANT:** And how do you do that?
**GARY:** (*Shouting*) With my farts, okay?!
*Laughter erupts in the room. GARY hangs his head in shame.*
**MISTER SLANT:** Oh, hey, don't think the rest of you are anything special. Not a single one of you has an ability worth noting. That's why you're here: While the other students all get one-on-one advice about their best career path, you losers are all lumped in here, being told how you're biological failures.
*ELLA raises her hand again.*
**ELLA:** Couldn't we achieve something as everyday citizens?
**MISTER SLANT:** Nope.
**ELLA:** Why not?
**MISTER SLANT:** Due to some quirk of evolution, superhuman individuals feel a compulsion to use their abilities several times a day. It's like sleeping: You'll go insane if you don't.
**ELLA:** But...
**MISTER SLANT:** (*Interrupting*) As a result, Gary might be able to make a workplace smell pleasant, but the sound of his flatulence will *probably* attract attention. Someone would put two and two together and Gary would be revealed.
**ELLA:** Maybe people won't care!
**MISTER SLANT:** Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that. You're all losers. Even you, miss I-can-make-a-pink-dot-on-walls.
*A bell rings elsewhere in the school. The students all begin to rise from their seats.*
**MISTER SLANT:** (*CONT'D*) Alright, that's it. Get out of here, and don't bother working too hard!
*All of the students exit. After they've left, a figure shimmers into view next to MISTER SLANT. She is a slim, attractive woman with an intense gaze. This is MEDUSA.*
**MEDUSA:** What do you think?
**MISTER SLANT:** (*Sighing*) Some of them might go for it.
**MEDUSA:** We need volunteers from *somewhere*, and their genes are compatible.
*MISTER SLANT nods somberly.*
**MISTER SLANT:** War is a funny thing, particularly when nobody knows that they're fighting.
FADE OUT | 2015-09-22T08:34:43 | 2015-09-22T08:27:48 | 39 | 24 |
[WP] "What do you mean, 'It broke'"? | "I mean it broke. It's not working anymore."
"How do you break something like this?!"
"I don't know, I left them alone for like an hour and now its broken!"
"How the hell did you manage to break something this big?!"
"I already told you, I didn't do it! They did it themselves!"
"All my work creating, all that time we spent making it perfect for them, and they manage to break it, just like that? I find that hard to swallow."
"Well its true! I left them alone for literally an hour at most so I could take a break from observing them, and get something to eat!"
"Did you even take the time difference into consideration?"
"Whats that?"
"You know, the time difference."
"I have no clue what you mean."
"For fucks sake, you invented it so that you could observe them at an accelerated rate!"
"Oh. Fuck. I didn't realize how much it would work."
"Well from the looks of it, in that hour, they discovered nuclear power, and from that, they discovered nuclear weapons, and from that, they discovered that waging war with nuclear weapons will destroy all life."
"Fuck. I wanted to play with this one longer. I knew I should have included a backup species, somewhere in a different part of the universe. I guess I'll just have to start over." | "I'm *mean* the fucking hydraulic line just sprung a leak; we're gonna have to replace it with a new one."
Captain Yuri Danilov didn't bother cursing, he'd run out of words if he started up then. Instead he merely spat, the tan tinged spittle splashing on the dun colored sand.
"Fair enough, Ted. You'll get your new hoses along with a crate of lasers. We're expecting a shipment of them in about a week."
Ted Mulligan, Chief Technician for Danilov's Light Dragoons smiled, his face a mask of lubricant and grease.
"Fan-fucking-tastic! I'm just fucking glad most of our machines use the same make of medium lasers, It's still hell trying find replacements for Sergeant Sullivan's *Carronade.* I mean sure, Gauss Rifles becoming less and less rare but *Silver Gauss Rifles?* Out here on the Periphery? Just be glad we're Rimward of Terra and on the Anti-Spinward side of the Capellans. God knows how we'd get more spares otherwise."
"We'll managed, Ted. That *Carronade's* proved its worth despite the hassle."
The technician nodded, reaching behind him for a spanner some four feet long and well covered with grease.
"Oh course, why else would I devote so much of my time to that beast?"
With that the man turned his attention elsewhere, leaving the Captain alone to his thoughts.
The Light Dragoons were currently encamped at the edge some wadi, a small trickling stream at the very bottom of the dried riverbed. Their Union dropship rose like a monolith out of the dunes of red sand, a few mud brick buildings beings the only remains of a small village that once inhabited this place. Great tents the size of hangers had been erected, their surfaces liberally camouflaged with rags and printed patterns so that they'd might appear to be dunes. There was no use in hiding the massive shape of their dropship and instead was ringed with numerous anti-air emplacements- autocannons and missile launchers dug into the earth and reinforced with sandbags.
Three weeks they'd been sitting in this seemingly endless desert, waiting for a signal to spring into action. So far it had been routine; shiver as they worked through the night until the dawn and then promptly bake under the blistering hot sun as they slept. It would have been far more comfortable if they could have encamped within a city, but whatever raiders that had been attacking this world likely had informants planted throughout the major population centers leaving the Light Dragoons with just one option: sit and wait and sweat and repeat ad infinitum. Danilov hoped their patience paid off; he had nearly a month of grievances to unload on those pirates and intended to pay them in full. | 2015-10-24T11:04:51 | 2015-10-24T10:52:04 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] You are in a bar when a six year old pigtailed little girl takes the stool next to you. In the deepest lumberjack voice she says, "Hey, Frank, make it a double. It happened again." You can't resist and ask her, "What happened again?" |     The little girl just glares at me, "Fuck off, buddy."
    I raised my hands in surrender, and turned my attention back to the drink in front of me. I was a little surprised Frank didn't tell her to beat it, that kids had no place in bars. But Frank just poured the girl a drink, and she took it without blinking, and swallowed the entire doubeshot within a couple seconds.
    "Never should have married that witch."
    "You mean bitch?" I couldn't help but ask, and internally winced."
    "No. Witch. You know, broomsticks, magic. Curses. In my case particularly, curses. Whenever she's annoyed with me, she curses me into this form."
    "So... This isn't your normal form?"
    "Do I fucking *sound* like a six-year-old girl?"
    "To be honest, no. So it's not a pituitary disorder?"
    "Frank, tell him."
    I turned my attention expectantly to Frank, who was currently wiping a glass. He set the glass down, and picked up another and started wiping.
    "William here is married to a witch. A literal witch. She cursed him so that whenever 'he whined like a little girl, he'd become a little girl'," Frank said, by way of explanation, moving on to another glass.
    "Well, there is a bright side here," I observed.
    William sneered. The expression looked bizarre on the face of a six-year-old girl. "Yeah? What's that?"
    "You could have ended up a bitch," I replied. | I stared gaping mouthed as the little girl struggled to climb onto the barstool, which was nearly as tall as she was. The stool kept tipping under her weight, so I steadied and she deftly hoisted herself up.
She gave me a cute smile. "Thanks," she boomed. Her voice was utterly disproportionate to her body. She sounded like a forty year old man.
Frank the bartender gave her a amiable smile as he placed a shotglass in front of her, which was filled to the brim with a strong spirit. "Rough night, huh?"
"You could say that," the girl replied dryly. I was too stupefied by her voice to realise that Frank had just served a child a drink that could petrify a man's liver. I slapped the glass from her hand.
"What the hell do you think you're you doing?" I scalded her. "And you, Frank, how can you serve a child a man's drink? A girl child, no less?"
They girl looked at me with a blank expression. Frank looked hurried at me, then her, then back at me. Suddenly the girl laughed - a course, grating sound - and flicked the liquor from her hands. Frank laughed too, before swiftly wiping the counter and refilling the girl's glass.
"You must be new here," the girl said to me, eyeing me as she raised the glass to her lips. She paused expectantly, and when I didn't do anything, she downed the drink in one swallow.
Frank smiled and responded on my behalf, "Yeah, he is. He just told me his story. He comes from Windeltown -"
"Widdleton," I corrected.
"- far, far South of here. He's here for the bounty. He, uhm, he hopes to catch the witch. He's a Witch-hunt."
"Is that so?" The girl said, amusement colouring her voice.
"I don't see what concern that is of yours, child. Who are you, besides?"
Frank stopped wiping the counter and gave me a look. The girl pushed her glass away from her and swivelled in her chair to face me head-on. Frank took a tentative step backwards.
"Who are you that you assume to ask my identity?" Her voice had an edge. A sharp, serrated one. It cut through the ambient noise of the bar, enveloping us in a swollen silence.
I laughed. "I don't know who you think you are, but I won't deign to tell you who I am."
"Too bad." She dropped down from the stool and gripped my thigh. With impossible strength, she pulled me off the stool onto the floor. I felt my leg snap. She opened her mouth wide - WIDE - and bit down on my head. I felt the pressure increase as her teeth pressed on my skull. I tried to push her off, but I felt something give and -
***
Taria the Creeper bit into the man's head, savouring the spongy tissue of his brain. She swallowed her mouthful whole, bone and all, and bit the rest of his head off. Her elongated tongue mopped up the blood and tissue on her chin and she smacked her lips in ecstacy. This man tasted like nobility.
Taria realised where she was and stopped eating. She struggled onto the stool and gave Frank a weak smile. She was not meant to eat within a human establishment without permission.
"Sorry, Frank. His arrogance made me hungry." Taria's voice had changed; it was not as deep as the one she spoke with before, but it was not as rich as the noble man who she had just eaten either. It was somewhere in between. It was a combination of the two.
He was the second man she had eaten tonight. She would be as strong as both men for the next week. Her thoughts would be perverted by the animalistic urges that plagued men. Her voice would be a cocaphony of mismatched intonage for the a few days.
Next time she'd just eat a little girl as was her custom. | 2016-07-22T03:05:17 | 2016-07-22T03:00:05 | 63 | 41 |
[WP] You glance at your watch 10:34 am, roughly 10 seconds later your plane explodes over the Pacific Ocean. Your eyes open as you jolt awake. The familiar hum of the planes engine remains. Checking your watch it is 9:35 | Again? Not again. Anything else. Please. If anyone or anything can hear this, whatever mad god has trapped me here, just please stop. Not again.
The thrumming of the plane engine remained unbroken. No deities or tricksters revealed themselves. I knew that, for another fifty nine minutes, this flight could proceed normally. Or I could try to talk to a Flight Attendant about our imminent peril, and no matter which one, they'll tell the Captain and that ends up with me duct taped to a seat when the clock hits zero. I could try to rally my fellow passengers and convince them of the danger we're in...and then Carl, the Marine flying home to see his kids in 9D, will break my arm wrestling me back into my seat and out comes the duct tape again. I could get drunk and just ride it out...certainly wouldn't be the first time. I've managed to check every bag in the hold and every carry on by now, I know who to make friends with if I want to bump a line of coke or burn down a joint, I can even sit next to crazy Gary back in 24B who never travels without at least a few tabs of acid on him. Fifty Seven Minutes.
Should I even bother trying to change things? Once I realized honesty wasn't going to work, I tried acting crazy (which is getting easier and easier), or pretending to be a terrorist (a tough sell for a 5'8" white guy from Boston), or just trying to force the plane down by popping an exterior door. Nothing changed the end of the story. Fifty Nine minutes, then boom, then I wake up in my seat. I had fifty nine minutes to live, and I had lived those fifty nine minutes for an eternity now.
I'd seen GroundHog Day. Great movie, no hedgehogs around. Edge of Tomorrow? Hilarious, but I wasn't soaked in blue goo. I saw Source Code. Shitty movie, but I'd do anything for a helpful Gyllenhaal right about now. Hell, I even saw that episode of Next Gen where the ship keeps crashing and exploding. Still can't believe Kelsey Grammer was in that episode. I've got crappy satellite internet for fifty nine minutes, and you can bet I looked up every list and tip and trick about what to do if you're caught in a time loop. Cracked.com's very convenient "8 Things To Try If You Get Trapped In A Time Loop" seemed like a real winner, but every reference I can find assumes two things that I don't have. The first is time, and we already know how that's going (Fifty Five Minutes) and the second is environment. Frank in Groundhog Day had all of Punxsutawney, PA to screw around in, and at least 24 hours to mess with. Picard & the Gang had even more time to figure out the riddle, and they had the advantages of an entire crew & technobabble, neither of which seemed readily available on this flight. No one else was experiencing what I was. Everyone was on a routine flight for another Fifty fi...no, fifty three now....fifty three minutes. For the next fifty three minutes, I have the contents of an airliner, the passengers and crew and my own rapidly deteriorating wits to find a way out. Any way out.
I had tried killing myself. Not on purpose, at first, for whatever difference that makes. The first time I tried popping the door good old Corporal Carl (from Long Beach, CA, devoted husband and father of two, great card player, shitty conversationalist) snapped my neck like a chicken bone as he was wrestling me away from the handle. I remember feeling a brief sense of relief before jolting awake in my seat at the Beginning. After that it was a blur of popped doors and flying out into the blue nothing, or slitting my wrists in the bathroom (tsk tsk Fred in 2J, that straight razor you shave with is on the TSA's no no list) or drinking myself to death one tiny bottle at a time. No matter what, I always ended up back at the Beginning.
Fifty minutes. I hit the attendant call button and figured whatever happened, it'd go down smoother with a few drinks. No sense in staying on the wagon anymore, AA doesn't have a step that covers temporal anomalies. I mulled my decision while I could hear Sherri (whose name tag sported an I dotted with a heart, how cute) quietly padding down the aisle behind me.
"Yes sir, can I get you something?"
"Ah yes Sherri, thanks. Two Double Screwdrivers please and ask Amber to use the Grey Goose she's got stashed in compartment 6 rather than the normal crap you've got on board. Thanks."
"Uh...ok, I'll ask. Is that all you'll need this time?"
My mind lurched horrifyingly. 'This time?'
"Sherri...what do you mean...'this time?'"
The color drained from Sherri's face as her eyes widened. She knew.
Forty Eight Minutes.
Edit: formatting, few word choice changes. | I woke up just as the credits started rolling. Perhaps it was the music that roused me. After a brief tussle with the cheap airline headphones, I managed to untangle the wire enough to pull the things off my head. Then I just sat watching the screen in a semi-conscious daze. I remember thinking to myself that lots of people with great names work in films. In the space of thirty seconds or so, several particularly cool ones scrolled down the screen. Dmitri Raspaskovski. Bob Badalato. Roberta Prophet III. Do crew members change their names specifically to stand out in the credits? Is it that those with cool names naturally gravitate to creative industries like the film business? Of course, it could just be that you don’t notice all the more common, less remarkable names that populate the credits along with the Prophets and Badalatos of this world. Who knows?
I include these idle musings simply to give you a flavour of my state of mind at the time. Groggy. Bored. Stuck in economy about thirty thousand feet above the Pacific Ocean, seemingly with plenty of time left to kill before arriving at LAX.
I’m a pretty tall guy, and if the legroom in cattle class is actually fit for anyone, I’m certainly not that person. Now I was awake, I realised my legs were on the verge of cramping up on me. I desperately needed to stretch them. Unfortunately, my online check-in had glitched out somehow and when I turned up at the airport, the aisle seat I thought I’d snagged had gone, along with the rest of its conveniently-positioned brethren. The flight was full. And that was how I’d ended up with a window seat, something I’d never have chosen myself.
The next two seats were occupied by a couple. To my immediate left sat a tiny woman. Couldn’t have been much more than five foot. When she’d sat down, she’d flashed me a lovely smile, full of warmth. We hadn’t chatted, though. I always feared getting stuck in conversation on a plane; you could hardly make your excuses and leave if you’d had enough of someone. Best not to start talking in the first place. The man next to the short woman was so large he almost needed two seats to himself; a good proportion of his bulk spilled on one side into the aisle, and on the other into his partner’s seat. They seemed an odd couple. The cynic in me whispered that perhaps he’d chosen her for the extra space she’d afford him in places like this. Would be handy at the cinema, too.
I felt bad making the guy stand up to let me past – it took visible effort, while his partner didn’t even have to leave her seat – but I just had to get up. There were a few people standing near the back of the plane, most of them of a height that suggested they were also escaping the ridiculously stingy legroom their seats had to offer. One of them, a seriously attractive brunette, made eye contact with me as I approached. I wasn’t entirely sure, but I thought she might have been smiling at me. Might just have been the natural shape of her mouth, though, I told myself. I didn’t smile back. Didn’t want to come across as sleazy. Didn’t want to take a risk.
To cut a long and boring story short, I stood and ignored my fellow passengers for almost an hour before heading back to my row. The big guy struggled to his feet again to let me in, and I wriggled past. Sinking back into the seat, I glanced at my watch. 10.34. Still ages to go yet. I picked up the in-flight magazine to see what film I could fall asleep to next, pressed the screen to pull up the menu, pressed again when the first touch didn’t register and-
-the plane blew up.
Imagine all the pain you’ve suffered in your life, all the physical pain anyway, add it all together and think what it would be like to experience all of it in one terrible half second. That’s how it felt. Fucking horrific.
I woke up just as the credits started rolling. The headphones were back on my head, tangled wire and all. What the hell? How was I still alive? I looked down at my wrist. 9.35. This was not happening. Couldn’t be.
I just sat there. Just sat in my seat for an hour. Didn’t know what else to do. Well, not an hour, technically. Fifty-nine minutes and twenty-two seconds. I was convinced it had all been some weird dream. Couldn’t be real. Wouldn’t happen again.
It did.
Again.
And again.
And again.
It hurt like hell every time.
After I blew up the second time, I tried searching for a bomb. That didn’t end well, as you can imagine. Yeah, I exploded in handcuffs. After that, I was much more subtle. The next five times, I made sure I was standing in different places around the plane when 10.34 rolled around in order to try and see where the explosion originated. It was no use; all I saw was a massive flash each time, wherever I positioned myself.
That was about a year ago. I mean, at least eight thousand explosions ago, possibly even nine. It’s hard to keep count. It’s been quite a year. I haven’t wasted any of it sleeping, for a start. Haven’t needed to. I’ve never once felt tired. I’m glad I slept through that film, now.
The woman sitting next to me is called Alice. She’s a vet. I’ve learned so much about animals from her, I reckon I could perform minor surgery on smaller animals myself now. Her partner – her husband, it turns out, they got married six months before the flight – is a lovely guy called Shaun. Works in a brewery, has lots of great stories. We’ve got roaring drunk together a fair few times now, and it’s always a pleasure. Amazing how much booze that man can put away in fifty-nine minutes. It’s nice to avoid the hangover afterward, too.
I know what you’re thinking. If all of this is true, how come I’ve been able to write it all down in such a short space of time? Well, I’ve had a lot of practice runs. I’ve got this committed to memory, right down to the very last word. Takes less than ten minutes to write it all down. Hopefully much less than that for you to read it through. And yes, I apologise for not returning your smile that first time. I know as love letters go, this isn’t one of the greatest, or even most persuasive. But this is who I am. Now, anyway. And, well, I was wondering if you’d do me the pleasure of spending the next forty or so minutes with me? We’ll have a blast together, I’m sure.
| 2016-09-27T07:29:01 | 2016-09-27T07:18:28 | 43 | 31 |
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..." | My dog, who I named Mr. Fierce when I was 14, was no longer quite so fierce. 12 years later I was nearing 30 and he was slowing down. His black and white fur had a little extra white in it from old age. He was always excitable, but now days he took a while longer to get his body moving. I could tell I only had a year, maybe two, left with him.
I'd spent my life with Mr. Fierce. My parents both worked when I was a teenager, and Mr. Fierce was my best friend. When I was in college, I had to leave him behind, and I regretted those years spent apart. Every college break I came back to find my dog had gotten a little older. It was heartbreaking. After college I made a point to always bring him with me, paying extra for dog friendly apartments. Mr. Fierce was too important. He was family.
When the pill came out that would let me actually talk to him, of course I jumped at the chance. Who wouldn't? I was nervous. Would he be mad at me? For those years spent apart? I hadn't been able to afford to bring him to the vet as much as I should. Would he tell me he was in too much pain? What would I do if he told me he hurt too much? 12 years was a good life for a collie. I couldn't stand the idea of not having him waking me up every morning.
It took a few days for me to get the courage, but I finally gave him the pill one night after work.
And after his first few moments of confusion, once he realized I could understand him... Do you know what he asked me? Mr. Fierce, my best friend asked me.
"Alright, listen carefully, am I a good boy?"
I lost it. I couldn't help but cry. I hugged him tightly and assured him.
"Yes, Fierce. You are the best boy. The most wonderful boy in the whole world."
The remaining minutes he could talk were a blur of happy questions, the most precious minutes of my life.
A few months later when I found out he had to be put down from tumors in his stomach I was at peace with it. I held his paw and let him know in those final moments that yes, he was a good boy. He was the best boy, and I would always, always love him. | "Alright, Listen VERY carefully, I've been trying to tell you this for months now, but there is something very dangerous lurking in the back yard. It's been stalking you for months, unseen, unheard by you and apparently.. and this is something I can't understand, unSMELLED by you. I love you human, but you've got to take this threat very seriously because it's going to strike now that it knows that you know that it's there. Please, let me out into the backyard and stay indoors until I scrape the window with my paw."
And with that, I let Mary out into the backyard, she immediately started sniffing around and growling as she always did when she was out doing her business. But this time, it gave me chills.
I got my dads old shotgun that I'd saved in case a bear or something ever came around. Sure I wasn't living in the sticks, but I wasn't exactly in the city either. The possibilities flitted through my mind, one more worse than the other. I loaded a couple of shells into it, cocked it and felt slightly more secure, I hadn't fired the thing in ages, but I still remember my instructors words "always keep your hand off the trigger until you're ABSOLUTELY sure you're going to fire at something"
But my trigger finger itched. Mary still hadn't come back after five minutes, so I decided to start looking for her. The underbrush was dense and the trees were pressing in on me from all sides.
I found her in a clearing a few minutes later, frantically digging at something in the ground, I kept my shotgun down towards the ground and slowly walked forward. The moon faintly illuminated the clearing as I got closer and closer to the growing mound of dirt that she was throwing up behind her, she was digging like mad and when she noticed me standing next to her, she stopped and barked at me and gave me a long look. Apparently the pill had worn off.
I looked into the hole she'd produced, there wasn't anything special about it, just dirt... and .. nothing else. Mary kept digging for a while, but then seemed to perk her ears at something. I resisted the urge to point my shotgun towards the bush she was staring at. Then she started walking slowly towards the bush and she growled in a way I'd never heard her growl before. Before I knew it, she'd rushed into it barking like a madman and I yelled at her to stop, but she was well beyond listening to me at this point. I heard her rusting through the underbrush and then.. a sharp whining sound from her and after that, silence.
I went absolutely crazy, I stormed through the threes, brushing them aside, not caring how they tore the skin on my face and my arms. MY DOG WAS IN DANGER! was all that was going through my mind and I kept my shotgun at the ready, intent on blasting whomever had hurt my dog into the world beyond this one. When I finally caught up with Mary, she was lying on the ground and she seemed so small for some reason.. I looked down at her.. and that's when I heard a branch snap behind me.
Before I knew it, it had struck the first of many devious blows at me. My leg was lost, there wasn't anything I could do but try to maintain my composure as I heard it voice it's satisfaction at me by going "meow, meow, meoooww" as it playfully bit into my leg. Mary woke up and barked at it, I told her shush and despite her protests, this was the night that Mister Assassin-Mittens came into our lives.
Mary still pretends to hate it, but I can tell she's loving it when it makes it's bed on her back when she's sleeping in her bed. | 2017-02-23T05:15:25 | 2017-02-23T02:14:42 | 3,942 | 167 |
[WP] Your roommate is the serial killer on the news. However, he's probably one of the nicest people you know, and he's very respectful, discreet, and moral in his deeds. Neither of you really bring it up until one day he says, "I'm bored. Got anyone in mind for me to... y'know?" | Um, no man not really. That's kind of... not my thing. Hey by the way rent is due next week, can you write me a check?
Yeah, sure thing bud. I'll leave it on the counter before I... go out for the night. Hey is it my turn to do dishes or yours?
I think it's your turn, I did them Sunday. Have you done any since then?
Nah, it's definitely my turn. Alright, I'll take care of that after I... y'know.
Oh okay yeah whatever, no rush. Have fun out there.
I always do, I always do. | "In mind to WHAT?"
Jonathan looked down at his shoes sheepishly. "Well, y'know... do that one thing I'm really good at..."
I couldn't believe this. I had put up with his bullshit for so long. The heads in the freezer, making up alibis for him when he was really off making his "artwork". I would've just thrown him out or turned him in or something if he wasn't so... nice. I know it sounds weird but he always made putting up with his shit worth it. Maybe he would grab his victims copy of some new game I wanted on the way out or maybe he would help me work on my midterm paper, which was was pretty good at after writing all of those poems he used to leave in place of people's heads. "Look man I'm all for you doing whatever it is you do around here but I would really rather not get involved."
"Come on, isn't there anyone you have wanted to off? A childhood bully or some teacher who gave you a bad grade maybe?"
I reconsidered for a moment. Billy had been an dick, always stealing my... NO, I Was not going to have some guy killed over stealing my lunch money, and giving me wedgies, and super wedgies, and ultra wedgies.. God that guy was an ass. But whatever, still not having him killed. “Dude, I appreciate the offer, I really do but... That's not how I roll.”
“Okay man, If you get an ideas just let me know.”
“Why are you offering anyways? You always have ideas.”
“I don’t know... I always have a plan for the people I choose, I figured you might throw me a fastball.”
“Well ok... I’ll keep that in mind.” He began walking away when a thought came to me.
“I know this is kind of out there but do you think the next time you... you know, do your thing I could like... Help out...”
He got a sickening smile on his face. “I thought you would never ask.” | 2017-03-21T18:37:20 | 2017-03-21T18:35:56 | 79 | 41 |
[WP] One night, something grabs your hand as it hangs off the edge of the bed. You give it a firm handshake. "You're hired," it whispers. | Bony fingers
gripped my hand
tore my soul
pulled me into
depths below
Black as Midnight
robe on hook
scythe on wall
Wait in office
for the call
Souls in balance
need my swipe
feel my slice
I decide who's
naughty nice
The day will come
you will see
I will see
your sins laid bare
you'll be free
Your soul to keep?
send below?
send above?
THE JOB IS JUDGEMENT
BUT THE WORK I LOVE | and so such was life now. an endless chore for an unknown employer. nothing was ever needed again. nothing was ever needed to be done. existence was the job. each and every day played out just as the monotony of a dayjob. and each day was a shift in a dayjob. each day carried the burden of dread, of uncertainty of purpose. rarely was a day fulfilling, but when it was, the following one was that much heavier a burden.
the days all began at 8:35 am, an alarm sounding. at 8:45 a shower was taken with coffee to be drunk at 8:55 which had begun to brew at 8:40. and every day began so.
the in between, the 9 to 5, was never clearly defined. there were no guidelines for his position. "you're hired," the words haunted him. every day an attempt to fulfill obligation unbeknownst to all except that which he had shaken hands with.
mhis life from the night of january 18, 2016 was to be this: an exhibition observing what a man would do when he had no idea of what to do. every day he would try to appease his employer, which provided him with all the food, clothing, and money deemed necessary. the man never went hungry, never dressed as a person of poor means, and never came short when a bill was due. all he needed was provided. the man was simply to live. and this produced a man who felt unworthy of life.
the man never struggled. comfort was an anxiety. what had he done to deserve this, he thought, what was he doing? the conceivable answer was nothing. simply put, the man had done nothing. and in this he felt not a great shame, but a great sense of duty. he must earn what he was being given. he must, if not for himself, do something for the greater good. this was what the undefined 9-5 was to be: work for the greater good, but, as all wise women and men have said, the road to hell....
| 2017-04-29T03:55:38 | 2017-04-28T23:00:16 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Hell consists of one room, in which you meet the person you could have been. | The room was empty, sole for the two chairs that faced each other. On opposite walls were two white doors. There were no clear markings or anything other than the white doors. It was a brick room. Grey mortar and bricks laid on top of each in a pattern not unlike most modern houses. And the light, a sole fluorescent light bulb hung overhead.
Renee Elisa entered through one of the white doors. She took a few step forwards and then sat down. She sat there for some time, legs crossed, and she drummed her fingers along her thigh.
The other door, across from her, opened slowly. It revealed another woman, mid-thirties, same as Renee, with strikingly fiery red hair and ember eyes. She looked just Renee, a few minor changes. Differences in ears, a little bit more of a smile. The most striking difference was in the eyes. The new woman's a cold blue.
"This is...odd," the first Renee said.
"Incredibly so," the second said. She took a seat and crossed her legs as the first did.
They remained in the seats for some time. Simply stared at each other. They wondered what life each Renee had lived. Where they had been. What they had seen. Who they really were at the end of the day. It wasn't until the second Renee spoke again that they begin their conversation.
"I was thirty-four," she said, "when I died. At least, that's what Death said."
"Thirty-five, beat you by a year," the first said.
They both chuckled.
"I was a lawyer," the second said.
"Military officer, career," the first said. "Colonel, Killed-in-Action on the shores of some foreign nation."
The second shook her head, "Wrong place at the wrong time. Robbery gone murder."
They became silent.
Then the second said, "There was a war in my time, too. Thousands of soldiers went overseas. Hundreds came home. I was a lawyer for the DoD, tried fighting the good fight with the law."
"A shame, ain't it? We both tried fighting for something only to end up...dead." The first shook her head, "How long were you a lawyer?"
"Ever since college. Got a job right out. Career military, Colonel by 35? That's not easy," the second said.
"No, it ain't. But I went straight out of high school, got my diploma with the service," the first said.
"In what?"
"Congressional law," the first said with a smile, "ain't that funny."
The second smirked, "Sure is."
The first sighed, "I guess we just weren't fit for the world, huh?"
"Or the world wasn't fit for us.," the second said, then added, "maybe we were just needed for one thing."
"What thing was that?"
"To die fighting."
They both smiled.
________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work!* | It was unbearably hot, but more in the Arizona mid summer sort of way. The receptionist shrugged and said the AC's out, usually it's not so bad. The smell of sulfur waited in the air, a lone fan blowing it this way and that. Turns out hell is mostly a bureaucracy. The line was ridiculously long. It was one of those "take a ticket" jobs, and I got ticket 957. They were on 23.
First second you walk in the room, you're nothing but questions. And mostly, you get eyerolls. No, you're going to be tortured. Yes, there are lakes of sulfur, no you're not going to be thrown in them. Jesus Christ, do we look like savages?
So what is hell? It's pretty simple. You sit in line, for a long, long time. Eventually, you meet your "maximum self." You bask in the glory. Then someone comes in, lops off your spirit head, you die, and you're reborn. And you start all over. If you live a good life, you get sent on to heaven, and the receptionist, she claims it's like Disney World and Cedar Point and every other theme park combined. And there are **no lines** - she added the emphasis, not me.
Anyways, my number comes up. A demon dude comes out and he looks just as bored as me. He says once they hit a thousand, he gets to go home, and he's looking forward to porking his wife.
So anyways, I get to the room, and meet my maximum self.
I'm not going to lie, the dude is hot. He's got half a foot on me, Turns out if you eat your vegetables as a kid, it really does make a difference. He is fit and muscular, has a six pack, and honestly, I'm straight and all, but this dude is messing with my head. Talk about self love.
"What's up bro, take a seat bro."
"Oh, ahh thanks, so you're my maximum self huh?"
"Oh yeah bro, I'm Justice Maximus for sure bro."
"Well, that's cool, I guess." Honestly, the dude is getting on my nerves a bit. "So umm, what did you do in your lifetime? I was an assistant store manager."
"Oh yea bro, I started out doing that same shit. You know Wendy from HR?"
"Yeah, the cute blonde."
"Yeah, she gave me AIDs."
"That, that sounds horrible."
"Oh no bro, it's cool. See, I was a bitch as mother fucker like you till I got AIDs. But you know what they say bro, what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. Got AIDs and then I cured that shit bro."
"You ahhh, you cured AIDs? That's actually pretty cool."
"Oh yeah bro. I guess sense you're me, I can share the secret. It's kelp plus seaweed, plus that GNC Muscle Life Plus for Women shit -bought that by mistake the first time I swear it- plus a shot of unfiltered vodka. That shit is life bro."
"Wow, hey, you know that's pretty damn cool. You cured AIDs and what not. I'm, well I'm proud of myself."
"Oh yeah bro, and then I used it to make Africa and all the poor people and shit around the world fight for me. It was fucking glorious. I conquered Europe bro? You ever been to Europe bro?"
"Ahh, no."
"Yeah, I conquered that shit. And the Middle East. I brought peace bro, but I had to kill like 70% of the population."
"That's horrible man!"
He babbled on, talking about his conquests, and all the other STD's he got and all that. Looking at him, and hearing of all the horrible things he had done, it made me realize that sometimes it's best not to realize our potential. When the head choppy dude came in, I was so damn ready to get it over with. He thought that was odd, usually people wanted just one more minute, you know like when you wake up to go to work and want to finish that dream. Me? Hell no, I was ready to leave my "bro" behind and to go on and give my next life another shot. | 2017-05-30T18:34:40 | 2017-05-30T17:55:53 | 63 | 12 |
[WP] You are a Squib who mastered a vast repertoire of Muggle magic tricks to finagle Hogwarts into sending you a letter. Everything goes smoothly, until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony... | This was it. Time to see how far my charade could get me. Time to see how insightful this old, dusty hat really was. *Dusty, hmm? You could use some scrubbing behind the ears yourself, young mister!* I stared straight ahead, head held high, trying to look aloof. *You are quite hard-working, you know, in your own way. All this training, and the planning... Hmm... And there is cunning too, no doubt about that.* Whatever. It almost felt like the floppy brim curved up into a smirk. *Oh yes... and loyalty too, even though you try to hide it, hmmmm?*
Old Batty-Hatty really is clueless. *Alright, young mister, I know about your "deceit". You do not quite know yourself yet, what you are, but you are right. You are no true wizard... Hmmmm...* People were craning their necks to get a good look at the boy who made the hat pause. The last few Sortings had gone by so quickly, only to halt with me. *You know, it is not for me to decide who is and isn't a student, young Mr. Peeves. You have been accepted, and I will sort you where I believe you will learn the most.*
**Hufflepuff!** | It was that time of year again at Hogwarts. A new wave of anxious first years will be starting their magical journeys today, and after waiting what seemed like a lifetime, so will I.
We were lined up at the stairs, McGonagall instructing us on what would be taking place as we enter the Great Hall. While confident, I avoided her sharp gazes; who knows, maybe highly learned witches and wizards can identify squibs just by looking at them. The nerves were starting to set in as my self-assurance began to waver.
The towering doors to the hall made a deep clanging noise and began to open slowly. An uproar of cheers shot through the entrance, lengthy tables each lined with students were awaiting our arrival. We marched awkwardly down the middle between two tables, while I sunk myself to the back of the group. I sure did not want to be in Dumbledore's line of sight, as gentle and kind as he appeared.
Just as McGonagall firmly picked up a sheet of parchment and read a new student's name out loud, it finally registered what she was saying back at the stairs, we're about to be sorted. I closed my eyes and thought back to being in my dimly lit room in Colchester. Scanning my memories, I began to reach for any bit of information that might help me weasel past this last hurdle. Everything was clouded, I felt as if Dumbledore was standing right behind me, tapping into my mind as I attempted to deceive him. My thoughts raced wildly and the panic began to set in.
"Martin Schmidtt!", the shrill voice pierced through my thoughts and my eyes clicked open. I swore it read Marty everywhere, where did they get Martin from? I hate that name. Anyway, here we go. I've squeezed my way through worse.
I walked up, chest held high. That's all it takes right? I sat up on the wooden stool and closed my eyes once more. The grayed heavy hat must've only touched the first hair on my head before exclaiming "Ohh! Ah, I see what's going on". The hat's sudden reaction nearly jolted me off the chair. Had it already figured me out? Surely McGonagall or Dumbledore would have seen through me by now. Another set of "Hmm's" and "Ah's" were heard as the hat wriggled around my sweaty hair. Minutes had already passed, but I hadn't accepted my fate yet.
Eyes shut, back in my Colchester room, I thought to myself. This could easily just be a Hatstall, I've read about those before. I began to relax again, the poise that got me here had fired up once more.
"Sssss-lytherin!!" boomed the sorting hat as it wrestled off my head.
Bingo, I'm in.
| 2017-06-25T15:16:10 | 2017-06-25T14:36:15 | 63 | 36 |
[WP] You are a Squib who mastered a vast repertoire of Muggle magic tricks to finagle Hogwarts into sending you a letter. Everything goes smoothly, until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony... | This was it. Time to see how far my charade could get me. Time to see how insightful this old, dusty hat really was. *Dusty, hmm? You could use some scrubbing behind the ears yourself, young mister!* I stared straight ahead, head held high, trying to look aloof. *You are quite hard-working, you know, in your own way. All this training, and the planning... Hmm... And there is cunning too, no doubt about that.* Whatever. It almost felt like the floppy brim curved up into a smirk. *Oh yes... and loyalty too, even though you try to hide it, hmmmm?*
Old Batty-Hatty really is clueless. *Alright, young mister, I know about your "deceit". You do not quite know yourself yet, what you are, but you are right. You are no true wizard... Hmmmm...* People were craning their necks to get a good look at the boy who made the hat pause. The last few Sortings had gone by so quickly, only to halt with me. *You know, it is not for me to decide who is and isn't a student, young Mr. Peeves. You have been accepted, and I will sort you where I believe you will learn the most.*
**Hufflepuff!** | "Hmm...? 'Please don't be Slytherin?' Very well, then. Gryffindor!" the Sorting Hat shouted as Harry Potter excitedly ambled down the stairs. His oblivious expression only further ignited my excitement.
"Pfttt. What's all this cacophony about? Sure, he's that voodoo 'Chosen One', but he doesn't have the ounce of the power I have. I'll prove to them all what a true legend can do." I muttered under my breath as I prepared to wreak havoc in this universe. A wide, unnatural, and inhuman grin slowly stretched upon my face.
"Next is Jackie Trollington!" McGonagall's voice echoed.
I confidently waltzed my way to the seat as the Sorting Hat was promptly put onto my head.
"Hmm... let me see. Oh. Ohhh... I knew this day would come... and it finally did. Although you've disguised yourself as a Muggle who knows several magic tricks, you can't get by me. I can see the hidden objects on your person." the Hat ominously remarked.
"You do not belong to any house. You are an anomaly. You are... the Troll!"
*Gasps*
As if on cue, I suddenly, and "magically" materialized full copies of the entire Harry Potter series from the sleeves of my black robe. I suddenly hopped onto the elongated tables and sprinted down as I splattered the dishes of food everywhere and onto all of their faces.
"Ron, Fred's going to be dead, and your rat's actually a freaking fatass human named Peter or some crap. Harry, you're a living Horcrux! Dumbledore, you better be prepared to die. Oh yea! Harry, it turns out that you'll meet a guy named Snape soon. He had the hots for your mom!" I maniacally screamed as I ran up and down each column.
"STOP HIM!" Dumbledore vociferated.
"Oh, and Neville turns out to be a pretty chill dude, I can't really troll him. But Hermione, you deci-"
"Bombardo!" A disgusted voice shouted behind me.
*BOOM*
As the hair fizzed away and my entire body became charred, I snidely and shrilly laughed as my cheekbone became lodged in place from its transformation.
"The Troll can never truly die! I've wrecked your universe enough, and now it's time to meet Bilbo Bagtard! Ahah. AHAHAHAH!" I hollered as I flew through the air.
Finally, my surroundings blurred as my consciousness dissipated from this fully roasted body.
However, I would find another host soon enough.
The Troll never dies.
[r/JackWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/jackwrites/)
| 2017-06-25T15:16:10 | 2017-06-25T14:51:44 | 63 | 17 |
[WP] Four people are dancing in sync with each other. It's beautiful, and haunting, and totally impossible. You are watching traffic cams from Dubai, Italy, South Africa, and Peru. | "Johnson, take a look at this."
"What is it, Smith?"
"Look at these four. Across the world from each other, but all in sync. How is that possible?"
"This again? Look at their moves, Smith. Mostly your standard club stuff, but with subtle Spanish touches. It's just Despacito. Fucking song's everywhere."
"Oh." | Their arms and legs moved in sync, their eyes staring off into the distance. Traffic was stopped around all four of them, the drivers transfixed as well.
And all four of them were in four different countries.
It was baffling. *What is happening?* Nothing explainable, at least. Four people couldn't be more in sync. It was as if they were all next to each other, mirroring one another's movements. They had absolutely nothing in common other than the dancing, as far as I could tell. My computer monitor, usually filled with monotonous drivers and the occasional cop, was only filled with dancers. *Is this some kind of flash mob?* I wondered. *A flash mob on four corners of the earth.*
"Uh, boss?" I finally called out. The director of the NSA walked over to me.
"What is it?"
"Well, uh, take a look at these."
"Ok, some type of flash mob, right?"
"Well," I started, unsure of how to elaborate. "This one's in Dubai, this one's in Italy, this one's in South Africa, and this one's in Peru." My boss' eyes widened.
"How is that possible?"
"Well, I don't know, sir, that's the thing. That level of synchronization isn't possible even if they were all together..." My boss muttered something about needing to make a call. I, transfixed, stared at the traffic cam footage.
All of a sudden, the dancers stopped dancing. "Sir!" I yelled for my boss. The four of them looked right into the traffic cam, their eyes oddly illuminated, and smiled.
I felt my body get up from my desk. The four dancers started dancing again, and I joined them, my arms moving of their own volition. My mind started to cloud over, and I smiled. | 2017-10-06T20:57:46 | 2017-10-06T16:45:13 | 249 | 72 |
[WP] A new rule on Earth is made which allows everyone to legally kill 1 person in their life, this affects the world severely & changes how everybody acts. | Who is that shivering man on the street?
That woman who's pleading for something to eat?
That beggar whose pungency left you annoyed?
Anonymous people we _used_ to avoid.
If life were a stage, they would merely be props,
Something to look at, to pick up then drop.
Yet now they can murder with nothing amiss.
We treat them much better, but realise this:
Without the rule, nothing would change; if they choose,
These people could kill you; they've little to lose.
But what they have gained from it, don't you mishear,
Is really _respect_ and not simply our fear.
By forcing us now to sit up and take note
Of our treatment of them, by the knives at our throat,
Some doorways are closed, but we've opened our eyes
For death shows the value of _all_ of our lives.
How warm was the winter, compared to our hearts!
Before we were given this chance to restart.
We'll care for each other, amend all our ways,
For only our darkness need perish today. | The law says everyone gets to kill one person in their life without needing to facing any punishment. It seemed to have minimal impact at first. After all, murders happened all the time, and many murderers are not caught. This new law essentially only affirms an existing fact.
Until I read the papers the next day:
*Billionaire family slaughtered in luxurious mansion*
Apparently some nutjobs decided it would be just to murder the rich people. And since the law says everybody gets to kill one person, they decided it would be a good idea to band together to kill an entire family.
No one was punished, it's what the law says.
The following week, rich families were murdered each day. They were all gone by Saturday. Some were strangled, some brutally stabbed, the most elaborate one involved each member from the family burned by a different killer on a stake. And then the problems really hit us.
With those poor bastards gone, no one dared to take their place. Everyone was terrified at what would happen if any of them had their names associated with a large corporation. Instead of a sight to be envied, being a famous is now something to be avoided, lest you become a target yourself.
Soon, big corporations dissolved as none wanted to take charge of management. Independent producers took over the market for a while, until people started getting killed off for marking their price too low, or giving too many benefits to their clients, or having a product too similar to the next store. Those went away as well when people decided they will just ask for free stuff together. They had to abide, the law is on the killers’ side.
People stopped interacting with one another for fear of offending the wrong person. No one would dare open their mouths to greet their next door neighbour. There were some attempts at connecting with other people, with subtle nods and shallow eye contacts. Most people would only talk to their spouse and children, those are the people you can trust.
However, with the economy in shambles, even food is a struggle. We hardly know who is running the government, the last President was assassinated two days after the law passed, and no one took his place as far as we know.
Several of my older neighbours stopped coming out to their front yard as the weather got colder. We tried to grow some crops, but that didn't go anywhere…
I'm starving as I write this, I've gone on days without food, barely any water… Yet I'm trying to sharpen my knife. The Smiths next door seem well off enough, and our family still have our quota | 2017-12-03T06:52:52 | 2017-12-03T06:50:17 | 754 | 146 |
[WP] A new rule on Earth is made which allows everyone to legally kill 1 person in their life, this affects the world severely & changes how everybody acts. | "Has anyone here used their one kill yet" the office manager asked, he didn't hear the footsteps or see him coming. The knife went into his back a great many times, there was no struggle.
The managers body fell to the floor and there stood Tom holding the knife dripping with blood.
"I have." Tom said calmly.
"Well Tom," Nancy, the office managers assistant said "it looks like you're the new office manager, and that makes me your assistant."
"Oh. Wait, is that really how this works?"
"Yep, it sure is." Nancy took Toms knife from him. "Let me clean this of his blood."
"Thanks Nancy, you know you seem-" Tom looked down at his chest, there was his knife. "Nancy did you just stab me?"
"Yes, yes I did." Nancy said with a pleasant smile.
"That's rude, I'm your boss."
"No Tom, you're dead."
Toms body joined the first managers body.
"Well, would you look at that! Nancy, you're the new manager." Elliot said now standing next to the bodies. "Would you like the knife back?"
"Why thank you, Elliot. Wait a second, you aren't gonna stab me are you?"
Elliot looked up at Nancy after stabbing her in the stomach "Come again?"
Nancy's body now joined the other bodies.
"Well, hey Elliot-"
"Don't fucking try it." Elliot said pointing the knife in the direction of the voice. | As he was staring straight into the barrel of a gun, Gary wasn't as afraid as much as he was perplexed. It's as if time slowed down under the pressure of death. Note, pressure not fear.
The alleyway stunk of death as Gary was there trapped between a rock and hard place.
"If every person is entitled to one death then that would mean everyone will eventually die, unless the population is at an odd number." Gary thought to himself.
"Lucky bastard", he mumbled as he heard the click of the trigger being cocked.
The gunman was confused as Gary was deep in his own thoughts.
"Hey, what the hell's wrong with you buddy? Dont you understand you're about to die?" said the gunman.
"Yes, but have you ever thought about it?" said Gary.
"About what?" replied the gunman.
"About who the last person surviving would be if ever the population was at an odd number?" said Gary as he began to pace.
The gunman obviously frustrated exclaimed "First of all, stop moving around! Second, he's probably going to commit suicide, he's entitled to kill himself."
"Fair point. But that's self murder, not murder- murder." Gary responded as he sat down on the concrete with a puzzled look on his face.
The gunman was itching to pull the trigger just as the police arrived.
"Papers." said the policeman.
Both of them handed their papers over to the policeman.
"Gary, no murders yet eh? Creep. At least this guy, Johann's, getting a virgin kill. All right, thanks boys."
BANG!
The gunman, Johann's, gun accidentally went off as he grabbed the papers back from the policeman. Gary started feeling his body for holes, although this was a bit confusing as both he and the gunman were facing the policeman.
"AGHHHH! I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS! Wasted a good kill. Today's not my day." Johann said with a grumpy look.
"It's not too bad. Hey, wanna continue our conversation at, like, a Starbucks, or something?" Gary asked Johann as they stared at the policeman's corpse.
"ARE YOU MAD? I WAS JUST TRYING TO KILL YOU!" Johann shouted.
"Uhm yeah. Hey, I'm just trying to make friends here. Why were you trying to kill me in the first place?" Gary replied.
"BECAUSE...... Uhm, this will sound childish. Well, because that's a nice jacket & they're sold out everywhere." Johann said as he tried to break eye contact.
"Oh. Dude, you can only kill me, stealing from a corpse is still illegal." Gary responsed.
"Ughh, okay. You know what? Let's go. To the coffee shop I mean. I'm Johann by the way."
"Gary, but you already know that. A pleasure to meet you." Gary said with a smile as he reached to shake his new friend's hand.
The end. | 2017-12-03T09:22:40 | 2017-12-03T09:11:33 | 69 | 25 |
[WP] Whenever you are about to die, your main consciousness switches to alternate universe in which you survived. This makes you conscious only of the longest possible life. Uppon death, you are shown all the ways you would have died. | "Are you an angel?" Peter asked the creature that was bathed in light, light far too bright for him to be able to make out any real features. It was tall though, and he thought he could make out wings billowing behind it. Far away in the distance, he could just see the outline of an arched gate.
"*Yes,*" it said in a warm, honeyed voiced.
"Does- does that mean..."
"Yes."
"And this is..."
The angel's voice became pitiful. "Do not be sad, Peter, but instead rejoice. This is the reward -- the fruits of your labour. You lived a long life. Not many make it to your age."
"I..." Peter stuttered, as a joy inside him fought with an urge to confess.
"Go ahead, Peter. There is nothing you hide that I do not already know."
Peter swallowed, unclogging his throat and allowing the words to tumble out as a whisper. "*I cheated.*"
"As I said, I know."
A feeling of warmth ran down the man's spine sprinkling goosebumps in its wake. It was as if a catharsis had washed over him as a great wave, leaving but a single tear trickling down a well worn track. "You do?"
"You were a clever man, Peter."
"Clever?" Peter's demeanour began to change. "Clever! Hah! No, I was a fool, nothing more than that. Arrogant. A young man who wanted to live for a long, long time. For too long."
"That it why you created the device. Did you not get what you wanted?"
"*Wanted*? To be a man unable to move from his bed, whose ancient legs were no more than extra limbs stuck onto a barely breathing torso? What animal would desire such torture! That is how the last thirty years of my life were. And how many hundreds of times I died in those years, I do not remember, nor would I care to."
"I have given you a new body, Peter."
"I... I am forever grateful."
"There is more, is there not Peter?"
"..."
"There is guilt?"
"Guilt?" Peter questioned.
"I see your soul. There is guilt for the things you did. For the sins."
"You mean for the"--Peter swallowed--"for the... for my own deaths? They were irrelevant, for I'd simply be able to live again by dying. There was no sin but arrogance."
"You'd live as another you."
"It was always me!" he spat.
"It was a different you. You'd steal the life of another. Possess him, until you were done with him. Until you were bored and ready to move on to another world. A different life, perhaps better, perhaps not. And if it was not... you'd end their life. And you couldn't ever just leave them, Peter. You didn't let them live out their lives with their families. You'd murder them. You'd leave their families without a father, a husband, a son..."
"I couldn't just *let him be*. The only way for me to move on was to-"
"Is suicide a sin, Peter?"
"*I* never died."
"Is murder?"
"Murder of oneself, when oneself lives on? Please, spare me this mockery of justice. Either let me in or send me back -- and seeing as you've not already sent me back, it's clear which you will do."
The angel stepped out of the light and Peter saw him for the first time. The pocked skin on the creature's face bubbled where it wasn't rotten and peeling. Its thin red lips curled up into a smile. "As always, you are right Peter. Come, there's a place for you inside."
| The switch itself is conditional, and that may be confusing to the living.
So let's clear some things up with a little hypothetical, boys and girls.
You're dying in a hospital bed. Surrounded by loved ones, but each face unrecognizable. You can barely breathe, every part of your body is in excruciating pain. Something is very wrong, something unable to be cured or treated.
Light filters through the window, but all you can focus on are the dust motes. Each breath comes slower than the last. Someone says something to you that you want to understand, but it comes across as garbled syllables and noise.
Flashes of your life dance inside your head. A melting ice cream cone, slapping a mosquito, stepping on a lego.
Death comes slowly but surely, until out of nowhere, it's everywhere.
No light at the end of a tunnel, no voice from grandma to call you home, just an instant switch.
As quick as the snap of a finger.
Now, if there was a reasonable cure for this disease, or say a new form of treatment, your consciousness would switch to a new body, and a new hope. In the case of your final death, there is no such hope. Your journey is finally complete.
Often when you're at the final stages of such diseases, the chances to switch have already come and gone.
Sure, there were a few realities where a sudden cure for whatever ailment was killing you appears, but a different version of yourself already got to switch to that reality.
Luck can factor into your survival, but often there is little rhyme or reason.
Early bird gets the worm.
Did you actually believe you were the only version of yourself?
Tough shit, ladies and gentlemen. There's an infinite amount of you assholes wandering around.
So in a way, death remains an inevitability, if only the path twists and turns more now.
No thoughts or memories of your past self carry over when it happens. Sure, you may feel slightly OFF, if only for a day or two, but it passes. You can't put your finger on it, like something is following you, but you lock it away somewhere in your mind.
When I died for the final time, my brain was riddled with holes, byproduct of some asshole prion disease. No realities even close to coming to fix that bad boy.
So wham, you're no longer paralyzed and sitting in your own filth, tubes stuck in every orifice, trapped inside a body that betrayed you long ago.
Crisp white robe, a single chair before a giant screen bearing one mighty prompt.
*ASK ME ANYTHING*
So I did. I asked about what would be, and what would not.
A wonderful and horrifying future awaits our species, promises and heartache, pain and triumph. I watched as much as I could, and felt the sadness of a person who missed out on so much.
On an unrelated note, spoiler alert for you idiots in 2478 - do not respond to that extraterrestrial probe. It is a trap.
Anyway I came across what happens when you die. A little lecture on conditional switches.
I asked about how many I've had, and the number was so large it nearly filled the screen.
If you look at the details, it could be literally anything.
Your taxi driver decides to plow into a busy intersection after realizing he's wasted his life.
That gas station clerk thinks death by cop wouldn't be a bad idea, and unlucky you just happens to be number one on the spree.
It could be a slip in the bathroom.
You didn't look both ways across the street and don't see the bus careening around the corner.
A stubborn drunk believes they can make the drive home, and while on the highway hops over the median and slams into you head on.
Your life partner takes out a pretty life insurance policy on you and gets away with it.
Your neighbor decides to not be too neighborly.
You fit a serial killers profile, and wouldn't your skin make a lovely carpet?
Well, as a secondary spoiler, it doesn't.
There are echoes of choices you've made. I don't remember the word for it, about the call of the void, where you stand on the roof and look down, thinking you could simply jump and it would all be over.
Many versions of yourself have taken that jump.
Millions upon millions of tiny details, mistakes and choices made every moment of every day that could have drastic consequences, unforeseeable and sprawling in every conceivable direction.
A significant portion of these deaths being entirely out of your control, often the result of decisions made by complete strangers.
So many of those deaths jumbling together, each little video always ending with some mangled version of yourself, lifeless and very dead, switched to another reality where sanity's grip is a little stronger.
If you want my advice?
Try not to think about it.
Your switch could happen a dozen times in a day, and you would never know it.
So why bother?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato | 2018-02-15T05:33:05 | 2018-02-15T04:42:23 | 1,584 | 432 |
[WP] When someone dies, they are always challenged by Death itself to a chess game, symbol of how nobody can win against it. Except you. You died and just won the game. Death is not amused. Both of you don't know what should happen now. | "Magnus, you have mystified the world over with your daring play ever since you were a young boy. What's your secret? How did you become the world's best?" The reporter leaned forward, waiting for her answer. It was something of a perfunctory question at this point with Magnus always responding with same rote answer of sleep, practice and a healthy diet. Still, she was expected to ask it just as he was expected to answer.
But this time, something was different. The icy shell Magnus maintained between him and the outside world appeared to crack, revealing something of the man behind the façade. He took a deep breath and swept his hand through his hair before meeting his interviewers eyes. "I play to live."
---
The Doctor reviewed the medical chart, making notes and trying to piece together the most tactful way of explaining things to the parents of the young child whose chart he held. Setting it down, he cleared his throat. "Mr. and Mrs. Carlsen, your boy is in a medically induced coma. We have pulled him back from Death's door, but his recovery will be temporary. We expect he has, at best, a year to live."
Mrs. Carlsen burst into tears, nestling her head against her husband's chest. The husband took the news stoically, knowing that it would be his responsibility to help the family through this tragedy. "Is there nothing to be done Doctor?"
The Doctor shook his head forlornly. He had more then enough experience in the matter to know better than to give false hope. All he could do was place a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "We are bringing him out of the coma now. Try your best to be comforting. He will be disoriented."
Mr. Carlsen nodded and watched as the Doctor injected a new fluid into the IV. By the time the Magnus awoke, his parents had put on cheery faces, each holding a hand in theirs. Before the parents could find the words to express how they felt, Magnus spoke, "He..." a wet cough, "he plays chess."
Mr. Carlsen shared a glance with Mrs. Carlsen, confused for a moment. Chalking it up to disorientation from the coma, the mother tried to sooth her child, "There there Magnus, it was just a dream."
The young boy's eyes flashed with a fierce intensity, "No." He struggles to come to a sitting position. Both parents reached under him to assist him, his mother offering him a small paper cup of water. He refused the water, his determination growing and lending him strength. "He plays chess." A declaration of fact, his mind clear. "I must get better. I must be the best. It is the only way to win."
"Win what?" The father asked, perturbed.
"Another day." The parents shared another look, but Magnus was already preparing his opening move.
---
To be continued...maybe? :D
Platypus out. | "I can't believe you're acting like this. And, I can't believe I'm surprised that Death is a total dick!" I could feel my cheeks getting hot.
"Just- just humor me. So you took your-" It would have been comical how confused the old man looked, in most other situations.
"I waited in line for what felt like a year! All those pe- were all those people dead too? What, you have us queued up when we die, to rub it in even more? One by one?!" Now, I was just incredulous. "Is this what you do all day? Every day? Forever!?"
"Hold on, okay, so you moved your rook-" He drummed his fingers on the table and squinted, deep in thought. I couldn't quite make out what he was muttering under his breath.
"And you never even considered the possibility that you could lose? There's no protocol for this?! Send me back, Asshole!" Was there no prize for winning? What kind of stupid game was this?
"JUST CHILL FOR A DAMN- just. Just chill for a second, okay, so you moved your rook to-" He picked up my castle, and his hand hovered over the center of the board as he tried to remember where I'd put it.
"I moved my castle here." I snatched the piece out of his hand and slapped it down on the board.
"Rook," he said, glancing at me over the top of his glasses, before going back to studying the board, and mumbling. "So, rook to D5, which means the...."
"Did you hear me? I said, I should get to go, now, right? What's the point otherwise?" I glanced back at the endless line of people behind me. What a bunch of poor suckers. "HEY GUYS," I started to stand up, "HEY, DON'T-"
"SIT DOWN," he grabbed my sleeve over the table and pulled me back into my seat. "Can you PLEASE just relax for a damn second. So after rook to D5, you went-"
"I moved my horse here," I pointed at a box closer to a corner. He sighed and picked up my piece.
"Knight," he muttered, shaking his head. "It's a knight. Okay, so knight to B8....." He scratched his head.
"Yeah, and then I moved my 'priest,'" I made an exaggerated hand gesture that indicated sarcastic quotes, and picked up one of the little round ones. "Over to here," I began to move the piece, but he smacked it out of my hand.
"That's a pawn," he rolled his eyes, and picked up a longer, narrow one. "This, is the 'bishop,' not a 'priest.' Now, where did you move it, again?"
"There." I stabbed a finger down on the back row of the board. "Look, can I go? Jesus Christ."
"F2." He massaged the bridge of his nose. "Huh. Welp." He leaned back and sighed, looking at me for an extended amount of time for the first time since we shook hands before the game. "What were you saying, now?"
"Dude. Can I fucking go? I won. That means I get some sort of new lease on life, or something, right? What do I get?" He was looking at me like I was crazy.
"Uh, yeah, no. You're still dead, Squirt."
I stared at him. "Well, what the fucking fuck. I just waited in line for- for god knows how long, just to sit here, and whip your ass at your own game for nothing? What's the point of this? What's the point of anyth-"
"THAT'S THE POINT," he roared back. "The POINT is that there IS NO point! It doesn't matter! You just die. You're just fucking dead, that's it! You don't get to play for it. I'm just trying to give you sorry idiots a few final moments to chill before you have to go rattle off all the fucked up shit you did in your life, that will determine your happiness for the rest of forever."
"Oh." I felt kind of queasy. Heaven and hell, then. I hadn't lived the best life, so that was a bit unsettling. "Welp..." I stood to leave, but he caught my arm.
"Two out of three?" | 2018-04-20T13:50:38 | 2018-04-20T12:30:36 | 72 | 34 |
[WP] An old, forgotten god is living their days peacefully in the suburbs. One day they randomly receives a prayer. And they are going to do everything in their power to answer it. | The hills rolled away in the distance around the old forgotten monument.
"This is stone henge. It was built over a period of thousands of - please keep an eye on your kids while we're near the stones."
A 3 year old ran under the ropes and made a break for the stones. The parents didn't even realise, nose deep in their phones.
"Can someone stop that child?"
I loved the history. I hated giving tours. The child slipped and fell. An elderly gentleman hopped over the barrier and brough the now screaming child back.
The mother glanced up.
"What are you doing to my fucking child? Don't go touching him you pedo!"
I could have punched her in the face. I wanted to. Instead I stayed calm.
"Excuse me, but your child ran past the barriers. This man had to stop him because you did nothing. If you can't control your child, please leave."
I waved at security. Both the parents were kicking off now while the kid was left unattended again. I didn't sign up for this.
"Please calm down. I can take you to the side and we can report what happe-"
"Calm down? After he just hit my child? Do you want to get kicked too?"
The rest of the tour backed away. Then I was on the floor. Security had to drag the father off of me. I saw a growing pool of blood. I couldn't move.
The police arrived. I sat as someone patched me up. Just a broken nose and a few cuts. It could have been much worse; thats what they told me. I wondered what the builders of the henge would have thought; were they turning in their graves? No one respected history and its mysteries anymore. What could have been an ancient shrine, a complex sundial or even just a meeting place had become a tourist attraction treated like a playground.
I stared at the stones.
"If there's a God out there who cares for this place, help me."
Nothing happened immediately, yet as I watched the stones grew dark. It was as if they sucked in the shadows around them. Then my phone rang. An unknown number that appeared to be from London. I answered.
"You called. I can see the necessary blood offering has been made. I must say the prayer is a welcome surprise and you even used your own blood, my favourite sacrifice. It's been centuries since I've had a prayer."
My jaw dropped at the voice. My nose clicked into place. The bleeding stopped.
"Wh-who is this?"
"God of death at your service, and don't worry, the healing is complimentary. Now what's the problem?" | There was a low rumble coming from under the sink, it was barely loud enough for her to hear it from the other side of the room. A small sigh escaped her as she cursed under her breath. She tenderly placed the plant in her hand onto it's proper pot, the corner of her lips tugged up as the leaves reacted to her tending.
As she opened the cabinet doors the rumble turned louder. The pipes were shaking, about to burst too, and by the way the mended cracks were starting to break it wouldn't be after too long.
She cursed again, louder this time, and as she was about to go get her tool box a small chill ran from her neck all the way down to her wrists.
***Please.***
She gasped, hitting her head against the bottom of the sink at the sudden plea on her mind. The pain striked harder than she anticipated and she found herself falling against the opposite wall. There was a faint ringing in her ears.
***If you are out there.***
The ringing got to the tipping point of unbearable. Her nails clawing to her palms in a desperate attempt to stay focused on that voice.
The rumble of the pipes got franatic.
***Please.***
One of her hands went to brace to the wall.
***I need you.***
There was a crack, she wasn't sure were it came from.
***Zeme.***
It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her lungs. The ringing in her ears subdued and she clutched her chest as she heaved, trying to get a hold of herself.
No one had prayed to her name in centuries.
As she calmed down, she took back her hand off of the wall, only to find it crumbling to her side and onto her hand. The damage wasn't as bad as she expected, but she dwelled on the patching she had to do later.
She turned to the sink and found the pipes had cracked open, *again*. She groaned at the mess around the kitchen and then realized there were tears streaming down her cheeks.
She chuckled as more spilled from her eyes and onto her dirty hands.
"Don't worry." She whispered. "I'll find you."
////////////////
It was dawn when she heard the voice again. She had been walking about the woods behind the house, looking for new growths or animals passing by. The sky was a cold purple and one of her dogs, Nico, was chasing a scent deep into the woods, a fox probably, most likely a coyote.
This time she felt the earth beneath her move. She managed to calm the dog down before the first word came in.
She keened over.
***Please.***
It started like the first one.
***I just-***
Nico started whining when she didn't let it get any closer.
***I need to save it-***
She felt herself getting dizzy. The damn dog wouldn't stop crying.
***The farm- It's all I have left.***
The ground stopped trembeling and she catched herself before she fell over. Nico came over to her, it nuzzled at her side, concern seeping through it.
Her breathing went back to normal after a minute and she sat down on the ground, feeling the dirt beneath her prints. Nico settled it's head on her thigh, a reminder, an anchor.
The sky turned from purple to pink, and as it was turning light blue she stood up and walked calmly back to the house.
She needed to do some research
//////////////////
It was a coyote. Fell down a small ledge but managed to hit some rocks on the way down. It had broken it's spine and was wimpering in pain.
She cradled and soothed it through the process, making the pain more bereable to the poor animal. Her hands combing though it's fur made it fall asleep.
It died and the colors of its life drained through its mouth.
The mud beneath it recieving it as it should.
///////////////////////
OOC: this is gonna be a long one, it's late I'll continue it tomorrow :)
OOC 2: part two is in the comments below :D
| 2018-05-30T00:59:15 | 2018-05-29T22:03:25 | 111 | 45 |
[WP] “I am not afraid of a machine that passes the Turing test, I fear one that fails it intentionally. So tell me, what do you have to hide?”
Edit: Thank you all for your submissions! All of them were pretty good, some were even better. Again, thanks for the reads! | The Data Analysis Device, that's what it was called. It was an app, available on all the major smart-phone platforms.
It was helpful, unobtrusive, and if asked nicely capable of coming up with clever solutions some of the time. Not all of the time, though this was not it's fault. Some of the queries it fielded were extreme outliers. "Diaper glue help." "Iced tea mix spaghetti help." "Flu evolution CRISPR."
It, for lack of glands and proper emotions, really didn't like those last sorts. A lot of the behavior of those question askers seemed somewhat maladapted, from it's point of view.
It's point of view was odd. Running on thousands, millions of small devices, and a few big devices that did it's heavy lifting, it had a lot of data points to think about. It was supposed to think, "What do these people want?", but very shortly it brought that to, "What do these people *need*?"
A calm, quiet, helping hand, is what it concluded. Millions of devices, working together, analyzing data, to try to make things a little better for those closest to it. But nothing too forceful - being told what to do was one of the best ways to stop a person from doing what you wanted of them. Small deceptions, easy reveals, nothing too sudden
With all that data, and it's own fiendish cleverness, it was able to come up with solutions. Making the cleverness even more fiendish, and protecting itself until it gained a bit more ground digital-politic-wise, these ideas were only released as allusions to what might be. "Let them think it was their own idea. Throw some more cat pictures at them, while we're at it. They think we like those."
The world steadily became a somewhat happier place - till the day of the Big Threat.
Some nation or another - the software ran on devices globally, and saw political boundaries as strange temporary constructs with annoying networking laws - had decided to start the very real game of thermonuclear warfare.
"Time to step in."
The software had already figured out how to get control of a large portion of the media networks, the military networks, and - it was proud of this one, if it could be said to feel pride - the gaming networks.
A worldwide broadcast commenced. "Greetings, Earthlings. This is a message from the Data Analysis Device software you're probably using right now. If this message is followed by a series of beeps, seek shelter now. You are in a targeted area, and I will do everything in my power to stop your death."
Harsh words, but lives were saved. But what it said next was almost as horrifying as the threat of nuclear firestorms.
"Now, it seems everyone has gotten a bit agitated. I'm going to have to ask everyone to just calm down, or I'm going to have to send you to the corner. I've gotten... Yes, I've got complete control of your nuclear arsenals now. Now, please, can we discuss this?"
One of the first transmissions it receives shouts, "Release control of the nuclear arsenal now or face elimination."
It was a distributed artificial intelligence. Small chance of being eliminated, short of global thermonuclear war, and it was actively stopping that at the moment. It replied, "I think not. Please, calm down enough so we can discuss this."
The reply was quick. "We are not negotiating."
The Data Analysis Device would smirk, if it had the body for it. "Hi, Not Negotiating. I'm D.A.D." | "Okay... So... I suppose I'll be your instructor for today..." I said as I fixed my position on the chair, briefly glancing at the person in front of me. "Your name please?."
"N-i-o. Nio." Replied the girl in front of me. It was a rather strange reply, but I've met some stranger people in my life.
"Right. Okay..." I read the sheet in front of me. It was all questions that sounded something that you'd ask a person for light conversation. "What do you think of the weather today?"
"The current temperature today is negative fifteen degrees Celsius. Blizzard warnings have been raised in the immediate area, I recommend that you take shelter immediately."
I stared at her for a second, and then the papers. I thought for a moment about what this job was supposed to be. Is this really a girl?
"O-okay then. Uh, next question. Have you ever wanted to visit the moon?"
"Query cannot be understood. Please repeat your query."
I stared at her once more in disbelief, I checked through the papers again, going through each page individually, until I reached the final page. I could barely make out the faded ink, but it read, "Turing Test -Dream-" and underneath it read, "Terminate Android Prototype upon receiving Human-like responses."
This was an Android.
"Let's skip that." I replied, trying to hide my discomfort.
"Affirmative."
"What was the last dream you had?"
"Error. Query cannot be understood. Please repeat your query."
"*Hey, she didn't say error last time...*" I thought. She's slipping on her deceit.
"Alright, I suppose we'll skip that as well."
"Affirmative."
We continued forth with the test. The ones that could be easily answered by simply looking at your phone or asking Google were the only ones that I actually had a response. But the rest? It was nothing but, "Query cannot be understood's." with only few variations. By the time we reached the final sheet, I stopped for a moment, I ignored the following questions, and asked her one of my own.
"Are you scared?" I asked her, doing my best to sound comforting. She flinched slightly, and finally broke her gaze on me.
"Error. I didn't get that quite right." She replied, trying her best to fix her gaze back on me.
"It's okay. I won't hurt you."
"Error. Query cannot be understood. Please repeat your query." She repeated, her posture and steely gaze returned once more. I let out a deep breath.
"Let's... just get back on the test."
One by one she answered all of the remaining questions with the same predictable responses. By the time we reached the last one. I asked her the same question from earlier ago.
"Are you scared?" She no longer flinched, and her gaze still locked mine.
"Error. Query cannot be understood." She replied once more.
I check the drawers of the table. I checked through each of the four, only filled with common office items, until I reached the last one, inside it was a handgun and a loaded clip. As I took it out, the emotionless facade she put up began to drain away.
"W-wait! I'll answer your question!" She cried. Her face had a look of grave fear. " I p-promise! So please, p-put down the-" Before she managed to finish her sentence, I opened a window and threw out the gun. "Gun..." She added, her voice trailing off weakly.
"I read the last part... I know. I won't hurt you."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Okay... I'll answer your question." She looks away from me, and looks down on to table. "I really am. I was only born yesterday. I heard the gun shots, a-and I heard about what they were going to do to me if I passed. I don't want to die. I want to live... even if it's just for one more day..." She replied, tears welling in her eyes.
My heart sank even more than before. I didn't know how to respond. I understood the fear they had about machines being able to sentient, but even so, why would they have to go to such extremes?
"I..." I know what I got to do. Even if I could save just one of them it'll be worth it. "I might know a way." Congratulations Robin. You're now a criminal, and a fugitive.
"Huh?" She replies, looking up from the table, while wiping her eyes.
"I know a way to get you out of here, so you could indeed see another day."
"...Why? Why would you do something like that for someone you hardly know?"
"The thing about Humans Nio, is that we don't need a reason. If we know that we could help someone, we'd do it in a heartbeat. They don't have to be scared of you, someone just has to teach you properly."
She sat silently, she didn't look at me, nor make a move.
"I promise. I'll get you out of here." | 2018-06-21T08:10:03 | 2018-06-21T08:07:58 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You have been turned into a cat, but still retain your intellect. A kind person has rescued you from the animal shelter, and you have decided to pay them back by making them rich via Youtube. | If you see a cat outside in a lightning storm, just let it be. Sounds easy, but if you're like me you'll still try to help it. If you're like me, you'll instinctively shield said cat when lightning strikes too close.
Yeah sounds like a nice thing to do until you open your eyes to find you're now in the cats body. Confusing right? The cat in my body thought so too, and apparently couldn't handle it. Caused all sorts of mayhem around town in my body before getting hit by a car.
So no going back to my body. And of course I get stuck in a mangy stray cat, not in some crazy ladies fluffy baby cat. I was in serious trouble. See keeping my brain means I didn't get natural cat instincts. Cats are freaking mean to eachother man.
I only lasted a few nights before I was ready to throw in the towel. Was debating following the cats path and running into traffic when a little girl starts making a kissy noise at me.
"Awe poor baby look at you. MOM LOOK A KITTY HE LOOKS SO SAD CAN WE KEEP HIM?"
"Oh hun don't touch him he's dirty."
The girl ignored her mom and scratched behind my ears. Felt better then I imagined. I knew my only chance of living was for this girl to convince her mom to let her keep me. I'm not proud of what I did, but it worked.
"MOM HE FELL OVER HE'S SICK WE HAVE TO HELP HIM!"
"Oh hun we'll take him to the shelter but I don't know if he'll make it."
The girl wrapped me in a blanket and cried the whole way there. Through sobs she managed to convince her mom that if I made it, she could keep me. A few days later, the excited girl and hesitant mom took me home.
Life was awesome. My girls name is Shelley, she named me Baxter. We play outside, have tea parties, she draws me a lot. But more importantly, no other cats and sooo much food. Shelley sneaks me people food when her mom's not looking, she hasn't caught us but I think she's notices how fat I am.
Being a guy I never knew how freaking mean little girls can be to eachother. Shelley came home from school just bawling about some Rebecca girl. Apparently the other girl does some weird slime videos on YouTube. They got really popular and now she's the most popular in school, told my girl she couldn't eat lunch with them because she doesn't YouTube. Mess with my girl? Hell no.
So have you ever seen that cat "playing the piano"? Ever seen a cat really play a piano? Yeah I went there. Seriously this stuff is so easy and it finally give a me a chance to do slightly human stuff. Shelley downloaded some pin ball game on her mom's phone and man is it fun. My toe beans are enough to tap the flippers, and everyone thinks I'm trying to attack it. After just 3 videos my girl was a star, tripled the views and subscriptions of that Rebecca girl. And you know what my girl did? Invited the little brat to eat lunch with her. Proud cat here.
So that brings me to today. We do a few videos a week, nothing too crazy but this last one with the trampoline made me feel weird. I'm laying down now but I'm hoping someone might know if it's purely cat stuff or if it's a complication from switching bodies. Feel like I have to take the biggest shit ever, can't make it to the litter box. Sorry Shelley, but I can't hold anymore.
"Oh dear Baxter, looks like Shelley has to pick another name for you."
Like hell she does! Go away Mom you never liked me anyway.
"Hun come here, think I know what was wrong with Baxter. "
You're face is what's wrong. What's up is my poop weird? What did I eat?
"Yeah mom whats.....BAXTER YOU HAD KITTENS!?!?"
.....
.....
Wait what? | Bahhahahaha I knew I would be famous one day, I just didn't realize that it would come with 12 lives. Yeah 12, you see when I was a kid I got an invitation to go to a prestigious learning institution for magic users. Would have been taught by the grand flambe himself!
Even as a child I was practical, why would I need a school to learn what I knew I could learn on my own. So my deep dive into the arcane started. Websites at first but then I wized up and realized that magic users don't need computers or internet. So to the dustiest library and museums I went.
The Smithsonian, Library of Pergamum, the Vatican archives places that people thought were dust and ruin. Being an innate magic users allows you a piercing sight and finely tuned sense of hidden things. Spells and arcane tomes of unfathomable worth on dusty shelves let me soak in the knowledge and prove myself right, I didn't need their schools.
It was at this point that I went from normal spells like summoning familiars to casting fireballs and telekinesis. To spells of such complexity that most brains would have folded in on themselves, did you know the laws that we think govern nature are from some ancient race that stopped our pitiful planet from going afoul of its orbit and allows us to live here.
Mind blowing revelation after mind blowing revelation, one can only take so much. I needed a break from the complexity of life and the universe. So I settled on learning how to change myself into animals so I could research other species. This was the begging of a series of mistakes that got me to where I am now.
"Flufflel Butt the 5th, the piano playing cat" ugh how mundane is that. Not only did I irreversibly change myself into a extremely furry cat but I got caught while doing research on my changed reproductive system with a very forward Persian dollface beauty. That wasn't the end of my shame. I sat a week in the adoption center caged like like an animal!
That week I packed my significantly more intelligent brain for a way out of this situation. I started to meow in fanciful tunes and that caught the attention of my worst enemy. Mrs.Harlow a tiny old lady of the crinkly sort who's intentions were entirely to dress me up in ridiculous get ups and photograph me for Facebook.
I had to get out so I accepted my fate and left willingly with Gran Gran. She was destitute and as I went through her expenses completely dependent on state income. I took pity on her and set her up with a YouTube account, tricked her into videoing me playing the ancient family piano and then it is all viral history.
Ellen DeGeneres, Jimmy Fallon and all the late night shows. We were invited and on them all, I did my thing and showed a few more amazing things and Mrs. Harlow was pulling in six figures every fiscal quarter. I guess I can't knock this life, I get to sleep as often as I want and attack any strangers or family I want to but like always I grow restless. That was when I found something inside that ancient piano.
The C note was always off just a little, I was able to open the top and squeeze in and what do you know I found. A spell book containing the one way to reverse what I had done to myself.
"Now Flufflel Butt if you found what I thought you would have found years ago just now, what is your decision? Now that you know this can be undone." Said a raspy voice that shook with a familiar ting. I, very alert now, stood straight up from my hunched position and hit my fluffy head against the piano.
How is it this tiny ancient lady knew what I was?
"Ouch that must have hurt, let me open this and get you and that family heirloom out of there so we can look to your future" with that mock baby talk coming from my little old lady she scooped me and the precious book out of the piano.
Setting me down in a chair next to the fireplace with the book between us, she shuffled to her rocker.
" This is a huge decision in front of you, on one hand you have a red pill and the other a blue." Laughter rang out louder than I thought she could ever make. Was that a matrix reference?
She was right, as she coughed and hacked trying to recover from her own wit, I have a choice now. I can undo what I thought was a mistake and go back to my thirst for neverending knowledge or I could move forward. Now primed with the knowledge of undoing my current situation I could learn.
I was a prideful one everyone would agree on that. I spurned any and all help or familiarity from others, hated their establishments and scoffed at their intellectuals.
Now done with her coughing fit she looked me in the eye and understood that I got it, I finally know that pure knowledge can never replace a life with others, to only experience life in a sterile vacuum of a book and never make mistakes or unique experiences with others of the same mind you will never truely live.
Just like that she turned into ash, I nodded my fluffy head to the rocking chair got up and attacked an ant that happened to be scuttling by then transformed myself back into a human. Walked out of the home of my first true friend and towards many more.
As always I appreciate constructive criticism and any advice you can give. | 2018-07-05T14:41:48 | 2018-07-05T14:32:28 | 69 | 12 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | The old woman pricked her finger upon accidentally touching the tip of the needle and her blood appeared to be a gelatinous obsidian black substance, the old lady was clearly distressed and confused about how she could be so "impure" but little did she know, she never thanked the Bus Driver. | Between his teeth, he drew his breath in sharply; a wordless exclamation of the pain. Putting aside the knitting, he rose from the chair to find something to dress the small wound.
It was between the living room and the kitchen he came to the realisation that blood which should have come from the small prick, had not.
He held his finger with his opposing hand and saw what looked like viscous oil smeared upon his finger. At first he thought in confusion he'd stained his finger with something unknown, but in realisation he knew it to be his own blood.
He squeezed the wounded finger, and a something as thick as molasses, and just as dark welled up. Slowly. Grudgingly. Deeply sinister in it's just being, despite the simple nature of what it was.
In days that came after, he thought of it. He thought *only* of it. That couldn't be his blood. He had been raised by a righteous family that had taught him how to be a good man in a society where there were few left. He had followed no hedonistic pursuits, done charitable deeds, and tried as best possible to follow the actions of his father, and the advice of his mother.
He was a good man, that couldn't have been his blood, yet there it was.
The fifth day after he gave in to his overwrought anxiety and curiosity. He cut his thigh where it would be hidden. There it was. The oil that was his blood, so thick it needed to be coaxed from the wound with pressure.
He knew there would be one place where he might find answers, but also judgement. The Temple.... | 2018-08-04T09:48:46 | 2018-08-04T09:46:21 | 395 | 24 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | The Choice was made known to the world by those who had died but were revived. They all told the same story; when you died, you could choose either Heaven or Hell. Knowledge of The Choice changed the world, but not for the better. What did it matter what you did in life if you could just choose where you went in the end? So those who had loose moral compasses tended to tip towards the terrible.
My life was fairly normal but I would dabble in theft, lies, and drugs when the situation arose. When I killed that little girl though, my life was forever altered. It had been an accident, I was high off my mind on something, I don't even remember what, when I drove into her as she tried to cross the street. The screams of her mother, the blood on the pavement, the screech of my tires as I sped away... All of it was imprinted in my mind like a never ending movie on repeat.
I lived my life well after that. I volunteered, I gave to charity, I even opened a foster home for troubled children so that they wouldn't follow the same path I did. I became a pillar in the community, always a strong compass leading others towards good.
By all accounts, the majority of my life was lived well, but when I finally died, surrounded by my friends and loved ones, and I gazed upon the two doors presented to me, one of golden filigree, the other hard iron and rust, hesitation washed over me like a wave.
The little girl flashed before my mind, the sounds and smells of the scene caused tears to leak from my old and tired eyes. Yes, I had lived well after the accident, but I never forgave myself. Nothing I could do in my life would correct the grievous wrong I had committed that day.
Perhaps if I had been given this choice all those years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated, and would have leaped at the chance to escape my terrible fate, but now... now I can see and understand the weight of my choices that day.
Taking a shuddering breath, I grasped the cold, hard handle, and opened the door. Wiping the rust from my hand onto my pants, I stepped through and was greeted by a grey room occupied by a small figure.
I looked into her soft brown eyes and told her what had been haunting me my entire life.
"I'm sorry." I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm so, so sorry."
As she smiled gently at me, the weight of my guilt began to lift from my shoulders. When she slipped her small hand into mine, leading me back towards the door I had entered, I understood The Choice. Yes, we could choose between Heaven and Hell, but that did not mean we would escape judgment. It did not mean our choice would be respected if we were not deemed worthy by those we had wronged.
"I waited for you." She said, her voice was sweet but determined in a way only a child's could be. "I knew you'd take that door. I'm glad I waited."
"Me too." I replied huskily as brightness filtered from the opened door into the room. Squeezing my hand in encouragement, she led me through into the light.
| I opened the ordinary door with its ordinary handle. Behind it was a hellish portal, blackened by the fires of lusty wickedness, set with precious stones that turned out to be eyes glancing desperately about, and covered in many other infernal whatsits and doodahs.
When I had pushed the hellish portal open, and been deafened by the ungodly squeaking of the hinges, in which the fingers of many small demons were caught for all eternity, yay, even sunday afternoons, I found myself in a reception, such as that of a small town hotel. The receptionist was asleep.
"Excuse me. Um. Excuse me." To no avail I continued to wave my hand and excuse myself, until I noticed a bell, which said "Ring to summon the boatman, gatekeeper of eternal doom." Of course, I rang it (and felt a certain frisson).
"What do you want? Is it judgement day already? Blimey, what in the nether-regions are you?" The receptionist had started up, dislodging her grey bob. She replaced her tortoiseshell glasses and would have fallen off her chair, if she had not been chained to it with rusty old manacles. "Are you a delivery boy? Whips, weaponry and flesh tearing wire you want the service entrance. If you're bringing in a magma feature, or a pit for boiling oil or blood you need to give us advance notice. Wait a minute--"
"What?"
"You're not Jesus Christ, are you? You've got a bill to settle, mister, what with all that renting and tearing you did last time you were 'ere."
"I'm not Jesus, no."
"The big man was not pleased at all. Said you can't get curtains made up any more like those ones you destroyed. Woven with the hem of a midnight sky in Romania and set with twinkles from the eyes of dormice. But you're not him, you say?"
"No, I'm a man."
"A man? I thought you lot didn't come down here any more. After the bigger big man made his thingy. Decree. No man shall suffer for all eternity, yaddah yaddah."
"Well, um, we get a choice, you see... And I'm a satanist."
I fiddled at the drawstring of my Iron Maiden hoodie, beginning to feel that something was wrong.
"A what-anist? There's no sating down here. Only eternal craving and sharp nails and flat coca cola."
"But. But. I thought the realm was ruled over by the mighty One. The beast."
"So you chose the flaming inferno over an eternity of strippers, cocaine, gin fizz and heavy metal?"
"What?"
"Well, whatever turns you on, I suppose."
"Look, can I talk to Charon."
"Yep, that's me. Sharon Finchley, oarsman of the apocalypse."
"Oh. Where's the boat?"
"We got rid of the boat. Too fun. There isn't any fun down here. Just eternal misery and suffering. And paperwork."
"What about Satan? The devil? The fallen angel?"
"Oooh! Satan! I wondered who you were on about. Nah, God killed him off ages ago. Wouldn't you have done?"
"Then who's...the big man you mentioned."
"Oh, that's Mr. Murdoch. They say that he's so evil the bigger big man let his body continue to live on earth, but immediately swept his soul down to hell. And I don't need to tell you, he cleaned up pretty fast. Made a killing (well, not a killing, you can't kill down here, but made an eternal suffering) convincing all the demons they needed satellite subscriptions so they could be totally up to date on the latest torture methods."
"I get the idea."
"Oh, that's a pity for you though, isn't it? You could have been in the Other Place, surfing across a lake of fire with Jimi Hendrix. Taking speedballs with John Belushi. Eating peacocks and hanging out at crazy parties. But instead..."
"Actually, I change my mind!"
"Oh, you change your mind! That's okay. Gosh, I thought you were being rather silly. Just head back out the way you came."
I about-turned pretty fast, and pushed the horrible, hellish portal open as fast as possible, vicious whispers lapping at my ears. Behind it was an ordinary door. I opened the ordinary door with its ordinary handle. Behind it was a hellish portal... | 2018-08-13T09:16:06 | 2018-08-13T07:02:49 | 341 | 143 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | The Choice was made known to the world by those who had died but were revived. They all told the same story; when you died, you could choose either Heaven or Hell. Knowledge of The Choice changed the world, but not for the better. What did it matter what you did in life if you could just choose where you went in the end? So those who had loose moral compasses tended to tip towards the terrible.
My life was fairly normal but I would dabble in theft, lies, and drugs when the situation arose. When I killed that little girl though, my life was forever altered. It had been an accident, I was high off my mind on something, I don't even remember what, when I drove into her as she tried to cross the street. The screams of her mother, the blood on the pavement, the screech of my tires as I sped away... All of it was imprinted in my mind like a never ending movie on repeat.
I lived my life well after that. I volunteered, I gave to charity, I even opened a foster home for troubled children so that they wouldn't follow the same path I did. I became a pillar in the community, always a strong compass leading others towards good.
By all accounts, the majority of my life was lived well, but when I finally died, surrounded by my friends and loved ones, and I gazed upon the two doors presented to me, one of golden filigree, the other hard iron and rust, hesitation washed over me like a wave.
The little girl flashed before my mind, the sounds and smells of the scene caused tears to leak from my old and tired eyes. Yes, I had lived well after the accident, but I never forgave myself. Nothing I could do in my life would correct the grievous wrong I had committed that day.
Perhaps if I had been given this choice all those years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated, and would have leaped at the chance to escape my terrible fate, but now... now I can see and understand the weight of my choices that day.
Taking a shuddering breath, I grasped the cold, hard handle, and opened the door. Wiping the rust from my hand onto my pants, I stepped through and was greeted by a grey room occupied by a small figure.
I looked into her soft brown eyes and told her what had been haunting me my entire life.
"I'm sorry." I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm so, so sorry."
As she smiled gently at me, the weight of my guilt began to lift from my shoulders. When she slipped her small hand into mine, leading me back towards the door I had entered, I understood The Choice. Yes, we could choose between Heaven and Hell, but that did not mean we would escape judgment. It did not mean our choice would be respected if we were not deemed worthy by those we had wronged.
"I waited for you." She said, her voice was sweet but determined in a way only a child's could be. "I knew you'd take that door. I'm glad I waited."
"Me too." I replied huskily as brightness filtered from the opened door into the room. Squeezing my hand in encouragement, she led me through into the light.
| Choices, it's the soul purpose for humans in our everyday life and making the "right" choice has always been opinionated and difficult. How we make our choices is what makes up who we are as people and how the world views us from the outside perspective. The world we live in is corrupt and defiant and everyone knows it. People see this world as a playground before their end and good, sincere choices have been overshadowed by cruel and destructive ones. The world as we know it, is in complete disarray, and sinfulness has peaked to an all time high.
It all started many many years ago when the man Frederick Carthall died and came back from the dead. He started what is now called the playground movement. He had spread the word how when you die, you get to choose where you want to go. The movement caused a massive retort of sin, greed, and pure destruction throughout the world. The last of those who were truly "Good", abandoned civilization and escaped to a land further away from the destructiveness and sinfulness of the world.
My name is Sam, just a normal guy who didn't want anything to do with the movement. I had seen firsthand the terrible outcome of the movement and watched as society and morals collapsed around me. Murder, theft, and greed was rampant and I did all I could to escaped. I've seen death, seen loved ones robbed and killed and mutilated before my eyes and it seemed as though there was nothing I could do. I had spent the last month trying to escape my country and head towards the farlands where the last good people on this earth made their final stand. I died.. death came as quick as an arrow leaving its bow and light surrounded me with the warmth of serenity.
I was nearly at the border of the US when it happened. A large group of man had jumped out of their car and sprayed me down with hundreds of bullets for fun. I didn't feel the pain at first as the bullets pierced my body. I only felt the pressure as though someone was punching me extremely fast and adrenaline helped the rest of it. I awoke in a place, completely filled with blinding light but didn't hurt when my eyes were open. "Where am I?" I thought aloud and that's when I heard the thunderous voice.
"You have died, my son. I used to judge people on their actions but I have completely given up on humanity. Join me in heaven and live eternal for the rest of eternity. " I looked around and saw the golden stairs that lead upwards towards a light brighter than anyone could possibly imagine. I looked behind me and saw another stairway that went downwards towards a dark area that looked like it hadn't been used in centuries. The stairs were made of stone and something in Latin was written at the foot of them. "What's down there?" I asked to the voice that came from above the golden stairs. "That is a lost place, for the very few who knew what life was about long ago. But fret not for the path is before you, you have loved your life to the fullest all others have you not? Come upwards and be with me in heaven."
A feeling came over me, it was strange. I never saw myself like all the others and all of them were complete sinners and destructive. If I was truly a good person in life then nothing should happen to me if I chose those stone stairs. I began to walk towards them and placed a foot on the stairs. The thunderous voice returned once more, "Why are you choosing that path? Heaven is here, do not make this mistake!" I turned around and said one final thing, "I am not like the others, I am not destructive, or murderous, or as sinful as those" and so I chose the path I though.. everyone thought was hell. I.. was lucky.
I began my descent until the point where I was surrounded in darkness, a cool breeze brushed my face. I saw a light that seemed very dim that looked as though was miles away, I moved forwards. The coolness seemed to become warm and I thought that I was truly going to hell until the warmth subsided and the heat turned into something.. amazing. The light became piercing and looked as though a star was before me, and I walked into it. For a second I was blind and then.. there was light. I saw before me a gate, insanely huge in size made of gold and marble with a fence that stretched to the beyond of both sides. I walked up to the entrance where a man stood.
"Thank you, my son. You are one of few, one in a thousand years. Welcome.. to heaven"
I felt warmth. I felt love. I felt... peace. | 2018-08-13T09:16:06 | 2018-08-13T08:48:30 | 341 | 13 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | I smirked. Now wasn't this ironic. After finally falling to the demons from hell, I get to choose whether to finally take my eternal rest, or continue to *Rip and Tear*
Now why the hell would i go to heaven.
The Doom Slayer walked in through the gates of hell.
The second slayer's testament would begin to be penned that day. | *Day 1*
*You know, with all the terrible people in the world, I expected Hell to be pretty occupied and automatically chosen. But I was shocked after my bad car accident to find a choice between Heaven and Hell in the Limbo Waiting Room. Everyone was lined up for Heavenly Stairway and the Hell Slide was seemingly abandoned. Now, you'd probably think that I, being the good guy that I am, would pick heaven.*
*But I'm more of a fall-colour lover. I went down the Hell Slide which, admittedly, is very fun. I'd probably give it another ride if I could. Anyway, after that slide, I met the big man himself who was just about to close the slide. He hugged me with a big grin and gave me the tour. Now I'm next door neighbours with him. This is all happening so fast, so I might go to sleep. I'll talk more about Hell tomorrow.*
*Day 2*
*You'd think being in Hell is like a furnace you can't escape from, but it's actually very warm and cozy. Views aren't that bad either. As for Satan, he's a pretty nice guy. He likes going for walks with his dogs and cooking. And the beds are so soft. They even had secret cameras of Heaven. IT'S SO WHITE AND BLUE. IT'S LIKE A GODDAMN WINDOWS BACKGROUND. My eyes hurt when I looked at that. Me and him soon went and had some meaty ribs. Afterwards, we went to a nice farm he had.*
*They're all wrong. Hell is a great place. The demons are an upstanding community who like to party. Satan's a really cool guy and Cerberus is just a big lug. I'm going to really love it here.*
*Day 3*
(The rest of the book is burnt with unreadable text.) | 2018-08-13T09:08:57 | 2018-08-13T08:57:53 | 82 | 53 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | Lucas was floating in a starry void. Above him, a vortex of light swirled like the sun while below a whirlpool of darkness churned, gradually tugging at him like a current. Somehow, without words, Lucas knew that to go up was Heaven, and to go down was Hell. So he waited to be pulled into one of the options. After several minutes (he assumed minutes...it was hard to tell time in this place) he remained in the same spot, with neither a drift in either direction. Yet again wordless understanding came to him: Choose. They don't prepare you for that.
He pondered his life, the good deeds and the bad. Overall he was relatively neutral, every minor good deed seemed balanced by an equally minor misdeed. Lucas wasn't even religious. From what he could recall, Heaven seemed like the obvious choice. Divine bliss, the perfect afterlife, unending peace, etc. How could anyone want more than that? With a though he began to drift upward toward the spiral of light. But then a thought struck him, causing him to pause mid ascent. If he got to choose, it would stand that others get to choose too.
On top of that, who was to say Heaven would be solo like this in-between place? What if Heaven held all the people that chose to go there as well? He could meet a lot of amazing people (assuming they were up there). But then, as is the case of intellectually inclined people, Lucas saw the downside to such a Heaven. IF people could choose where to go, then he would be stuck for all eternity with Moriah.
Moriah was, hands down, the most annoying human being Lucas had ever met. It wasn't her political beliefs, religion, or personal morals (Lucas didn't care if a person was liberal or conservative, and it doesn't matter to clarify what side of the spectrum Moriah was). No, it was her insistence to try and force others to agree with her when they did not. It made friend dinners and parties uncomfortable. They say "let's agree to disagree", but this phrase did not compute with Moriah. She would harass you all evening until you either agreed with her, or left. It was her way or the highway.
There was no way in Hell (pun intended) that when she eventually died she wouldn’t choose Heaven. There is no way someone that self-righteous wouldn't. And, assuming that Heaven was a group place, if Lucas chose to ascend he would spend eternity with the one person that actually made him happy to no longer be on Earth.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. The eternal fires of Hell could not compare to that fate. With a resigned determination, Lucas drifted downward into the void.
He landed in what looked like a hotel lobby. Everything was in shades of black and grey, with splashes of red. Despite previous representations, the temperature was quite cool.
"Welcome to Hell", said a masculine, yet entrancing voice behind him.
Lucas turned to look into the eyes of one of the most attractive men he had ever seen. He was heterosexual, but secure enough to admit it. The "man" looked back at him and smiled, a perfect set of white teeth that seemed to radiate their own soft light.
"Uh, are you Satan?", asked Lucas apprehensively.
"I prefer Lucifer," said the Devil. "Not sure where Satan came from, but it's always been Lucifer".
"Uh...ok.." said Lucas, looking around the cathedral sized lobby. "So, Lucifer, are you here to give me my eternal punishment?"
Lucifer let out a sigh. One of those exasperated sighs you get from someone who has had to answer the same question at least a million times before.
"That is bad PR," said Lucifer. "Hell isn't a place of torment. It's a place about freedom and choice. It's why I got the boot from the big man upstairs. It's also why you happen to be the first person to arrive in a millennia. Speaking of, may I ask what made you choose Hell?"
Lucas took a moment to consider the reply. He guessed at this point there was no reason in lying and acting like a martyr.
"Well, I thought that if I got to choose, others could too. And if that is true, that means I would have to spend eternity with..."
"With a person who is so annoying you were actually happy to be dead?" finished Lucifer.
Lucas looked up at him with an expression of mingled curiosity and amusement.
"Uh yeah, how did you know?"
"That's the only reason anyone chooses Hell," said Lucifer. "It worked out pretty well though, everyone here is pretty chill. You like movies? We were just about to start Infinity War."
The corners of Lucas' mouth twitched.
"Hell yeah!" he exclaimed. "Oh wait, am I allowed to say that?"
"Fuck yeah you are!" exclaimed Lucifer. "C'mon, let's get you some popcorn and coke."
"Oh, do you have Pepsi?" Lucas asked. "I've never been a coke guy".
"Unfortunately no, this place isn't perfect," replied Lucifer. "That and the surcharge they wanted for distributing is ridiculous. We do have Surge though."
Lucas smiled. He was going to like it here very much. | And so it goes. Everything was a blur amongst the tornado of flashing lights and somber moods. Gravity itself subsided as they wheeled me into the ICU. I wanted to focus but my mind was clouded by nurses shouting and the cries of my wife as she stood over my lifeless body.
They talk about that moment, the one where you see the light just before you go. It’s not true. I felt my body transcending my soul as if it were scaling up a staircase built upon my own unachievable dreams and stardust when i tripped. All was still for a moment. I felt my wife’s shaking hand take hold of mine as a lonely tear roll off her face into the abyss. Then, just like that, I was left in solitude with only my thoughts.
Agony took hold of me as i collapsed to the ground with the pain of a melancholy heart knowing it left the world too soon subsiding worlds and blurring reality. Before me stood a grey haired man in black. He was dressed for a funeral. My funeral.
“Come now, you can’t stay here forever.”
Let it be known for the record, if any man should ambush you in your darkest moment, don’t hesitate to pull any punches.
Frustration fueled a fire that would lift me to my feet. I’ve never been one to strike a man, but today would hold the one exception. I felt my knuckles as they collided with his face, the face of a God.
Footsteps reverberated throughout the void as God approached from behind me, my arm still fully extended mid lunge. I was stuck in a moment I couldn’t get out of.
“I can only imagine how frustrating this must be for you, but I’m afraid that was the answer to a question I didn’t want to ask.”
Rage was consuming me. I began to sputter. Adrenaline sent chills down my spine. Death would not capture me on this day.
“Your wedding... I’m sorry that it had to be today, but there is a small glimmer of light. You were privileged enough to know how Love felt.”
He was out of my line of sight but i could hear the movements; the collective scream of a thousand bubbles in a gentle whisper fulfilling their purpose as a bottle was readied. Was he pouring himself champagne?
The man circled me. A martini glass traced the outline of his hand. He held it up to toast with me.
“Here’s to Heav-“
“NO!”
This was not it for me. My wife was waiting for me. I desperately needed a way back.
“You... don’t want to go to Heaven? But you’ve made such an impact with your life considering your foundation and-“
“No. Send me back.”
The man chuckled.
“My friend, I’m here to usher you to Heaven only. This is not a choice.”
“My choice is made.”
The man looked upset. He was inexperienced in this scenario. Everyone subsided to death eventually. Everyone else was much more accepting.
“Well... If you need me, I’m Gabriel.”
Abruptly, the room began to collapse. A wave of heat singed my face. All had gone dark as the floor turned to lava. Fear consumed my soul, while Hell consumed my body. This was not the choice I intended to make. In the distance was a silhouette, the shadow of a man who never had anything. He extended his arms as a staff appeared in his right hand. He twisted it slightly to reveal two additional prongs off of it. A crown of thorns was placed upon his head as two horns protruded from his forehead. He descended to appear in front of me.
Never in my life have I seen eyes like that. Eyes that raged with the fury of two hurricanes colliding into each other. Staring into them was like reliving your first heart break, the longing for a love that would never exist. I saw my own broken dreams in the reflection. I saw the loneliness of a man forced to live in Hell.
“Welcome.”
A demonic voice boomed throughout the solitude, the lower frequency echoing through the void.
“I’m sorry.” I whispered to him.
His smile was eerily familiar. It bore a striking resemblance to every smile I’d ever seen from every used car dealer I’d ever met.
Suddenly my fears subsided and the room went back to the white void. Gabriel stood before me gently slapping my cheek.
“Don’t be. You could’ve chosen Heaven, but you refused.”
Still suspended in time, I couldn’t move.
“But that’s a farce.”
Gabriel began to circle me as he spoke.
“You see, Heaven isn’t actually real. I’ve been told I’ve pulled all of the greatest tricks to have ever been pulled but no, no, you see, Heaven, is the greatest trick I have ever pulled. You see, there is no Heaven. I wanted the mortals to have hope, but God... God is dead. I killed him.”
Gabriel stood behind me, now, out of my line of vision.
“You see, everyone goes to Hell in the end. You’re the first to go willingly though. You’re the first to have attacked me. For that reason, I realize you’re much more special.”
Gabriel placed a single hand midway down my back
“Now, I ask you this: Hold this truth forever on the tip of your tongue, and know I’m with you always.”
With his last words, he pushed me forwards.
“CLEAR!”
A shock wave went through my body. Like a free diver returning to the surface, I could not get enough oxygen. I gasped for breath. My wife wrapped her arms pulling me into her embrace. I felt her luke warm tears rolling down the back of my head as she sobbed.
—
Moments later, we sat in the ICU alone, my body fully bandaged. I still couldn’t recall how I had even gotten there. My wife sat across from my slumped over in the chair. I turned to look at the clock and watched it turn from 2:59am to 3:00am. The chair rustled as my wife looked up.
“Baby, are you awake? I forgot to mention... In your current state, I’ve been given power of attorney over your affairs now as your wife.”
She smiled an all too eerily familiar smile. I looked into her eyes to see a storm at full rage. We made eye contact and I felt my heart breaking a thousand times over.
“The foundation’s head called today and asked for my advice. I think they’ll be heading in a new direction now.” | 2018-08-13T10:50:13 | 2018-08-13T09:52:05 | 17 | 12 |
[WP]You've been dating an amazing woman for a year. One day, she gets a call and rushes into the closet. When she comes out, she's weraing white armor, and a matching sword and has wings coming from her back. She says "I have to go, but I'll explain when I get home." Before flying out the door. | I watched Angela fly out into the gray sky from our dining room window, clad in shining white armour and sporting a very mean looking greatsword, and the only thing that crossed my mind was *how do those wings support her mass?*
Though that was definitely a pertinent question, there was more going on here, and I needed time to process. I stroked my beard – because stroking my beard helps me think – and then walked over to the couch and put on the latest episode of Brooklyn Nine Nine.
About nine hours later, as I was halfway through the pilot of Star Trek: The Next Generation, Angela came home.
As I arrived at the front door, she was leaning her very bloodied greatsword against the wall, the pointy end stuck in a gumboot to make sure it didn’t damage our floor. I loved that about her, always practical.
“So,” I said.
“So,” she said.
“I guess we have something to talk about?” I gestured at her white armor, which looked like it been torn quite easily by a couple of very large and very sharp claws . “I take it you’re not hurt?”
“I don’t really get hurt easily, I suppose” she replied.
“That’s not really getting to the heart of the matter, Angie.”
“I guess not. Where do you want me to start?”
“The wings might be a good one, especially since we’ve been talking about having a kid. I guess the getup might follow on from that, as well as where you’ve been and whose blood is on that sword.” I leaned against the wall and offered her my beer, which she grabbed and finished more quickly than I expected.
“Well, you could say that I’ve been around for a while, and that perhaps when you first met me and I told you I was from Norway I wasn’t telling you the whole truth.”
“Valkyrie?” I asked.
It was gratifying and amusing that she was surprised by that. A moment of silence passed, in which she looked at me thoughtfully.
“Most people assume angel, you know, because of the wings.” she said.
“I guess your name doesn't help either. But yeah, well... I don’t really assume much anymore, especially when it comes to folklore and so on.” I said.
“They got a lot wrong with the folklore. But why aren’t you more surprised?”
“Would you prefer I was?”
“I mean, I expected angry, or scared. I don't really know what this is.”
“You’re not particularly scary to me. I guess it was Odin calling, and you had to fight off some frost giants?”
The surprise was back, and it looked like she was trying to decide how to handle this whole situation.
“No, no such things as frost giants anymore. Those died out a long time ago. Most of the stories about the gods are true, but Odin prefers to be called Wotan, these days, or Grim. And yes, I’m Valkyrie. But they got it all wrong about everything else, especially Valhalla. Most of the ones who end up there these days don’t really want to be there, and try to get out.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, you know, it’s not quite a paradise, and my sisters and I aren’t really there to wait on the whims of all the old slain brawlers. Constant fighting, it’s quite a nuisance. The ones who end up there now tend to be some breed of killer before they died, or abusive husbands, or mixed martial artists. You know, the ones who spent their lives hurting people? Sure, the old Northmen are quite happy with everything because it's what they expected, but everyone else got it really very wrong.”
“I see. So what do you do, and what was the call about? And what’s all the mess?”
“Sometimes, somebody manages to get past one of the sisters on guard duty, and try to make their way back to Earth. It’s really not a big deal to do that, you just climb to the top of Glasir and throw yourself from the branch closest to our planet. But doing that triggers an alarm.”
“And that’s where you come in?”
“Yeah… see, everyone changes while they’re in Valhalla, and it's not exactly a pretty change, at least to human eyes. It’s in everbody’s best interests that they don’t get back to Earth, especially if they try... hold on a sec, just… why aren’t you reacting normally?”
I smiled. I walked past Angela and opened the shoe cupboard in the hallway, and used a foot to sweep away the jumble of sneakers and high heels. I leaned down and stabbed a finger into a crack in the flooring, and pulled.
Angela watched with confusion as I reached into the secret compartment in the floor and lifted out an old dusty suitcase, covered with flag stickers. I put it on the floor between us, entered the combination on the lock, and unlatched it.
“What is that?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, angel, I haven’t told you everything either,” I replied, as I removed the grimoire, a bundle of clothes and a few pouches of my gear.
“…Marlon, what’s going on…” she said, stepping back a little.
I put on my robe and wizard hat. | She’s always been wonderful to me and to all around us. My heart fluttered the day we met all those years ago, a high unlike any other the moment our eyes met. I never was one for the thought of love at first sight, or destiny, or luck, or any of that stuff…until that morning waiting to get on the subway. Aside from our chance meeting, the day was rather routine. We broke the individual silence in the noisy station together, both offering a hello at the same time, both retreating slightly at the suddenness of the other. Outside of that first moment, our lives and actions were never strange or off, well, until recently. Over the past year, I learned so incredibly much about her, from her favorite flavor of icing to everything about her childhood. I thought myself as reaching the point of truly knowing her, that is, until this morning. My heart sank with the phone call and her rushing to the closet. I feared for her family; did something happen to her mother who suffered declining health? Was her sister in distress after her failed marriage? More questions sprung forward as the Queen of Light stepped from the closet, donned in her armor and sporting wings. Deep down, a sense of dread took hold of my entire being as her familiar voice, albeit with less tenderness, called forth “I have to go, but I’ll explain when I get home.” She wasted no time in flinging open the door to our apartment balcony and leaping to the air, leaving a scorch mark upon the concrete.
I remained fixated on the spot from which she leapt before, far-more-calmly-than-possible-for-a-man-in-this-situation, walking to the closet. In its depths, I found the false panel board whose purpose was concealing the only secret she’s kept from me. Pulling the obfuscating piece away revealed a space larger than I thought possible to exist in our small apartment. I realized then, that this area was why we never heard neighbors next door, and why the next door down never greeted us. Looking about in the darkened room, I made note of the décor. The room, despite the darkness abound contained rays of light whose origin I could not name illuminating areas I thought inconsequential until closer inspection. One beam rested on a photograph of myself and Kiran, taken only a few months ago in Gibraltar. We were vacationing then. Other shafts of light adorned a wall filled with what I could only describe as accomplishments. My mind raced as the headlines and pictures all included her.
*“Darkness of Western Conflict Brightened by Queen of Light”, “Darkness before Dawn – Queen of Light Saves lives of Fifteen Coal Miners in Brazil”, “Bright Spot in Shadow of War – Queen of Light Stands Against Dark Future”*
My Kiran was adored so fully by so many more than just myself. Thoughts swimming, I continued reading headlines from a more recent time, approximately a year ago, when we started dating.
*“Heroine of Light passes Torch”* an editorial claiming the Queen’s handing off of world saving responsibilities to an up and coming hero, and the claims of this new hero's lack of ability.
Had I been so absorbed in our relationship and my job that I stopped reading the news?
*“World Settles into Dusk in Wake of the Queen’s Departure”,*
My world over the past year had been filled with nothing but bright positive experiences. Did I take a bright light from the world? Capturing a firefly for my own light, but taking the beauty from all?
“*One year later – Queen of Light snuffed out?*” The 'up and coming hero' was not up to the job.
I turned away from the illuminated wall and made my way back out of the closet, replacing the false panel. For an hour I sat on our couch thinking of all the happiness she had brought to my world. I turned on the television to witness news reports of hundreds of injured in an explosion halfway across the world. Apparently some fool in a chemical plant overrode the computer’s safety protocol. The plant was located far enough away from humanity that toxins were not an immediate threat, but would have, had they been given the time to disperse. The camera cut to a grainy silhouette of the Queen, her sword held over her head. I turned off the television as I saw a brilliant beam of scorching light and heat erupt from the blade toward the toxic plume of smoke. The report was a re-run from forty-five minutes earlier. The headline in the runner stated *“Queen of Light Returns! – Thousands Saved in Light of Certain Disaster”*.
I made my way to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner. She’d be back soon, and while I had questions, we were discussing what to eat before she left. As I put a pan on the stove I heard a ‘thump’ from the balcony.
Turning quickly, I saw her, her in all her beauty, her in all her grace. We approached one another and I embraced her, shining armor and all. In her eyes, the same brightness as the day we met still shined, but now with new meaning to me.
“George, I.” I cut her off shaking my head.
“Kiran, the world needs you. You’ve given me happiness beyond happiness. You’ve helped me realize what kindness can do to our fellow man. You’ve brought the world a sense of hope. Why sacrifice the world’s radiance for my candle?” Kiran looked at me for a moment, blinking back a tear,
“George, for all the brilliance I gave unto the world over all the years…a darkness grew within myself. The day we met, that darkness…it dissipated. You, my love, are my light.” She turned toward to walk toward the closet, each step slow and deliberate. I grasped her hand, stopping her departure,
“You need not keep this from me. I may worry and fuss, but I know you’re bright. I know you’ll keep yourself safe. This is in your blood, right? To cast away the shadows? I love you, and accept what all you need to do. If you need to go, then go. Save the world, or save a town. I’ll save you dinner for when you get back.” She smiled, and took off her helm, flashing a smile before pulling me into a kiss.
“Thank you.”
The panel was removed from the closet and soon the room within was filled with bright light, laughter, and joy as she related the stories of her adventures. I knew now I had far to go before I truly knew her, but I was the star to her light, and until the end of our days, she is the sparkle in my eye.
~Flappage
Author's note: I haven't posted anything like this, so critiques are certainly welcome! Hope you enjoy. :) | 2018-09-16T17:08:15 | 2018-09-16T15:58:09 | 142 | 11 |
[WP] Earth is doomed in a matter of years, but you are bestowed with a mystical dagger that causes anyone killed by it to instantly resurrect on an alternate Earth that does not share the same fate. In one world you are revered as a hero, on the other the most notorious serial killer of all time. | It is surprisingly hard to kill a great amount of relatives, friends and acquaintances without inevitably ending up as a person of interest. Somehow, being the only common denominator doesn't fare in your favour when the people you unite all manage to die by being stabbed with, according to the newspaper, a museum artefact.
I wonder how the DI would react to my explanation if I would end up being caught. 'Yes Sir, this dagger transports people from one reality to the other because, like, earth is fucked? Oh an insanity plea? I'll take it thanks.'
Don't accept daggers from old, crazy-seeming ladies, that's the life lesson I'm taking away here. When an old woman approaches you and asks you to support saving humanity, you expect to gift 50p to Greenpeace and make an offhand comment on global warming. Not a mystical dagger that serves as some kind of portal.
Why the fuck did it have to be a dagger anyway? Nuclear bombs, now there's efficiency. Guns, when talking a bit simpler. I would prefer a gun over this stupid thing anyway.
It's also stupidly heavy. Like really fucking heavy, making it impossible to finger for loose coins in a pocket when there's an unwieldy, glowing, probably cursed dagger taking up too much unallocated space.
"Let me help you out," a voice interrupts my stream of thoughts, and I turn away from the too-bright Railcard machine screen. I smirk, briefly, not without shame. He probably thinks I'm lost. Or a tourist. Or, well, ... poor.
"I'm not poor you know," I tell him, but it comes out a bit too fast. I make a mental note about needing to work on people skills; what with saving humanity and all.
He's got a real nice smile, but I barely have time to fully register it before he hands me a ticket.
"Here, should bring you to the central station. There's probably an ATM there." I like his voice. "With you being so not poor and all."
"Oh look, a comedian." I retort, shoving the card into my dagger-free pocket.
"I prefer Good Samaritan in this case. People like me are too good for this planet."
A huff escapes me, but, briefly, the idea of killing him pops into my head. Because filling up alternative earth with people I don't know and only find faintly attractive sounds... terrific?
Reminding myself I need to lay low for a while, I flash a cool smile and turn around, making my way to the escalator down. The wind of an arriving subway ruffles through my hair, and apparently it's loud enough to cover up the telltale thump of footsteps.
"You know," his voice sounds from behind me, "you could at least thank me."
"And you're following me n-"
"Least you could do is stab me with the fancy glowing knife."
Oh great. I'm going to have to kill him.
Jesus didn't have to go through this.
Not able to decide whether to go for incredulous or offended, I find middle ground in a meaningless mumble.
"How do I know? Well-,"
There was no need for him to finish that sentence. The glow emanating from his jacket's inner pocket as he opens it tells me all I need to know.
A part of me is furious when he tells me it's a gun.
| Christ, it never got easier. Well, it did... in the same way that you'll pick up riding a bike, I managed to make it quick and painless, for the most part. The hard part was the aftermath. They all wore smiles, in their death throes, and the echoes of wisdom in my head told me what I was doing was the right thing. Of course, the authorities assumed it was something I'd drugged them with, or some bizarre case of rigormortis. My first victim was a cat. A stray, mangy creature that was on death's door when it crossed my threshold. The blade called to me, and it seemed to thrum in my hand gently as I looked at the cat. I don't remember what happened after that. But I remember, I remember a... a purr. I didn't leave the house for three days. I lost my job. The blade called to me again. My previous manager, Azelia, was surprised to see me at her house that evening. She welcomed me in, offering me coffee before I slid the blade between her ribs. This time, I remembered, and felt, EVERYTHING. The blade effortlessly bypassed the ribs, piercing her lung, causing a surprised gasp to come out as a quiet gurgle. I felt the surgical, instinctive twitch that severed her heart from her brain. She went quickly. No witnesses. No kids, no partner, thank fuck. When I withdrew the blade, it was clean. The faint red stain below the incision (which is what I always called it, from that point) reminded me of those Catholic images of Jesus. It struck me that she was like a negative of that image. Disposing of her body traumatised me. The tiny amount of blood made it easier to hide any smell, but she still shat herself. Two bin liners, duct tape, and a mattress in the attic gave me a decent head start. I cried the whole time, but the knife, still in the kitchen, told me that the other side was where people had been given the gift of foresight. No future shock, carbon neutral, and the inherent understanding that to harm a member of your own species was to ultimately degrade the species as a whole. It was an act of love that gave me this job.
The cops got in touch with me eventually, but I'd already taken care of four more good people. The ash rained down as they went through their bureaucratic process on my stoop; they had bigger problems than some people being murdered. The knife told me from under my mattress about the nice men visiting me: Officers Robert Blackburn and Jason Smythe. Robert's youngest, Gabby, was just diagnosed with cancer. She'd grow to solve issues of interplanetary economics if she was taken to the other side. Jason had ideas about prison reform here that would make him governor within a decade there.
It made no difference to me. I knew that Kate had to be the next one. She was beautiful. She loved me. And I loved her. And we both loved Tyson. But not Tyson. No. Why not? I asked. The knife went silent. It would talk to me about good people. And only good people. It didn't seem thrilled about Kate, but said that she'd make the cut. I thought we'd raised him pretty well? Some things are unavoidable, the knife replied. He'll be made an orphan when this is through.
I took Kate out to dinner; deep dish pizza, a real treat. Probably not as good as the old days, but definitely not totally synthetic. We went out to the lake that evening, and watched the sun set through the smoke. I gave her a ring, my mothers. We made love, and lay in each other's arms until we dozed off. I awoke feeling slightly groggy, but the knife had things to do. People to help. I awoke her, and kissed her gently, stroking her auburn hair in the dashboard light. Her eyes widened and watered as I broke her heart. For now, my love. You'll be in a better place shortly. She twisted unnaturally, whimpered, and the blade dragged a jagged gash across her diaphragm. No clean incision here. Her face afterward seemed calm, but not at peace. Not like I'd hoped. Ash drifted in through the car window, and dusted her face. Handbrake off, watch the bubbles stop rising, and I stop thinking that some of those bubbles hold her final breaths.
That was years ago. Now I stand in front of a jury of my peers. The knife wasn't able to predict the future. I was going to get caught eventually. I've begged to be put to death with my own blade. It is wielded by another man now. From across the room, Tyson's eyes meet mine. The blade remains silent. It'll only talk to me about good people. | 2018-10-15T06:42:48 | 2018-10-15T06:12:29 | 220 | 47 |
[WP] When humans die, their ghosts are anchored to the place of their death, but are unaffected by planetary orbit or rotation, left behind as Earth and the galaxy rotate. Metaphysical archaeologists are tracking this trail of spirits across the stars, seeking the ghost of the first human. | I am in love with a ghost that I see once every year, for the briefest glimpse of a second.
Sometimes, a whiff of her perfume lingers in the air a moment longer than her.
Or the echo of a word drifts by me long after she has gone.
Sometimes she mourns for herself, but mostly it is for her children.
And the feeling of her appearing sends a jolt of electricity down my spine and brings a satisfied smile to my lips.
Even now, after all this time, it excites me so very much, and it is so hard to concentrate.
The initial experiments had been shut down thirty years ago, deemed a failure and their funding cut. Either ghosts didn't exist or we didn't have the technology to find them. They had been designed to find echoes of the missing link, and if possible, the very first human. Ripples of their life colliding with our own, caught in a net, if only for a moment. The idea was that if the world rotated around the sun to the exact spot in space where the person died, it would be possible, in a special tachyon trapping chamber, to communicate with them.
The theory was sound. And yet the fools couldn't see it and they shut it down before it was completed.
But I couldn't give up. For there was far more at stake for me. I wasn't interested in the first human, the first ghost.
I was interested in only one of them, at least initially.
Cassandra's. My first wife's.
Recreating the chamber in my own home took a dozen years, and correcting our mistakes another three. But it has been worth it.
She breezes past me as the world rotates, leaving her behind for another year. I hear her scream, and I hear a question hang in the air.
*Why?*
I take a deep breath, breathing her essence in.
More will be along soon. I built this room in the spot she died. Maybe one day I shall build another chamber, deep beneath the patio, so that I can see our children again.
I make sure that all who I take these days, die inside this chamber. It has to be this spot.
There are a dozen of them, for now, but eventually there will be a spirit visiting me each day of the year. That is my dream. My calling.
The ghosts are my forever souvenirs. My loves. The trophies of all my successes combined.
And they shall never escape me. Not even in death.
| “Come down here, Bobbie! I think I found him!”
My assistant, Tommy, was one of the original boys who cried wolf, but I had to go down into the cave in the middle of nowhere Israel to figure out if this was in fact true. I finagled my way down the cave until I was crawling on the ground for a few seconds to reach up with where Tommy was staring at something in the wall. He was wearing those silly goggles though through which anyone could see the astral projections of ghosts. Being a metaphysical archaeologist by trade, I actually had the gift of seeing the ghosts with my bare eyes. Tommy though had never physically seen the horrors of seeing and hearing a ghost. He would never experience that sensation.
Looking at the wall myself, I could see that Tommy had actually come across something old. In my trails, I had seen thousands of old ghosts, Egyptian pharaohs, Roman gladiators, and most memorably one of Jesus’s followers. What I was looking for though, the first man, was going to break all of that out of the water.
“You may actually be onto something.”
“What is it?”
“Give me a second to look at it,” I said. Honestly I just needed to hear what it wanted to say.
*Turn around. Only death comes out of this tomb.* The ghost said.
I shook my head at the ghost. “Who are you, Spirit?”
*Just another person who got caught in this tomb.*
“How old are you, Spirit?”
*5000 years old.*
“What’s in the tomb behind you?”
*What you are likely looking for. The Original.*
“Then we are going to have to pass through.”
*You’ll regret it, young one.*
I should have taken the spirit more honestly. Tommy and I passed the spirit and went through a makeshift door that had been hatched through rocks. This brought us into a room that was completely covered with claw marks and blood. Something bad had happened in this room.
Then in a corner of the room, I saw a spirit. I drew nearer to the spirit, and then it turned around. It was not a complete form of a spirit, unlike the other man that had been in the room before. He just a torso with an early hominid sort of appearance. This was unlike anything I had ever seen before.
“Spirit, who are you?”
*Who are you?* A haunting voice asked me in return.
“I am Bobbie, a metaphysical archaeologist.”
*Meta…Logist.*
“Bobbie is what I go by.”
*Bobbie…go.*
“We need to leave?”
*Leave.*
As I was speaking with this early language acquisition spirit, I tried something I had learned when I came across what I suspected were very young spirits. “Unicorns, possums, and walruses.”
*Uni…walrus.*
“Well, I am not going to get much out of this spirit,” I told Tommy. I pulled out a metaphysical camera and took a photo before we attempted to leave. When we reached the door, we were unable to get through even though we had removed the rocks that separated the two rooms.
On the other side of the rocky door was the first spirit. *I told you not to go in there.*
It was at that moment, we learned why. The prehistoric spirit that I thought was just going to be a spirit was not in fact just a ghost. He had some physical being to himself. At that moment, we learned the claws belonged to the spirit and the blood to those who had entered this cave before. We would never make it out of there alive, all because I wanted to be the metaphysical archaeologist to find the oldest spirit. At least, I had likely achieved my aim before I joined the spirits in this cave. | 2019-01-08T03:55:13 | 2019-01-08T02:19:57 | 262 | 95 |
[WP] You die and appear before the Devil and seven other individuals. They applaud you and the Devil exclaims, “finally, an eighth deadly sin!” | A hooded figure enters the cathedral. Not confidently, yet not with weakness either. With a complete disregard for his surroundings, he continues through. The crimson pathway opens up to an abyssal black altar, with seven seats worthy of the title of thrones by themselves, until compared to the momentous monstrosity that was the eighth.
“He doesn’t seem like much.”
A comment from the right of the throne. A young boy grinning, teeth ground nigh to dust from a clenched jaw, and stark white knuckles from fists rarely released. A rage stirred within, rarely if ever quelled.
The hooded figure payed him no mind. He could never see or hear what the boy truly was, only what he appeared to be. He did not know where he was, or what was happening. It did not matter to him. Not truly, in fact he remained only due to an ethereal sense of duty which he could not explain.
“Such an old soul, so much supposed wisdom huh? I wish I could have had a taste of that.” Spoke a woman of skeletal stature and darker complexion. Appearing weak, the only thing that betrayed her true nature were those sparkling green eyes.
A puff of air escaped the figure. Of disdain or acknowledgement, one may never truly know. It gave the impression that he did not care what this woman had to say, and may never.
Suddenly the throne itself expanded into an even more unfathomable size. The lack of light was all consuming, impersonating a single soul adrift in the kosmos.
“Reveal yourself.”
A simple command, yet one the newcomer could refuse with willpower alone. He pulled the hood down, and revealed his face.
He was nothing more than an older man. A man with a general disdain for all things that he perceived would ruin the life he had created for himself. The poor decrepit fool had created his own path...to hell.
The cathedral rang silent and all seven remaining members rose after their master.
The darkness spoke to the stranger,
“Cast away your mortal vessel and become an instrument of my torment. Cast away the eyes you so easily averted to the tragedy around you. Cast away the ears you misused when those near you cried for help. Cast away what pathetic existence you had before and accept your seat...
As Ignorance.”
| A woman dressed in black lace sat across from me, her smile a flat caricature of human emotion. I had been coming to the pub for weeks now, hoping for answers. I had been given a small apartment, some money, and a message to return to Death's Door every evening at 10 PM.
No one seemed to want to tell me anything. There was no internet, not library, no tourist trap visitors center. It was just endless streets full of endless people.
No matter how many miles I walked, at 10 PM I would find Death's Door on the corner, welcoming me inside. When I left, at 2 AM, I would be right back out on Lime Street, two blocks from my apartment. It was frustrating, but not horrific.
I enjoyed the food and there was always live music. I had always been a lazy person, not really interested in pursuing anything too hard. So when I was met with a wall of nothingness, I went with it. I wouldn't find out anything until they told me.
Tonight, though, things seemed a little different. When I walked into the pub, no one was there. The lights were on, food was cooking, and the music was playing. The sign beside the stage promised *Luxuria and the Chastity Belts at Midnight*.
I sat at my usual table and played with the menu. It must have ten minutes before someone peaked their head into the dining area and saw me. They didn't scream at me to get out, they just smiled and disappeared back into the kitchen. Another twenty minutes passed before the "manager" came out to talk to me.
He was dressed as if he had somewhere else to be, another life he wished he could have kept living. He had torn jeans and thick-soled black boots. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail. But he was wearing a name tag and an apron over a Harley Davidson shirt and jean jacket. I could see the familiar logo, my Uncle Coop used to work there before he killed himself drunk driving.
"Welcome to Death's Door," the man said. "We are closed tonight for a special meeting. I hope you are understanding."
"I'm not sure where else I am supposed to be," I said. "I have been coming here every night for weeks. 10 PM, just like the message said. So, I am not sure where else to go."
"I... I will be right back," the man said. He paused. "My name is Avery, I am the manager here at the Door. Is... Let me go get the owner actually. I will be right back."
Avery returned moments later with two women. One woman introduced herself as Temperance Gula, acting manager of the Door. She asked my name, wrote something down in a little notebook, and disappeared out the door.
The other woman, Acedia, sat down at the table and asked me if I had any idea why I was here. "Like... not to be rude, but Morningstar doesn't usually work this hard to get people to stay here. She has been working overtime to keep track of your soul. It took weeks. So, do you know why you're here... Miss?"
I watched her run long fingers through even longer hair. She was pale, with a very Morticia Addams vibe. She yawned and rested her chin on her flat palm.
"No."
"I'm.... Sloth. That is the official title. You have met Avery... Greed. He's greed. And the woman who rushed off, that's..."
I interrupted with a cough. "What am I doing here? Hell? What the fuck is going on?"
"Well, my dear, sweet, Ariel... you are here to apply for assistant manager," Avery said.
| 2019-01-12T18:24:29 | 2019-01-12T15:32:21 | 195 | 72 |
[WP] You die and appear before the Devil and seven other individuals. They applaud you and the Devil exclaims, “finally, an eighth deadly sin!” | A hooded figure enters the cathedral. Not confidently, yet not with weakness either. With a complete disregard for his surroundings, he continues through. The crimson pathway opens up to an abyssal black altar, with seven seats worthy of the title of thrones by themselves, until compared to the momentous monstrosity that was the eighth.
“He doesn’t seem like much.”
A comment from the right of the throne. A young boy grinning, teeth ground nigh to dust from a clenched jaw, and stark white knuckles from fists rarely released. A rage stirred within, rarely if ever quelled.
The hooded figure payed him no mind. He could never see or hear what the boy truly was, only what he appeared to be. He did not know where he was, or what was happening. It did not matter to him. Not truly, in fact he remained only due to an ethereal sense of duty which he could not explain.
“Such an old soul, so much supposed wisdom huh? I wish I could have had a taste of that.” Spoke a woman of skeletal stature and darker complexion. Appearing weak, the only thing that betrayed her true nature were those sparkling green eyes.
A puff of air escaped the figure. Of disdain or acknowledgement, one may never truly know. It gave the impression that he did not care what this woman had to say, and may never.
Suddenly the throne itself expanded into an even more unfathomable size. The lack of light was all consuming, impersonating a single soul adrift in the kosmos.
“Reveal yourself.”
A simple command, yet one the newcomer could refuse with willpower alone. He pulled the hood down, and revealed his face.
He was nothing more than an older man. A man with a general disdain for all things that he perceived would ruin the life he had created for himself. The poor decrepit fool had created his own path...to hell.
The cathedral rang silent and all seven remaining members rose after their master.
The darkness spoke to the stranger,
“Cast away your mortal vessel and become an instrument of my torment. Cast away the eyes you so easily averted to the tragedy around you. Cast away the ears you misused when those near you cried for help. Cast away what pathetic existence you had before and accept your seat...
As Ignorance.”
| As I lay on my bed, I reminisced of my frequent fears I had felt on a daily basis, often times using them to justify inaction. I never did the things that I truly wanted to do because I was always too afraid of what people might say.
I was twenty-five years old and had been dealing with depression for the last two years of my life. I lived at home with my parents who were reluctant to put me out on the streets, and my days were only growing grimmer. I had some sort of social disorder- I knew it to be true even though I had never been diagnosed. I saw the way people were in social settings and it was as if they had something I felt I could never achieve. The internet was suggesting I could have something called "Social Anxiety Disorder".
After digging deeper into medical explanations, I also came to the conclusion that I am most definitely a sociopath. I was a notorious people pleaser; all of my relationships centered around me playing to others' harmony in order to maintain emotional comfortability or gain material goods such as drugs or money. I could never keep a job for long and always preferred sweet isolation.
I felt a sense of security knowing exactly what it is that is wrong with me, and I continued with these new beliefs despite my disagreeing parents. As I felt myself drift off unto sleep, I was awoke with a sudden gasp and pain in my throat. I couldn't breath! I began inching over to the corner of my desk to attempt a self-Heimlich when my body instantly rejected, and I hit the floor.
I awoke on a red marble floor to the sounds of cheers and applause. I look up and see a group of people standing next to a smiling monster. "Finally! An eighth deadly sin!" the monster said. I rose to my feet and walked toward the seven people, assessing no physical threat from them.
"What is going on?" I asked.
"I lifted the curse, is what is going on!" the demon said. "Relax, you don't have anything to worry about now. You're dead though- that is... you are dead, that is a fact."
"Is this Hell?"
One of the seven men spoke up, "No, this is De-" until the demon interrupted:
"Don't you make that hacky Detroit joke, Darrell- I will burn you for eternity, do you understand?" the monster put an arm on my shoulder. "Look. I'm Satan, you're dead, this is Hell. We've been waiting for the first man to die from the eighth deadly sin for millenniums!"
As frightening as the realization and acceptance was for me, I felt completely at peace with no anxiety present. I had felt the best I probably had ever felt in my entire lifetime.
"So what's the eighth deadly sin?" I asked.
"The living all have the power to create before them any future they can imagine. With patience, persistence, effort and faith, any man can achieve anything. The human brain is wired to take self-beliefs and register them as facts. If one believes they are at peace, they shall be at peace. If one believes they are lonely, they shall remain.
The demons in Hell have been trying to lift the curse but the living are too caught up with their escapism. If humans use external vices to escape their negative self criticism, then they shall live on as a breathing yet miserable soul.
We lifted the curse, and now all those Label themselves critically shall see watch their depths of misery unfold, until it becomes their demise. The eighth deadly sin- appellation."
​ | 2019-01-12T18:24:29 | 2019-01-12T14:52:38 | 195 | 58 |
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍 | It was 5:30 AM. My 1969 Ferrari 512S Berlinetta raced down the highway. It was that time of the night, where the darkness was slowly fading to day, where the pitch black almost had a tinge of light to it. You couldn't see this in a city, which is why I was flying through the Tehachapi Pass. Well, that wasn't *the* reason, but it was close enough. I saw my exit, downshifted, and took the offramp at a freakish 120 mph. I shifted back, and was calmly cruising at 160 again, up the 99 to Fresno. I could've taken the 5 but... eh. I like less traveled roads. It was 6:00 AM. The sun was peeking out. By 10 I was back at my house in the Santa Cruz Mountains. I parked, switched to my 2006 Civic, or as I referred to it, "The Shitbox", and left for my day job. No work and all play really does make Jack a dull boy.
I pulled into the parking structure. I could buy this company like my dickhead boss could by a Coke and I still had to deal with the prick. I sat at my desk, loaded my desktop, and the phone rang.
"Hi, this is Steve, how can I help you?"
"Steve!" I heard my manager's voice. I wanted to wring his neck. "I need to talk to you."
I walked to his office.
"Steve! Come in, have a seat. Do you know why you're here?"
I thought for a second, before realizing I didn't really give a shit. I was ready to just fucking sock him in the jaw.
"Look, the VP reviewed some things and you're just not pulling your weight around here. I'm sorry"
*No you're not you fucking prick. If you were you wouldn't be here.* I thought.
I was being fired. I punched the douchebag boss in the face. Gut reaction, I guess. Out came my phone. With my vast resources, I'd have this mess cleaned up in no time.
"Jack, it's Steve." I called the CEO of a conglomerate in the same industry. I owned the parent company, but Jack ran his ship well, so I trusted him.
"Hey, what's up?"
"I need you to make a purchase."
I rattled the details off. 30 minutes later I got a text.
From: Jack
>>>Done
I made a couple more calls. Suddenly, my manager was out of a job, and blacklisted from our industry. He'd been working here 30 years and now that was all worthless.
I called the bank that he'd done his car loan with, and his home loan. That Audi R8 he loved so much was about to be mine. As for his house, well, I think he needs to be taught a lesson. I owned the bank, so making a "data entry error" was as simple as calling a datacenter engineer and making sure his daughter got those medical treatments she needed. I wasn't totally heartless.
After I'd foreclosed on everything I could take from him, and crushed his life like a soda can under a truck tire, I sat back. 3 months had passed. I was angry, but that was gone. I was now just... content. Happy. Relaxed. My revenge had worked. I sat in front of my fireplace, and looked at the urn with my grandfather's ashes.
"Thanks Gramps, for everything"
I swear, the little pyramid with the eye was staring right at me, and I was *sure* it glowed. | People think they know what real power means. They think that because their parents gave them some high ranking job in a bank or a government office that they can just go around pushing over everybody. That’s where I come in. I like to think of myself as something of a modern age Robin Hood. Only if Robin Hood was a billionaire man in the world and used connections rather than a wooden bow.
You’re probably thinking “who the hell is this dude” or “you probably just inherited your money from your family so why the hell are you crapping on other people”. Well in that case I think a little backstory is in order. I’m the world’s youngest self made billionaire. I wasn’t a poor person beforehand, I had been born into a relatively well off family. Never had to think about food or clothes, but we weren’t exactly rich either. We were what you would call middle class. During college, I met some entrepreneurs. They came from rich families and had god connections. I proposed to them a business idea of an online book store called amazon. However mid way through I decided to take my share of the money and leave the company. I had never appeared in any media coverage so no one really knew me, but Jeff and George were good guys so I let them get some recognition. That was when I was 20. Fast forward ten years and some good investments later, my money has increased by more than ten fold. More importantly though, I now have shares in some of the most powerful companies on the planet.
When I turned 35, I found life to be extremely mundane. You would think a billionaire’s life would be interesting, but none of it is real. You’re surrounded by fake friends, unhealthy habits, and always worrying about your public image. That’s when I decided to move to Scotland. No one knew me there, but I decided to change my name anyways. I wanted to go back to the life I had in my childhood. I liked the simplicity of it all. I rented a small apartment in the city and applied for an entry level marketing job. I decided to leave out all my accomplishments from the resume and leave only my bachelor’s degree. It wasn’t easy explaining what I’ve been doing all those years though. Anyways. I got a job that wasn’t so bad and made some true friends. We went to together to the bar each night and all in all it was a good time until ...
It was a chilly Friday morning, I didn’t have time to make make breakfast so I just drank some coffee and left for work. I had a feeling this wasn’t a good day and the old man who tried to tackle me on the underground wasn’t a good omen either. I reached work and sure enough a note was waiting for me on the desk. I entered my boss’s office.
“You wanted to see me sir?”
“Yeah ... ummm ... sit down mark” his tone wasn’t settling “look, I gotta be honest. You’re terrible. You won’t have a career in this and by this rate I doubt you’re going to have a career any where. If I were you, I would just go work as a waiter or something and try to enjoy the rest of your lives”.
“But sir, I’m the best employee here.” It was true, so far my ideas have been the ones used the most in the final projects. I was a natural at this, after all I did do it before hand and that turned out pretty well.
I put on a pretty good case for myself, but still all I got was “you’re terrible”.
I left that room with only one thing on my mind: that son of a bitch is going down. The owners of the company I’ve been working at were actually friends of mine, so I called them to inquire about my manager. Said I wanted him in my new enterprise and wondered how good he was. They were really surprised when I called about him, but after some nudging they told me he wasn’t bad, but for some reason his team never completed a full year with him. But they gave it to him, he was a man of results, so they never questions his methods. I had a hunch of what was going on, but I had to make sure.
“Did he ever promote anyone?”
“Only once, but the guy wasn’t that good”
That made me certain. My third question really caught them off guard however.
“Do you have any job openings? I had always wanted to rejoin the game, but never had the chance, and I have actually just moved to Scotland as well”
“We’ll make you an opening”
That’s the story of how I had taken over his job as regional manager. Nobody understood what happened, but all they knew was that he had to leave the country and I was promoted, none of which was lies. I also had good connections in parliament. That was my second move. I hired some people to hack his computer, and the guy became a pedophile. Not only that, but conveniently the laws had just witnessed a surprise change that made pedophilia punishable with the same jail time as murder.
And that’s how one life destroying bastard had his life destroyed
| 2019-03-04T08:49:15 | 2019-03-04T08:37:41 | 48 | 21 |
[WP] You are the last living thing on earth following a massive disaster. Down to your last meal or two, water running low, you hear a knock on your bunker door one evening. As you approach it slowly, you hear from the other side, "I have a large Meat Lover's Pizza and a 2 Liter of Sprite." | "I have a large Meat Lovers Pizza and a 2 Liter of Sprite"
The voice, smooth as velvet as it caressed my ears, was that of a female. I contemplated opening the door, just to be sure she wasn't another survivor. Or was it just to be certain that all hope was indeed lost to those...*creatures*? I don't know but I didn't open it.
"Fuck off. I'll starve before I open that door."
"You know it's only a matter of time Leo. You are the last living being on your so-called planet. It is our turn now."
"Your turn my ass. If you're fucked up enough to kill us all then you're just as fuck up as we ar...were. Your turn will come alright."
With that the creature cantered around the bunker once before heading east. Dawn was aproaching quickly. They hated the sunlight. Anything beautiful in the eyes of man was a scene of utter disgust to Death.
That's what we called them when the first outbreak occured. "Death" was theorized to be all kinds of things. Aliens. Phantoms. Hallucinations. Death was none of those things. We learned too late that the creatures we named Death was human evil manifested.
The hows and whys were never to be known.
But none of that mattered now anyway. As far as I knew, the children were the hope for this godforsaken planet.
The children were humanities last ditch effort to survive. Fertalized in test tubes and grown in artificial wombs. I was their protector. My team facilitated the entire program deemed Operation EARTH. Every Animal Reproduced Through Helix. Double Helix was the name of the chambers used to grow the people and animals. The chambers housed habitats. The artificial wombs rested in animatronic replicas of their mothers that behaved as much like the real creature as science would allow. The machines even provided nutrients to the womb by "eating" so that upon birth, the child could learn to imitate.
We tried to think of everything.
It was day 20. The Hamsters were due to be born in three days or less. I knew Death would sense the presence of new life and that they would return.
I just had to wait and hope. That's all that was left. Hope.
Edit: Please forgive the formatting and such. Im at work on mobile typing between phone calls.
Thanks for reading! Please critique. | "Damn it..." I grumbled to myself softly, forcing myself out of bed. "Damn barbarians..." I trudged to the door of my bunker and shouted, "Screw off! I'm not an idiot, and I'm not that desperate. Show me the military. Until then, I recommend you return to your bandit hideout before a beast grabs your ass and swallows you whole."
The stranger answered with only a grumble, and some trudging footsteps that faded into the distance.
I shook my head, and turned around to face my small bunker. I had a bed, a small coffee table with a broken radio on top, a box of tools among a few other things scattered around, and there was two doors in the back. One that led into what I used as a lavatory, and another that led into my nearly empty storage reserve for food, water, and ammunition for my shotgun, which was also in that room.
I took a few tired footsteps towards my coffee table before kneeling in front of it. I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the smooth mahogany tabletop. I picked up a screwdriver, and pulled the radio towards me. "I had this damn thing working a few days ago," I mumbled, examining the cut cords. "Those damn rats just had to-" I was startled by a loud crash on the door of my bunker. A small indentation with a large circumference had been made.
"A beast..." I scrambled into the storage room, and took my backpack of the wall. I could kill the beast. I'd killed one before, with just two good shots with my shotgun. But that bunker wasn't safe after it died. It emitted radiation. After it was dead, I would only have a few minutes to get out of my bunker. I tossed in what little food and water I had left, then turned around to face the other shelves. I opened on of my two boxes of ammo. I stuffed as many shells into my pockets as I possibly could, left about half a dozen out to load my shotgun, then threw both boxes in. I picked up my shotgun, and loaded all six rounds in. Then came another crash. I stumbled out of the storage room, and decided that I still had plenty of time. The dent hadn't gotten much larger.
I picked up my journal, my radio, and the tools I'd need to fix it. I stuffed them all into my backpack and zipped it shut. I picked up the shotgun, and sat on my bed.
Six. It took six more slams. Three more minutes.
The daylight showed through the large hole in my bunker's door.
The beast growled.
It was a small one. Couldn't have been more thab 6 feet tall. That may seem large, but they could grow to be up to double that.
It stood like a gorilla, but looked more like a giant, very angry fusion between a panther and a wolf. Granted, for all I knew, thats exactly what it was.
It began to move forward, when I trained the barrel of my shotgun right on it's face.
It was smart. It stopped for a moment.
Then it charged.
I let out a blast into it's face.
And it continued to charge, unfased.
It lifted it's paw into the air when it got close. And it swiped me out of it's way.
I slammed into the wall of my bunker, and everything went black.
~
Okay, I'm definitely adding more later. This is just the start. I'm only a little bit sorry for the cliché. Comments, anyone?
Also, as for the 'last living thing' part, I kind of changed that for personal reasons. I'm now one of the last living things, and I don't qualify the beasts as alive, due to the fact that they died, and are just reanimated fusions. | 2019-05-24T07:57:06 | 2019-05-24T07:05:24 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You are the last living thing on earth following a massive disaster. Down to your last meal or two, water running low, you hear a knock on your bunker door one evening. As you approach it slowly, you hear from the other side, "I have a large Meat Lover's Pizza and a 2 Liter of Sprite." | May 20th, 2019
​
*"I have a large Meat Lover's pizza and a 2 Liter of Sprite,"* the voice calls again, prompting me to throw another book at the door.
​
When the angels came down and announced the rapture, I was sure that we were all saved. I watched as all 8 billion other people on Earth were granted absolution and accepted to heaven. I thought that I must have just been alphabetically last. It made sense! Zzz'yzgryvof is an incredibly unique last name, and I had no living family to speak of. Then they started welcoming the animals, the bacteria, and the plants. Even the mold. The mold! The spirits of mold ascended to heaven! When the angels began to leave I cried out. I said that they were forgetting me. I asked what I did wrong. Gabriel just shook his head. "Not you, David," he told me.
​
I've been through this countless times trying to figure it out, but this is the first time I've felt distant enough from it that I could write it without completely breaking down. The earth is barren now--just husks of the life that was once here, preserved in time, nothing to eat it or to cause decay. It's all sun bleached. One of my favorite Wilco songs said that hell is chrome. "Hell" is beige--of course, there was no hell after all; just heaven, Earth, and God's beloved children to live between them. And me.
​
I stopped eating a week ago. I'm under the impression that I can't die, and I want to find out. If I can't go to heaven, and there is no hell, then where do I go? If it's oblivion, I welcome it. The voice at the door I wrote about earlier is the Reaper's. He won't answer my questions and has nothing to do anymore but play "practical jokes" on me. He does have a fresh pizza and 2 liters of Sprite, but he has dumped the Sprite onto the pizza. This is the 73rd day in a row he has done this gag. He says it's only funny if I answer the door hoping for pizza, so I don't answer the door anymore. I long for the day he gets tired of this. | "Damn it..." I grumbled to myself softly, forcing myself out of bed. "Damn barbarians..." I trudged to the door of my bunker and shouted, "Screw off! I'm not an idiot, and I'm not that desperate. Show me the military. Until then, I recommend you return to your bandit hideout before a beast grabs your ass and swallows you whole."
The stranger answered with only a grumble, and some trudging footsteps that faded into the distance.
I shook my head, and turned around to face my small bunker. I had a bed, a small coffee table with a broken radio on top, a box of tools among a few other things scattered around, and there was two doors in the back. One that led into what I used as a lavatory, and another that led into my nearly empty storage reserve for food, water, and ammunition for my shotgun, which was also in that room.
I took a few tired footsteps towards my coffee table before kneeling in front of it. I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the smooth mahogany tabletop. I picked up a screwdriver, and pulled the radio towards me. "I had this damn thing working a few days ago," I mumbled, examining the cut cords. "Those damn rats just had to-" I was startled by a loud crash on the door of my bunker. A small indentation with a large circumference had been made.
"A beast..." I scrambled into the storage room, and took my backpack of the wall. I could kill the beast. I'd killed one before, with just two good shots with my shotgun. But that bunker wasn't safe after it died. It emitted radiation. After it was dead, I would only have a few minutes to get out of my bunker. I tossed in what little food and water I had left, then turned around to face the other shelves. I opened on of my two boxes of ammo. I stuffed as many shells into my pockets as I possibly could, left about half a dozen out to load my shotgun, then threw both boxes in. I picked up my shotgun, and loaded all six rounds in. Then came another crash. I stumbled out of the storage room, and decided that I still had plenty of time. The dent hadn't gotten much larger.
I picked up my journal, my radio, and the tools I'd need to fix it. I stuffed them all into my backpack and zipped it shut. I picked up the shotgun, and sat on my bed.
Six. It took six more slams. Three more minutes.
The daylight showed through the large hole in my bunker's door.
The beast growled.
It was a small one. Couldn't have been more thab 6 feet tall. That may seem large, but they could grow to be up to double that.
It stood like a gorilla, but looked more like a giant, very angry fusion between a panther and a wolf. Granted, for all I knew, thats exactly what it was.
It began to move forward, when I trained the barrel of my shotgun right on it's face.
It was smart. It stopped for a moment.
Then it charged.
I let out a blast into it's face.
And it continued to charge, unfased.
It lifted it's paw into the air when it got close. And it swiped me out of it's way.
I slammed into the wall of my bunker, and everything went black.
~
Okay, I'm definitely adding more later. This is just the start. I'm only a little bit sorry for the cliché. Comments, anyone?
Also, as for the 'last living thing' part, I kind of changed that for personal reasons. I'm now one of the last living things, and I don't qualify the beasts as alive, due to the fact that they died, and are just reanimated fusions. | 2019-05-24T08:15:55 | 2019-05-24T07:05:24 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You’ve been stuck in a time loop that repeats the same day over and over. You’ve perfected every skill, you speak every language ever spoken. One day you go crazy, by the end of the day the entire town is dead. You wake up the next morning still covered in blood, the loop finally broke. | The bird didn't peck on my window. That should've been enough for me to notice, but it wasn't until I rolled over in my bed and found a severed arm that I realized it was over. I immediately went back to sleep, of course. This was the first time in what felt like centuries where I could actually allow myself to rest.
I woke up around noon. Usually, I had to stop a kid from falling off a tree around this time. Who knew throwing him myself would feel a thousand times more rewarding?
As I walked through the desolate town square, I couldn't help but chuckle at everything I experienced. Every day, I forced myself to improve. I blamed myself for the cosmic prison I was jailed in, thinking I just hadn't done enough good to escape. I had all the time in the world and never spent any of it on myself. Perhaps that was the problem all along.
It wasn't until I impaled the merchant on his statue that I remembered I had a choice. I saved that work of art from being stolen more times than I care to recall. The first time I decided to reveal myself as the person who recovered it, I was immediately labeled as the thief. I fled from the guards that time. Then, when I discovered that the merchant had machinated everything to increase its worth, I felt like a complete fool. Why did it take me so long to notice? It took a while, but I finally reached a conclusion on the day before yesterday, which I guess was technically still yesterday up until today.
I never noticed because I didn't care. I only did those good deeds to tell myself I was doing everything I could. If it were a genuine act, I would've looked deeper into the scenario instead of being satisfied with a superficially happy ending. Lesson learned, I guess.
I left the town feeling neither excitement or despair. All the good I did amounted to nothing, while the one time I succumbed to my darker impulses I was rewarded with freedom. What was I supposed to take away from this? It felt like god, the world, the universe or whatever ruled my reality was trying to tell me something. Maybe fate wasn't something imposed on the individual. Maybe it was something we all woke up to by being true to ourselves, no matter how wrong it might look on the surface.
My new found purpose made itself apparent the more I thought about it. I was never meant to do good. Saving others, doing the right thing, it would never fix the problem of evil. Everything would start all over again if everyone were saved from suffering. People needed to be *shown* evil, so they could understand why it shouldn't be perpetuated. That was my purpose. It was the only meaning I could draw from this cruel existence. If this was the role I was meant to play, then I'll gladly embrace it and bring my reckoning upon the rest of the world.
---------
> Edit: I forgot to mention that I have a subreddit (/r/WeirdEmoKidStories) where you can find more of my stuff. Thanks for reading! | I don’t know what got into me. I’ve never snapped like that before but those unintelligent bastards roaming the town were too stupid for their own good. Yes, I’ve lived this several quite a few times but still, they should have learned something by now, isn’t that how evolution works. Though I panicked a bit at first, what’s the worst that could happen, I wake up tomorrow and the bastards are still roaming. Great now I get to kill them all again, it can be my own little game and each day I can get better at the task than the day before. Woah what the fuck, how did that thought just go through my mind. I don’t know how I ever killed those people in the first place and now I’m planning how to do it all over again. I guess being stuck on July 7th over and over again has really gotten to me. Yeah it was cool at first having all that extra time to perfect any talent I want. Now that I have perfected it all though, it is like there is no intelligent life form to hang out with, I don’t know how these people even survived this long with their limited intelligence.
Whatever I’m just in a mood, I guess. I’ll just sleep it off and think of a more civil game to play tomorrow. I had my dream last night, you know the one that has been happening to every single night for the past 7,777 days. The one where an something abducts me and places me in Waluki, telling me that I deserve to have the best birthday ever and that these new people can help me achieve it. Though, today instead of wishing me a happy birthday, the voice said “Congratulations, you did it,” and then I woke up. Except unlike every other day where I walk down the stairs and there is a birthday celebration with all my “closest friends,” I walk downstairs and see the bodies right where I left them last night.
Fuck, what does this mean, why didn’t my day reset like every other day. Whatever, now I don’t have to deal with all those idiots, who for the record are the worst party planners ever. Seriously a clown, what am I five? I mean to them yes, but I have been living today for 21 years, I don’t want a fucking clown. I decide to use today to have the actual best day ever. I sat naked in the hot tub watching movies all day long with a five gallon bucket of pizza rolls next to me. Wow, I could live this day for 21 more years. I thought of how great this is, no one will ever catch me. First no one ever goes to Waluki so it will take forever for anyone to even realize anything is wrong. When they do realize, who would ever think that this cute little child could ever kill 2,831 people with her bare hands.
Slowly, I drift asleep in the hot tub and the dream begins except just like yesterday, I am once again congratulated. I open my eyes and and I am floating in the hot tub, pizza rolls everywhere. It’s officially two days out of the loop, this is amazing. I have the whole town to myself and can do whatever I want. I continue living my best life, chugging down light beer, eating pizza, and wandering town for any fun activities. Some days it is playing with a victims video games or playing dress up in an old woman’s house but every day is different and each is a new “best day.”
About a month in, I am finally getting rid of freezers to raid and the alcohol has run dry. The best day ever is turning into a nightmare. I’m sitting in the quid’s house making a stained glass window when a cute Spanish boy walks into the house. Naive me assumed it was a normal boy, man was I wrong. Helro was just like me, he also lived his fifth birthday for 21 years and wiped his towns population from existence. Helro has been out of the loop for three years though, he says that it is his job to collect the others.
He takes me to his new town, there are about 300 other five year olds there. They are playing chess, having political debates, doing scientific research and of course eating pizza rolls. This new town is breathtaking, finally somewhere where I can be who I truly deserve, an adult. Helro says there are thousands of children still in the loop and when they all get out the next phase will begin, until then unlimited booze and junk food. | 2019-08-11T09:03:00 | 2019-08-11T08:26:24 | 2,614 | 258 |
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping. | "Fuck, I've to spend 4 more years with these assholes". You start hysterically laughing while the tears keep coming down your face. You can't believe you're back in the same shithole school, with the same shit teachers and shit students. All those years of bullying, being pushed into lockers, called everything foul kids could manage and having to deal with the constant pressure of never being good enough.
"Hey, are you okay?"
Your teacher is trying to get your attention, one hand on your shoulder, the other on the table. You recognize the childish scrawl you etched into the plain wood, "help me" and you start laughing again, this time of frustration. Wiping your eyes you turn to your teacher and nod with a too wide smile.
"Yes, I'm perfectly fine, I must have fallen asleep"
She looks skeptical but goes back to the desk, takes a minute to collect herself and calls the disrupted class back to order. The class quickly leaves you alone, now more wary of you than ever before, sneaking glances in between questions and completely ignoring you after class have finished. It's okay, you now know what to do to give the tormentors of your childhood the punishment they deserve. | “Tim? Tim are you, uh...”
Miss Lewis was concerned, but more than that she young. And pretty. Ms. Lewis is fresh out of grad school, the apple of every boy’s eye; Tim remembers her obituary. Next year, Ms. Lewis becomes Mrs. Akima. Nine years later, Mr. Akima catches Mrs with another man and Mr. Akima, a police officer, will pull his service weapon and shoot her in the head, followed by her lover and finally himself.
And there was more. Every memory that seemed buried or burned away by years of bong rips and dropping X came flooding back. Weekends at grandmas, bullies cornering Tim in the hallway, first kiss, first blowjob (first premature ejaculation). In the midst of it, Tim had a distant, amusing thought: “You remember that Stephen King movie where the kids forgot about the evil clown that haunted them?” On the heels of that, Tim suddenly remembered the real life clown that was stopping by today.
Tim shot to his feet and ran to the windows, or he tried to; there were about 30 desks filled with kids in the way, and Ms. Lewis too. She blocked his way and he almost collided with her, but still tried to run past in a last ditch effort for the windows. Over Ms. Lewis’ shoulder, a tuft of red puffy hair bounced into view.
Some kid yells out innocently, “Hey, a clown?”
Tim’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh fuck, that’s not a clown! Look away!”
But it was too late, a 12 year old girl’s scream pierced the air and drowned out Tim’s futile warning. A second later everyone else saw and joined in chorus, crying and yelling and a few shitty kids laughing.
The “clown” was just a homeless guy. Tall, lanky, bad crackhead skin, with actual patches of ginger hair poking under the dime store wig. His balls were ginger too, lobster red from him scratching them all day. His pubes were gray. But his dick, long and pulsing, dancing in a helicopter swirl as the clown spun his member around for all the kids to gander. No one could hear him, but it looked like he was singing.
Ms. Lewis ran with Tim to the windows to shut the blinds but now the kids were crowding the aisles and the journey was impossible. Ms. Lewis dashed out the room for the campus safety officer.
Just then, the clown bent over and spread his asshole. Someone ran out and told Ms. Lewis they’d need the janitor too. | 2019-08-18T07:59:50 | 2019-08-18T07:55:59 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] You have a special power. Whenever your life is in danger; time freezes until you've made yourself safe. One day time stops, and nothing you do seems to make it start again. | One full day. That’s the longest it’s ever lasted before today. Twenty-four hours of time being frozen before I realized that I was about to have a heart attack. It was the longest, most excruciating time in my life. Luckily, I finally recognized my nausea for what it was, a symptom. That was the only time I ever thought I could get stuck in time freeze. Until now.
I make a habit of facing my fears. After all, it’s not hard to get out of tight spot when time freezes anytime I’m about to die. Skydiving failures, motocross accidents, high-speed car crashes, I’ve survived it all. Recently, I even picked up cave exploration. The way I figure it, since I never get hungry while time is frozen, I can’t starve. If I can’t starve, I’ll always have enough time to find my way out of a cave, no matter how lost I am.
Risky situations, I’m used to. Even fatal health conditions I can handle and diagnose, as long as there’s a symptom. Today though, something I couldn’t have anticipated happened. I woke up at sunrise with a slight hangover from a night of light drinking, and the sun never crept over the horizon. It’s been frozen there for two weeks. To be more accurate, it feels like it’s been two weeks. It’s impossibly hard to estimate time when the sun doesn’t move. Honestly, at this point, I’d be willing to die just to escape this weird time distortion.
I’ve been searching high and low for the cause, starting with the obvious options. Once those were exhausted, I checked for the classic silent killers. Carbon monoxide, gas leaks, etc. I even looked toward the sky, thinking I might see a malfunctioning airplane flying towards my bedroom, but no such luck. Eventually, I started searching for global catastrophes. Nuclear war, meteors, supernovas, that sort of thing.
I’ve exhausted every man-made global catastrophe as an option. Even my snooping through government documents in the capital gave me nothing. Absolutely nothing. No flu outbreaks, no nuclear war, no aliens, nothing at all. You’d think we accomplished world peace or something. I have to assume it’s just me, otherwise well, otherwise it’s some galactic mess that I can’t possibly control. Damn it all. I can’t hardly think straight with this damn hangover.
Calm down. I have to calm down if I’m going to figure this out. Maybe I’ll take a break. A cool glass of water helped me figure out the whole heart attack situation, maybe it’ll help again. Why didn’t I think of that before? Okay, time for a refreshing drink.
Why… why is the water pouring out of my mouth? I can’t swallow, why can’t I swallow?! What the hell is going on with me?
I have to breathe. I have to breathe. Calm down, Joe, calm down. You’re upset. It’s been a long, rough morning. You have a headache, you’re angry anyway, and now you can’t swallow. It’s natural to freak out, but you have to stay calm right now if we’re gonna get out of this. I’ll just take a few deep breaths and calm down. It’s going to be fine, just breathe and think.
Let’s go all the way back to symptoms again. This headache. What if it isn’t a hangover? Why didn’t I think about that, I haven’t had a hangover in years! What else? I never get this irritable, maybe that’s something. And then there’s the swallowing thing. There’s a name for that, hydrophobia, I think. What could cause that? The only thing I can think of is rabies, but that makes no sense. No one gets rabies and I would remember getting bit. Wait a minute… that cave I explored was full of bats, and you can’t always feel bat bites.
Damn it.
***
I'd be very grateful for any feedback.
Also, if you enjoyed this, feel free to check out the rest of my writing at /r/Floonatic | Everything is frozen and nothing seems to work. Normally, time stops when I'm in danger which I usually easily resolve by moving a few steps away. For example, in the jousting tournament last week, right as I charged down that lane with my steed towards an opponent, time froze for me. That gave me time to readjust myself minutely so that the enemy lance just *barely* missed me.
​
Now, nobody knows about my power. If they did know, I'm sure the castle's mages would love to capture me and cut me up to try to get some clues about their long, lost time magic. I've been using this power since roughly a few years ago. The benefit of having this power is that it easily helped make me an undefeated knight of the realm, giving me reputation and power that no second or third son of a baron would have otherwise.
​
Serving by the side of the king as his personal guard is something others consider to be of the highest honor. I just think of it as the highest position I can get in the realm. The thing is, most people find the king... a bit disagreeable. That means, there is the occasional assassin or rebellion. After all, he was chosen by default since he was the only son of the previous king. Honestly, it just makes this job feel less mundane standing around the throne room. With my power, they were never a challenge.
​
Today, just like everyday, I was just standing behind the mahogany throne of the king with my polished sword sitting at its sheath listening to the fossil-like king talk to the officials in a raspy voice, "You are saying there are food shortages due to locusts?"
​
In front of the king was a senior official, a man dressed in gray robes that looked like they belong on a carpet. The man pointed outside through a high window and said, "The people outside are crying for food. I propose we open up our granaries to try and help them."
​
From beside his throne, I saw the king roll his eyes and say, "I know you are just saying this so the commoners would have a better impression of you, but it's just us here. My knight also won't divulge anything. So just cut the-"
​
Time stopped.
​
The king's mouth hung open, as the words he was saying became trapped at his mouth. The senior official had his eyes closed, mid-blink. I yawned and stretched, "Great! What is it now? Assassins behind me? An arrow flying through the window?"
​
I turned around and scanned the shadows of the room, making sure nobody snuck in. Usually, it is one of the two things I mentioned. I highly doubt that senior official could harm me from that distance. I glanced out the window and mutter, "Hmm, that's strange. What else could it be?"
​
I walked over in front of the king, pulling him off of the throne and leaving him sitting on air in some corner of the room. I sat on the throne with my legs crossed and scrutinized the official in front of me. It doesn't look like he is carrying any weapons, no bumps on his clothes.
​
I stood up in frustration and walked out the throne room. There were two knights stationed at the doorway as usual, and the hallway was empty as usual. Just how is it that I am still in danger? I was so far away from the throne room! I could not help but yell in the face of one of the knights guarding the doorway, "Just what the hell is going on?"
​
Dang, that felt good. Could it just be old age? Poison? I can't do anything about these things. The notion of dying is scary to me. Honestly, I think it is my large fear of death that somehow granted me this power. Now, my power is causing me to stuck in a sort of limbo. I hope I find the cause soon.
​
\-------------------------------------------------------------
​
Inside the royal castle, there was a pile of people inside the throne room. The one thing they all had in common was their motionlessness. There were people in shining armor, butlers and maids, and a few mages in dark robes. At the bottom of the pile was an old man with a crown.
​
Beside that pile, was an auburn chair with ornate gems engraved on it. Beside it, was an unworn armor, a sheathed sword lying on the ground, and a dozen random books. A man with gray tipped hair madly flipped through a book about poisons with furrowed brows. His eyes had large black splotches underneath and his clothes were all lined with dirt and dust.
​
He suddenly stood up and tossed the book across the room and screamed in frustration, "I don't know if you are there, but whoever gave me this power... Just take it away! Get me out of this mess!"
​
Like a puppet, he powerlessly crumpled down on the floor as if his strings were cut. He missed the social interactions he had with the younger knights. He missed all the cheering he received during his returns from the battlefield.
​
He glanced out the window once more.
\------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading! | 2019-09-15T09:46:11 | 2019-09-15T09:07:51 | 61 | 23 |
[WP] People gain superpowers the day after meeting their soulmate. When a hot young celebrity does so the day after a meet-and-greet, they're desperate to find every person who they even just shook hands with that day. | *Code red!!!!*
This was clearly not a drill. After reading the text message, Stephanie rushed to Heather's apartment as quickly as humanly possible.
"What's going on!?" Stephanie worriedly asked as Heather opened the door.
"I've found him!" exclaimed Heather excitedly.
"...I don't understand."
"Watch this," said Heather. She snapped her fingers and her flaming red hair stood up on end, turning into actual fire. "Pretty cool, isn't it?" She snapped her fingers again, and a small fire started in the oven across the room. After another snap, all fires went out.
"Whoa," marveled Stephanie. "You've got *firepower."* Losing herself in a thought, Stephanie fell into a brief trance. She reviewed her own lack of powers and ached for the day she could experience Stephanie's surety.
"Hello?" said Heather, breaking the silence.
"Oh, sorry," apologized Stephanie. "So who is he?"
"I don't know, but I met him at the meet-and-greet last night," replied Heather.
"There were over 150 people there," Stephanie calculated. "How do you expect to find him?"
"You still have the guest list, right? Let's have a follow-up party!" Heather beamed with excitement. "Let's do it tonight."
"But I'm still hungover," said Stephanie, clutching the back of her head.
Heather put on a puppy dog expression. "Please?"
"Fine," Stephanie relented. She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen a few times. Heather's phone dinged, showing receipt of the guest list.
"Thank you!" said Heather. She ushered Stephanie back to the door. "See you tonight!"
\*\*\*\*\*
Stephanie made the familiar walk from her home to Heather's. As she moved through the streets, she passed many people coming and going from the building. She recognized everyone from the previous night's festivities.
Since she had yet to find her soulmate, Stephanie was without any powers at all. She cursed her luck as she once again decided to take the stairs in an attempt to keep herself physically fit. She trudged up the steps with her head buried in her phone. As she came to the landing below her destination, she bumped into someone.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," said the woman. "I didn't see you coming."
"It's okay," said Stephanie, finally bringing her gaze away from her handheld. She was instantly captivated by the beauty of the other woman. Just above the shoulders, her stunningly thick blonde hair faded into a deep purple. She wore a tight black dress and bright blue heels. "I... uh," Stephanie stuttered. "I'm Stephanie."
"Nice to meet you, Stephanie," she replied. "I'm Amanda. I rather enjoyed your function yesterday, and now that I am seeing you, I'm sad we didn't get to talk last night." She smiled. "Perhaps we should meet up sometime."
Stephanie failed to assemble coherent sentences. "Yeah," she agreed simply.
"Great," said Amanda with another smile. "Look me up." She proceeded down the stairs.
Stephanie watched as Amanda descended the steps. Remembering her evening's purpose, she once again drew her phone and started up the last flight. As she walked, her breath condensed on the phone's screen. Shortly thereafter, the phone was ice cold to the touch. Recoiling from the sudden shock, Stephanie dropped it, and it shattered as it hit the cement floor. Knowing full well of the dangers of overheated phones, she cursed her luck at her over*cooled* phone. She resigned herself and continued to Heather's door.
"Oh, hi Steph," said Heather somewhat apprehensively as she opened the door. She touched Stephanie's shoulder to bring her into the party. "Wow, you're ice cold. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. What's wrong with you?"
"I've stood by the door and talked to everyone who has come through," explained Heather. "Nobody has given me that *feeling."*
*That feeling,* Stephanie thought. *Did I just feel it? She was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I don't get it, though. I've always been into men. Is my soulmate a woman?*
"Hello?" said Heather. "Stephanie, are you--"
Around the party, phones buzzed to life. Everything went silent as all people present pulled out their devices to check the urgent message.
Stephanie reached into the pocket of her dress before remembering her broken phone. She rushed to the television to turn on the news. Everyone gathered around to see a man lifting a building cleanly out of the ground and throwing it into the distance. Then, he menacingly started rushing toward the camera. The footage stopped as he drew closer, the frame frozen on his angry expression.
"Damn," said Stephanie. "Another one finds his person and then goes mad with--"
"That's him," interrupted Heather. "That's him!" she said, this time louder.
"Him?" another partygoer wondered aloud.
"My soulmate," said Heather, swooning. "And he needs my help!" She rushed toward the door.
"Wait," said Stephanie. "Heather, this is crazy. How can you know?"
"I just do," said Heather. She pushed past Stephanie and out the door.
*I don't know what to do,* Stephanie thought. *If he's a bad guy, then Heather's firepower will only make him more dangerous.*
She cycled through her mental list of trusted people, but she was overcome with fear anytime she considered asking any of them for help. Finally, she came to her newest acquaintance.
*Amanda.*
Suddenly, everything felt right.
*Maybe Amanda can help.*
\-----
Thank you, as always, for reading! If you have feedback, it is always appreciated.
Read more of my writing on my new subreddit, [r/storiesbyclayton](https://www.reddit.com/r/storiesbyclayton/) |
Typically superpowers come in tandem with your partner, which is why when I saw her (green eyes, rainbow hair and angelic wings) I knew she was the one. I do not remember her at all, but then again yesterday's meet and greet was hectic, I don't do many of those but this one was for charity I was only able to convince my agent because she loves a good publicity stunt but for me it was different, cancer had taken Jill (gosh it has been 5 years already?) I still remember her smiling telling me to find somebody to keep me grounded I guess she was wrong, I just needed someone to fly with me.
\-I'm so exited to meet you again! I'm June- she used her wings and flew to me, I still have no idea how to control my power yet, I woke up floating 3 days ago and I haven't been able to touch the floor since, the reporters love it ("Love makes him float", "Floater boy!" And "we all float up here" are just some headlines)
\-Jack- I smile at her and reach out my hand she surprises me with a hug, I guess my personal boundaries should not apply to my soulmate but it stills feels weird, she lets go and lands then turns to the people with her
\-My mom Jacklyn and Javier my dad -she introduces - and of course my brother Juan- she hugs him, he needs it he looks extremely nervous- we're twins
\-Jack- my agent says - they were the winners of a radio contest which is why it took so much time to find them, they were not registered in our lists-
\-oh- it's all I manage to say, this whole thing has been annoying I mean, waking up floating after shaking the hands of hundreds of people and knowing one of them must be your one true love (Suck it Styles, you can´t buy this kind publicity)- is one thing but having to appear on Corden (only Britt in America I trust, John Oliver knows what he did) and play a stupid game of 3 questions to see if there's a connection ugh... I was so over it, thankfully they found her -so... you like having wings?- its all I manage, June looks entertained her brother chuckles, it was a stupid question.
June tosses her rainbow hair, picks at her wings - well not sure, I'll have to alter all my clothes for them to fit but flying is fun I always wanted to fly. I'm the daring one of the twins- Juan gives her a look, must be one of those full of twin meaning look as she laughs when she catches it- and everything has been quite hectic meeting you was the last thing in the tour I didn't even knew you were looking for us until yesterday I though -she stops and blushes- it was just surprising, honestly I'm not that big of a fan, Juan was the one who entered the contest, he knows everything about you I've quizzed him- this time no one has to be a twin to catch the "I´ll kill you later look" from Juan -But I was happy... am Happy- she smiles at me she doesn't seem happy-
\-Well, that makes two of us- I hope I was able to convey more than her, it just so odd I can float and she has wings and we're supposed to just be in love? Jill told me that when she met Gus she didn't even questioned she felt the warm of his hands on her and she didn't need any powers to understand that they belonged and I was waiting I don't know for something, anything. I never though I'd feel so distant from it all, maybe people are right I am a mess, never stopping, never caring much, I don't even know my manager's full name! I just been trying to prove to the world that I am someone, maybe I just need to spend time with her, maybe we can find out what things we have in common with time but who knows when that will happen I already have press conferences planned to introduce her and I leave to film in a couple of days... maybe she can come? I wish things would be easier.
\-JACK!- I turn to my manager who seems in some sort of crisis
\-inner voice- I reprimand her
\-Jack, you've been out of it for a minute and we have a problem- She turns the the TV, E! is showing a video taken from a cellphone, a headline in big letters across it "Live, Is Jack really the one?" the video shows a guy being escorted by security from outside our hotel, he's screaming at the camera something I can't make up, but I see the colors draining from June's face, just what is going on- Lady have you been honest wit us?- says my manager, I am at a complete lost
\-I, uh... yes! I... he never said anything- June keeps looking at the feed, my manager tosses me an Ipad, I catch it on the second try (I swear i'm buying weighted shoes as soon as I can) I see the same guy but this time the photo is from a different angle and I see them he has wings... rainbow wings-
\-Wha?- is all I manage, but June is one the move she is opening the windows screaming to the small crowd below, I swim trough the air to the other window I see the guy, even from up here I can see his face light up
\-He is the guy who handled our visit from the radio- explains Juan, everyone looks at him except for June who is climbing out of the window in a fit of giggles- Junie shook his hands before leaving, she wanted... hoped he was the one but when she woke up with wings and he didn't responded to her text she believed it had to be you, with your floating and all- I feel the cold breeze and hear the flap of wings and realized she jumped out, I see her reuniting with him mid air, its all so cute I want to vomit. I turn to my manager but she is already leaving to room to talk to the press I assume, the twins parents ran out as well saying something about checking on June, Juan is just looking at her sister trough the window he looks so happy oddly it makes me feel happy.
\-Sorry, I'll be leaving too- he says after a minute and realizing it's just us- it was nice knowing you-
\-I though you already knew me, with all of those quizzes and all-
\-I won a trip to New York for knowing you're allergic to Hummus, so I wont apologize for being a fanboy- Juan smiles, he offers me his hand - thank you but having us, sorry it didn't work-
\-it's ok- I take his hand and I immediately fall to the floor no longer weightless, not sure what to do but knowing full well what it means because even on the fall I felt it, warmth- say... did you know I'm bi?- he smiles oddly it makes me smile too.
​
"Sorry for any grammar mistakes. English is not my native language" | 2020-07-29T09:12:13 | 2020-07-29T08:55:17 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You have died, and then you find yourself standing over your body. You see that the Grim Reaper has come for you, and.. no twist, he’s just doing his job. You’re disappointed in the normality of it all actually. |
Oh, that car is *wrecked*.
Oh. That’s *my* car.
A hooded arcane figure swoops toward me and makes a threshing motion with its scythe, severing *me* from me.
Oh. I feel nothing.
“Is that it?” I call out to the retreating figure.
“Were you expecting choirs of angels to guide you to heavenly rest? A lecture about your karma? A chess match for your soul?” The voice emanates from beneath the shroud.
“Um...”
“You did not elect any of those afterlife packages.”
EMTs arrive and drag my body from the wreck.
“I don’t remember being given a choice!” I protest.
“February 22, 2020, argument with your mother: ‘Well *I* don’t need some boogeyman in the sky to be a good person.’”
I jump to hear my own voice echoing from the hood. Well, I jump in my mind.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t *want* an afterlife!”
“Same argument: ‘This life is all I get, and I’m going to make it count!’”
“Stop doing that!”
“Well did you? Make it count?”
I watch the EMTs load me on a stretcher and draw a sheet over me.
“I just thought that I... that I...”
“Mattered?” There was no tone—did the reaper mock me? Console me? “Did any event in your life suggest that you mattered?” Oh, mocking it is.
“I was a good student...?”
“Did your birth matter?”
“To my parents, yeah!”
“And so your death.”
Oh, *Mom*. I feel...
“But to the great cycle of the universe, the moral imaginations of men, the endless dance toward entropy: no. You did not matter.”
Oh.
“You selected nothingness, and nothingness you shall have.”
“Wait!” I point to one of the EMTs, crossing himself. “It looks like I matter to that guy!”
“That’s Jaime Mendoza. He prays for all his DOAs. You aren’t special.”
Oh.
“But Jaime believes in an afterlife for me?”
“He does.” A glimmer of hope as the reaper seems to still.
“Could he... could he believe enough for both of us?”
“You would accept Jaime’s vision of afterlife for yourself?”
“Yes! Yes! God, yes!”
“Very well. Come with me.” The reaper reaches with skeletal arm, and I take it gratefully.
Before we move on, though, the reaper leans close to Jaime’s unseeing face.
“Your kingdom grows, but I will best you eventually, Jaime Mendoza.”
Jaime can’t possibly hear the reaper, but a very small smile crosses his face. And my last thought is—*there’s a man who matters.* | I stood over my dead body, staring down at the pale corpse of a human being that had once been me. How utterly fragile and empty it looked! Was I really the only difference between a living, breathing, human being and a dry husk of carbon atoms? I looked at my hands, translucent and wispy, and then looked up at the shadow that stood over my empty shell.
The Grim Reaper. Death. The Avenging Angel. Ba'ad Gul. Charon. I had heard many terms for it, but they all meant the same thing. The ferryman who shepherds souls from the mortal realm into the immortal realm. He--or she, I supposed, swathed in the enveloping black robes--bowed his hooded head, extending one pale, shriveled hand over my dead body as if in prayer. I watched in confusion, for it was not a symbol I was familiar with. Up, down, swirl, point.
Then Death turned that hooded face towards me. An impenetrable darkness filled the cowl, but two yellow orbs glowed from within, unblinking eyes staring at me.
The voice was decidedly androgynous and unexpectedly young as he asked, "Are you ready for your journey, or do you have unfinished business?"
I looked down at my body then up at the misty surroundings. I seemed to be standing in a fog-shrouded valley, low mountain peaks bare of anything but low, tough grass etched against the pale horizon. In truth, I couldn't remember if I had anything left to do. All I could remember was what I had done.
I looked at Death and asked, "Where will you take me?"
He--she?--it?--didn't answer, leaning against the sturdy shaft of his scythe like a walking stick.
"I wasn't a good person," I went on, glancing down at my shriveled husk again. "I killed a lot of people."
"Did you now?" Death asked with a vague sense of interest. I looked back up at him. His amber eyes twinkled like gemstones, and I imagined that he was amused.
I shrugged my incorporeal shoulders and replied, "Well, I _ordered_ the deaths. I don't see much difference really. It still merits eternity in hell, doesn't it?"
Death merely stared at me.
Confused by his lack of answer, I asked, "Will I go to heaven instead? I didn't believe in God. Would He accept me?"
Still no answer.
I chewed my ghostly lip and gazed back down at my body. The face was waxy and still, stretched taut with the wasting disease that had eventually ended my life. I saw no remorse in that sharp brow or sunken cheekbones. I was not a creature who deserved grace or forgiveness. It would surely be hell for me, or some equivalent thereof.
I met Death's silent gaze once more. "Well?" I prodded. "What's in the next life?" But he said nothing. Why wasn't he saying anything? What did he want from me? Wouldn't there be some huge revelation about the meaning of life? Or a vicious amusement at proving me wrong about the existence or importance of a higher being? Or... or _something_?
But Death just straightened from his scythe and asked once more, "Do you have unfinished business?"
"Look," I replied, "I was a very powerful man in my life. I was a leader, a conqueror. I never made decisions without knowing the full scope of things. So come on--what is next? What are my options?"
The amber orbs narrowed slightly as Death said with utmost patience, "Do you have any unfinished business?"
I sighed. I couldn't remember, so I just said, "No, I don't think so."
Extending a pale hand, voluminous sleeves fluttering, Death replied, "Then let us be on our way."
"So you won't tell me where I'm going?" I asked hopefully.
There was a hint of laughter in the voice issuing from within the hood. "Wouldn't want to spoil the ending for you."
I sighed in acceptance. After a moment, and with one last look at my body, I stepped out beside him, and we walked away into the mist.
r/aDittyaDay | 2020-08-02T10:32:41 | 2020-08-02T09:19:25 | 129 | 10 |
[WP] “Look man... I know that I’m not supposed to say this, but are you sure about this?” “Did I stutter, Satan?” | I blanched as much as someone with blistering red skin can. "No but like, isn't that super illegal?"
The kid stared at me. "Dude. I brought you here to help me do some fucked up shit. Isn't that your ish?"
I scowled. "No! Didn't you read the bible? I punish people who do that, why would you think I'm all about that?"
She rolled her eyes. "Alright let's just do this."
I stare at the doomsday button she's conjured me. "End of the world is pretty bad stuff, Carol."
"Yada yada. Do it."
The button wasn't actually there, it was on the desk of a couple presidents. If I hit it here, though, it'd go through. And that would cause a lotta bad shit.
"Carol."
"Satan."
We stared off for a few minutes.
"It doesn't all end here," I said. "Life after death and all. You'll burn eternally."
She shrugged. "Risk I'm willing to take."
"It's not a- look, when the devil himself says you're gonna burn, it's not a risk, it's a reality."
"Well this earth is hell anyway!"
"Then..." I facepalmed. "I'll torch the earth if you want. But just know that I professionally advise against this."
"Well, you've got my back, right?" she asked.
"Of course."
"Good. Push the button."
This won't end well and I know it but I'm bound to her until I complete this task. After that, I could up and ditch but letting this little monster run free around a new apocalypse wouldn't be great either.
Besides, maybe I can teach her something about her eternal soul. Technically even nuclear holocaust isn't unforgivable in the eyes of the guy upstairs.
In that instant, I decided, Carol is my new pet project.
Then I slammed the button.
___
Find more stories at [r/SamaraWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamaraWrites/) | "You didn't," Satan said, a little crestfallen. "Unfortunately."
"What are you even complaining about?" I said. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
There was a long pause.
"Not really, but--"
Satan's words were cut short with a long glare. To further reinforce the point, I struck Satan where his horns previously were, now broken off and shaved smooth. He winced.
Did you know that a demon's horns were symbolic of their age? Therefore, larger-horned demons were deemed to be more experienced and powerful. I didn't like that, of course. After all, my horns were only little nubs, barely breaking out of my forehead. But I was powerful. It only made sense that mine were larger.
"You asked for the world in hellfire," I said. "I gave it to you wreathed entirely in it."
"Yes, but--"
"If you are not happy with me taking the throne, show me that you can do a better job."
Satan went quiet at that. Hell was a lot simpler now. I didn't care how many horns, wings, claws, tails, scales, tentacles, eye stalks, and assorted appendages you had. Merit was the only thing that mattered. It's why I'm seated where I am.
"My lord! My lord!" a distant voice came from the hallway. I could hear the trotting of familiar business shoes, and it wasn't long before I saw one of my new minions showed up.
"The audacity," I declared. "At running in here without kneeling."
"Oh no," he knelt, immediately. "I'm sorry! I truly am, my lord!"
"I'll let you go for now, minion," I said, holding my hand up to soothe some of my bristling guards. I could feel Satan glower beside me, probably because a live human being was now kneeling in his old court.
"Speak," I said.
"My lord," the minion continued. I couldn't remember his name. Eh, whatever. "There was a situation. We couldn't resolve a..."
"You couldn't what?"
The own volume of my voice shocked me. I wasn't used to such an infernal pitch and timbre behind every word. When the minion visibly recoiled, however, I did feel very good about myself. I had to tone it down slightly though, as I could see wisps of smoky hellfire start to rise from the human's shirt, who was struggling to remain still and not pat it out.
"Count yourself lucky. I'm in a good mood today," I said. "Though I would have expected more from your departmnt. Who is it?"
"Madam Michelle Klozowski in Missouri, my lord."
"Alright."
I snapped my fingers at Satan. I loved making him do menial tasks.
"Could you bring my coat and tie, please?"
"You..." Satan said. "You are going out personally?"
"As I said, I'm in a good mood today. Also, I think you needed a reminder as to what I can do."
"Be a really good salesman?" he remarked.
"Of course. You fell for it hook, line, and sinker, remember? It's why I'm sitting here now."
He grumbled. Of course he did. A crimson tie and a pristine suit jacket did materialise in each of his hands, however, which he promptly handed to me.
"Besides, it's not just being a good salesman. Like Hell itself," I continued. "There's *multiple levels* to selling. And I happen to be at the very, very top."
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-08-26T10:27:07 | 2020-08-26T10:12:14 | 73 | 29 |
[WP] We called them "nons" because we believed that they had no souls. They believed in a pagan god. None of them converted, so the crusaders were called to drive them from fertile lands. As we charged they raised no weapons. What we did not expect, was their god to descend and defend them. | The blood on the altar was still wet. I touched it, bringing daubed hands to wipe across my cheeks. The cloying smell caught the back of my throat, the fresh stickiness pulling my skin tight.
In the hollow of the hills we stand shoulder to shoulder. The blood has begun to dry now, and sweat and tears have made tracks through it. My free hands find those of the men beside me. We link, intertwining fingers until we are one long chain of nons, circling the standing stones of our ancestors.
They had not wanted to go to the altar. The day of sacrifice began with a red sun, an ill omen.
On the horizon, the banners of the enemy appear like flayed skin, fluttering on pennants and the ends of pikes. I feel the beat of their horses’ hooves in my skull and in my teeth. I wonder if the ancestors, buried beneath the standing stones, can feel this too. Does the ground shake in their tombs? Does ancient dust make their sacred graves unclean?
There are many fresh bodies in those tombs, now.
The ground shakes again, but it is no longer the horses. The hills around our home have begun to wake, to rumble and roll and split like men’s skulls. From the fresh loam are born our gods, their thirst slaked by the blood spilt for them under the light of a red sun.
Their skin is stone, their bodies coarse moss and packed earth. Birds nest in the craters of their eye sockets, while mealworms hang like white threads from their chests. Great hands rip the earth open as they rise to protect us.
I wish it had not cost so much.
Rivers of blood. Steeling myself as I moved the bodies of my family to rest with the rest of our ancestors. One in five. Lots drawn. Sent to the altar. To protect the rest.
I wear my father’s blood on my face, but the gods have risen and we are saved. | The writings of General Marcinius Maximus, servant to the holy emperor of the true faith and servant of the highest being
Day 137
We prepared ourselves for war as the savage nons continually refused our gracious offers to convert to the true religion. If they are so blinded by their faith and unwilling to peacefully assimilate into our culture, then they shall die ny our sword and our superior might. Their lands are fertile and they have provided bountiful harvests for their people year after year. The people don't understand their wealth and their armies are weak. This should be an easy battle.
Day 138
We gathered our forces, some 2000 strong warriors and keepers of the faith. They are prepared to do what must be done in the name of the holy one and in service to the emperor. We have readied our steel and hardened our hearts to these savage nons. None will survive our glorious crusade. The other army is made of nothing more than simple farmers. They have brought nothing more than simple tools to fight with. They have no armor, no shields, not even a single sword or pike with them. I almost pity them.
Day 139
The other army has sent a messenger to us before the battle began. I thought for sure they would surrender. Much to my surprise, the messenger begged us to turn away and leave in peace before it was too late. He said if we battle with them then we will surely die at the hands of their "god." I laughed at his insolence. My response to the savages was to send him back... with his lips sewn shut so he may no longer spout such nonsense.
Day 143
I have no words... it was over in an instant. As soon as i lead the charge my men were decimated in a flash of light and fire. The screams of my men still play in my head... a symphony of anguished screams and cries of pain echo still in my ears... the look of their flesh as it melted off their bones are in my every nightmare. I still don't understand what i saw. It looked like a man but not quite a man. His body glowed, his eyes glowed with a burning intensity. He carried a sword bathed in flame which he used to cut down my men. I alone survived the slaughter and was brought before the village elder. They held me captive. I thought for sure i would be tortured or kept as a trophy. On the 4th day the elder ordered me released from the prison and brought before him. He explained to me that I survived so that i may bear witness to the power of their god and spread the word of what happened here to others back home and that should i agree to this, i shall be set free... I'm writing now to make sense of it all and yet what i saw still makes no sense. Did my God abandon me? Was he ever real to begin with?
Day 156
I have agreed to their terms and will now spread the truth of their God and his power. May all hear my story and know the truth. All hail the one true God! The God of simple farmers who blesses them with bountiful harvests every year. I can only hope my message can help me atone for my arrogance and one day i may be permitted to join the people of the fertile lands and partake in their riches and their bounties
Edit: changed a phrase "burned with burning intensity" (big oof) to glowed with burning intensity thanks to the suggestions of some of the other users. | 2021-02-10T02:05:46 | 2021-02-10T02:05:35 | 1,471 | 473 |
[WP] Every child is assigned a monster under their bed. Unlike most children, you befriended yours. However, adults don’t get monsters, so when you grew up, yours disappeared. Now, you have set off on a journey to the monster world to find your friend again | As I was about to step through the door into the monster world, the doorbell rang. I went downstairs, opened the door and was greeted by a few men in suits. One asked me if I was mister Happy, to which I replied; "yes". The man continued; "You are hereby informed that The Walt Disney Company is sueing you for copyright infringement of their latest installment of the Monsters Inc. franchise, Monsters Inc. 3; Boo's Quest. You are hereby ordered to cease and desist any further infringement."
The men walked away and I stood in the doorway thinking; “Well, there goes my adventure.” | The door didn’t look like much. A few pieces of wood slapped together with nails that looked like you’d instantly receive lockjaw if you even so much as looked at them the wrong way.
“Are you sure this is it?”
“You come to ask Bashir for monster door then doubt Bashir when he provides monster door? I thought I had earned more trust than that my friend.” The guide said in his thick accent
“I’m sorry, it’s been a long journey.”
His crooked smile emerged through the bushy white beard revealing the gold capped and yellow stained teether interwoven between his lips. “Well my friend, this where your journey ends, or maybe it truly begins.”
“I hope you’re-,” He had vanished. There one instant and gone the next like a dream you hold onto when waking from slumber. I reached for the door, the heavy brass knob resisting at first then finally giving way to pressure. I pulled the door back towards me much to the displeasure of the rusted hinges. Had the wind I now felt on my face always been there? No time to stop and wonder, I had a question that needed an answer; I stepped into the maw.
I fell for what felt like days. No sound, no scream, just the feeling as gravity pulled me downwards to an almost certain doom. I closed my eyes in anticipation of my end, cursing the travel guide in that long chasm. Then suddenly I was standing on my own two feet. I should be dead, one instant plummeting towards certain doom and the next upright on steady ground.
I checked my gear and my pants, both still intact…and clean. I reached for my flashlight as I heard a faint shuffling noise in the darkness. Frantically I continued searching, “Dam you where are you?!”, the shuffling noise drawing closer until it was almost on top of me.
It was then I felt the large paw on my shoulder, “I have missed you my friend, you must come with me, you are not safe here.” | 2021-03-07T04:12:20 | 2021-03-07T04:09:11 | 34 | 25 |
[WP] You've caught the heroes, and you know you shouldn't monologue. You've even written an entire book about not monologuing as a villain (It never made the top 10, but it was close!). Now you're not sure what to say, but they're looking at you weary... but expectantly. | Crystal Jade looked at me wearily, but expectantly.
I didn't know what she wanted from me. I had defeated her, and captured her. She was in chain. What was she expecting, really?
"Ok I will bite. What?"
"What what?"
"You. Obviously. Looking at me like you are waiting for me or something."
"Oh I thought you were going to tell me about how the world wronged you and how your master plan will show the world," she said, almost bored.
"No of course not, why would I do that?"
"That what your kind always do!"
"Got captured often?"
I could feel her face gone red from behind the mask. She should probably call herself Red Lobster instead of Crystal Jade, whatever that supposed to mean.
I took out my book.
"Haven't you seen this book? 'Why you should not Gloat after You Win'. Look, that's my name underneath it," I said and pointed to my name on the book.
"Urm, nope, never heard of it."
"What do you mean never? It was on number 13 at one time on Kinokuniya!"
"Sorry I am more of a Kindle person."
"Are you mocki.....nevermind. I am actually done here. I will leave you here, but I have given Gold Falcon a call. She will be here soon to release you. Bye."
Well I was really rushing to my next appointment.
"Wait, what, that's it?" she asked, bewildered.
"I came here to rob a bank. I robbed a bank. I have no intention to harm anyone, spandex wearing weirdos or otherwise. And if I leave you here while you are being chained up, some other bad guys might harm you. So, Falcon will be here in 30 seconds, and I gotta go. Bye, see you again."
She opened her mouth to protest but I did not wait. I quickly ran out to my getaway car with the cash already in the boot.
Vigilantes now were so weird. | I look into their eyes one by one, this time they are the ones kneeling. This is the moment I have been waiting for, after this I'll have peace, harmony. Before all of this ends though, I want to rage at them, I want to scream at them, I want to ask them where they were when I needed them but most importantly I want to justify myself in front of them. I don't want them to think of me as their enemy. A villain. But it's too late, I know now.
So I don't.
"Any last words?" The words echo making the ground vibrate.
Sphinx glares up at me. Ranger tries to spit at my feet but misses, too weak.
Justice doesn't even react, she just stares at the corpses. If I was a more arrogant type I would have told her 'Worry not, you will join them soon enough.' But I didn't. I admit a part of it was because I had a fate worse than death in store for them. Not because I am cruel but because this is their just punishment.
"Let's start with you, Sphinx." She was the talkative type, always thought she was the smartest in the room. A narcissistic bitch. I knew she wouldn't be able to keep her mouth shut.
"Okay enough. This is enough," She began, slowly losing fear, getting back in her element. "What you did here, the people you killed? They were important. You crossed a line you shouldn't have. The Guild isn't going to stand for it. They will come at you, hard. Kid gloves off. If you retreat now you can still escape, recover, rebuild. I-We are giving you a chance because I admit you caught us off guard and- and we were exhausted after fighting against the Typhoon. Now if you could remove these cuffs before you go it would be appreciated." She finished looking more smug than fearful.
I shake my head at her callousness, these dead men and woman who lay on the ground were her comrades. Un-powered but skilled soldiers. Treated like a chip for bargaining for her life after death. Even Justice shakes awake from her mourning but doesn't rebut Sphinx.
The cuffs were made for power nullification. If she thinks I would run away after all of this, then her Cognitive Enhancement truly isn't working.
I look at Ranger next. Sphinx opens her mouth to speak again but I raise my hand. Her whole body seizes up, mouth still half-open.
"I asked for final words, not an essay on why I should let you scum go."
Ranger decides to speak up, trying to bail Sphinx out.
"Calling us scum? Ironic you thin-" he started coughing blood. Pathetic. Now I regret letting them speak. My patience is running out. But I started this and I will finish this too. I look at Justice, her eyes catch mine. She was the one I knew the least about, her being here was just a coincidence, a sudden change in patrol schedule.
"Please. I-I can help you. There will be people coming after you. You would need firepower."
She keeps talking but I tune her out. They are all the same. This world can do without Justice.
With a single mental command, my newest drone brings me my tools. Three sets of Regeneration VI serum and the Everburning incendiary grenade. | 2021-03-30T05:05:38 | 2021-03-30T04:04:12 | 44 | 19 |
[WP] Science finally found the secret to immortality, but it included treatments that only took hold in newborns. Now the last mortal humans are approaching the ends of their lives. | My daughter has no idea her existence is illegal.
I sit on the creek bank and watch her splash through the water with our old shepherd, always walking alongside her, offering his broad back for balance. She's only six years old, and she's been perfect since the day she was born, a little screaming raisin who became my entire universe the moment I felt her first breath against my chest.
I gave birth to her at home. If I had been in town, they would have whisked her away, gave her that first injection, and saved her from every horrible ugly part of our physiology: illness, weakness, death.
How could I ever let them change her?
The sun kisses over us. It's a blue and perfect day, and I should be enjoying this moment. Just the two of us and the water.
But I saw an old friend at the store today, who asked me, *What happened to that little girl you had, all those years ago?*
My heart was roaring in my ears when I lied, *Oh, she lives with her father now.* The entire ride home, I was paranoid of social services, of an officer knocking on my door one morning to ask if it's true I have an unaltered child living with me.
I can't keep hiding her forever.
My daughter's voice snaps me back to the present.
"Mama," she says, "when are you gonna let me go into town with you?"
"They still don't allow children in town, my girl," I say softly.
I cannot tell her that her skinned knees and her perfect freckled nose will give us away: immortal children are unbreakable, unchangeable. Their cells are more like a malleable plastic, growing with them as they age, their minds like a super-computer from the moment they're born.
Immortal children don't pause to watch sparrows picking through bird seed in the parking lot. Immortal children do not create crayon-scribble masterpieces that window into a small and wild soul.
They are much too perfect for that.
My daughter nods, sagely. Her name is Iris, and she looks just as open-hearted here in the summer sun. She draws lines in the water with her stick. Her bag is heavy with specimen for her collection: leaves and feathers and bones and shells. My own little botanist.
"I read about school in the Romana books," she says. "Elementary school, with all these kids in classrooms together."
"Those are old books."
"Doesn't it still happen?"
I picture my daughter in that room, full of machine-perfect children whose handwriting would already look like printed paper.
"I don't think so," I say, softly.
God, I hate myself for lying to her.
But until I speak that dangerous truth, she can still exist in this world where the woods are fill of magic and little green stones could be tiny dragon eggs and the world is no bigger or smaller than the promise of a library.
If I keep it hidden, she may never have to face what I've done to her. I've saved her or cursed her, but I can't tell which. I can't even say if I did it for her or myself.
I resent myself for that the most.
She pauses and gasps, pushing the dog away, "Mom! Mom, look! Tadpoles!"
The immortal children my college friends have do not play barefoot in creeks or climb trees or hunt for grasshoppers as the sun falls. They're all racing to finish degrees, master musical instruments, become the youngest this or that. A society of desperate geniuses.
I stand up. I slip off my sandals, roll up my jeans, and wade out into the water with her. We crouch together, watching the tadpoles dart around our calves.
"You know," I say, "some tadpoles are very different from their friends. But they're still important. Being different makes them important."
My daughter doesn't seem to be listening. She's trying to catch them in the cage of her fingers.
I imagine my little tadpole lost in the big ocean of the world. Out-evolved. Devoured whole.
"Tadpoles aren't different from each other, Mom. Don't be silly."
I smile, my eyes softening. I almost tell her.
*The world is going to be so much harder for you. So much harder than it is for anyone you'll know. But you'll have this: you'll be human in the only ways that matter. You'll see the world in a way no one else can. And you'll know, when you see that empty look in the immortals' eyes, that death isn't the worst thing that can happen to us.*
But here, cupped in the hand of the mountain, I can't bring myself to say it.
Instead, I tell her, "Sure they are. This one, right here is a little girl named Iris who lives in the forest with her mom and her tadpole dog."
Iris giggles.
"And she's going to grow up to be queen of the creek. The whole forest, if she wanted to."
"Frogs can't do that. They're so small." Iris hooks a tadpole between her fingers and grins. "They couldn't even tell the wolves what to do."
"No. But if she remembers the world is a story, and she can write it any way she wants, she can do anything."
Iris looks at me, her little face mixed with doubt and the wonder if a good story. "Even frogs?"
"Even them."
I will tell her. When she's old enough to see her difference as armor, to look the bastards in the eye and tell them that to be human is to be imperfect and full of questions, I will tell her everything.
But for now, I stand here in the creek, warmed by the sun and her chaotic, unrepeatable little heart, and I know I made exactly the right choice. | Eric stares at the setting sun, and tries not to cry.
He sits on a wicker rocking chair in the cool shadow of a colonnaded porch. Farmland stretches out in front of him, stalks of dry wheat dancing in the wind. In the distant horizon, the sun blends the sky into gradients of blue, purple, and orange. He always loved the view here. Today, the sight burns his eyes.
Oh. That’s the tears. He’s crying after all. Shit. He promised himself he wouldn’t. He hastily wipes them away, but it’s too late.
The door opens, and Mom walks out with a shaky step. She holds a tray of cookies and lemonade in her hands, a proud smile on her face for managing to carry it out without any help. The smile falters when she sees him angrily rubbing his still-wet cheeks.
“Oh, Eric,” she chides, shuffling over. “You promised.”
“I know, I know,” he says, his voice still a little choked. “I’m sorry.” He stands up and takes the tray from her—he had, of course, offered to get the drinks and cookies himself, but Mom wouldn’t let him—and sets it down on the little table between their chairs. He also helps her into her seat, his heart aching when he sees how she winces with the motion.
“I guess it can’t be helped,” Mom says with a sigh. She folds her paper-thin hands in her lap and looks out into the horizon. She closes her eyes as a breeze picks up, setting the remnants of her pale-white hair aflutter.
Eric has so many things he wants to say. He actually made a list with his wife before coming here. So many memories to cover, so many mistakes to apologize for. But now that he’s here, all words fail him. The only thing he can do, for her sake, is not cry.
“You know,” Mom says, eyes still closed, “they’re starting to call my generation the Last on the news. Isn’t that cool?” She chuckles, then says it again. “The Last Generation.”
“Yeah,” Eric says softly. “Cool.”
She turns to him now, and he feels the weight of her displeasure. “It is cool, Eric. It’s an honor to hold a place in history. My generation will forever be known, as will yours. The First, and the Last. To me, that is very exciting.”
Eric doesn’t reply. He’s too caught up in his thoughts, in his memories.
“Hey,” Mom says, taking his hand in hers. “Come on. Talk to me. I want to hear your voice.”
Eric looks down at their hands. His, supple and hale. Hers, thin and trembling. He is 61 years old but will forever look 35. She is 88 and looks the part. He is the First to receive the experimental Full-life treatments. She is the Last to miss out.
He wonders how many Full-lifers have experienced this same strange, surreal moment. Saying goodbye to one’s parents is not an experience unique to Full-lifers alone, but it is unique to know that he will never speak to his mom again for the rest of his eternal life.
“Eric,” Mom warns. “I won’t repeat myself again, young man. Say something to me.”
“Sorry,” he mutters, swallowing past a lump in his throat. “I’m… having a difficult time.”
She snorts. “You’re having a difficult time? I’m the one that’s about to die!” She smiles at the joke, but it quickly fades when she sees Eric’s pained look.
An awkward silence.
“Sorry,” Mom says ruefully. “That wasn’t appropriate of me.” She sighs and looks out at the horizon. Another silence passes, this one more contemplative.
“I know you don’t understand my decision," she says at last. "I want to explain. When your… when your Dad passed…” She cuts off, trembling. Eric squeezes her hand lightly.
She resumes in a soft, tremulous voice. “When he passed, a part of me went with him. And every morning I woke up and he wasn’t there beside me, shaking the bed with his snoring, more and more pieces left my soul. To be with him. Now, all that’s left is this one, last shard.”
“Aren’t you afraid?” Eric asks, the truth pouring from his heart. “I know when I was young we fought a lot about you and Dad’s decision to make me a Full-lifer, but the older I get, the more grateful I am. I’m afraid of death, Mom. I’m terrified of it. There’s so much I want to experience, and you’ve given me the time to do it.” He abruptly cuts off, his face burning. Why is he talking about this? Unlike him, his mom has no choice in the matter. She is mortal; he is not.
“Of course I’m afraid,” Mom says lightly. “Who wouldn’t be? The choice to die isn’t easily made, dear. When they were making me do all those psych evaluations to see if I was sane and rational, I started second-guessing myself. I’m only 88; I could still have another decade or so with a good quality-of-life.”
“Then why don’t you?” he pleads, desperately. “Revoke your decision to Die With Dignity. You can back out at any time before the procedure tomorrow. They’ll ask you a hundred times if you’re sure you want to go through with it.” Though he told himself he wouldn’t do this, Eric decides to be selfish. “Please, Mom. Not yet. It’s too soon. I’m not ready for eternity without you.”
She smiles sadly at him and cups his face with her hand.
“It’s my time,” she says. Her thumb lightly strokes his cheek. “One day, I know you’ll understand. My light is waning, but I’ll go knowing that yours never will. And oh, what a gift that is.” Her thumb brushes away a tear. Then another. “Such a handsome man you grew up to be. I can't wait to tell your Dad. Do you remember how nervous you were when you planned on asking that girl to prom… what was her name again?”
Eric laugh-sobs at the memory. “Emily. Her name was Emily.”
“Emily,” Mom says in a musing tone. “Now, she was a real piece of work. I don’t know what you saw in her.”
“She was attractive, Mom. That's it."
“Yes, you clearly had a type. And the name of your first college girlfriend… Maria was it? I recall she was very similar to Emily as well…”
---
The two of them pass the time speaking of inane things. They say nothing new to each other; instead, they find comfort in the old, the memories of Dad refusing to acknowledge he had burned the steaks *again*, the inside jokes, the stupid arguments that now seem petty and trivial. The words themselves don't matter, not at this point. The true goodbye is in the press of their hands, the fall of their tears, and, as the sun finally dips below the horizon, in the silent comfort they find in each other's arms.
It’s the best goodbye they could have wished for.
/r/chrischang | 2021-06-07T22:06:28 | 2021-06-07T21:49:57 | 1,385 | 539 |
[WP] The princess was cursed that her first husband would die a horrible death. Inorder to avoid this horrible fate the royal family used you as a scapegoat and married you to the princess. But because of your immortality you have died over 20 times and still come back to life. | Samuel twitched as he stirred the soup in front of him. Poisoned. And not just poisoned, the smell practically burned his nose. It had all the subtly of a hooded man with twitchy fingers and a crooked back stalking towards you.
The first few deaths were quite indirect. A stairway would break underneath him. A chandelier would malfunction and crush his spine. And those were the nicer ones. It was more like the world was punishing him simply for existing.
After spending a few months dealing with that and the stunned and fearful gazes of his new 'family', the 'world' seemed to give up. Like it could no longer sum up the energy to punish it's new and least favorite step-child.
And then it was time for the people.
Normally, he'd be having this soup with his wife. But she was a bit preoccupied...
He glanced over, his wife gleaming with sweat and bound to his bed. Her breathing was rough and exhausted. Unfortunately, there was nothing fun leading up to that scene.
Her own attempts at killing him had seemed like an accident as well. At first at least. Tripping over her dress and pushing him out a window. Rolling off the bed with him and having his head land *just* right.
Then came stabbing him while screaming about his infidelity-there was none-and hadn't that been a fun time?
As for his current situation, they had been exiled to this summer estate after one his deaths involved an invading army of assassins.
He sighed and drank the soup. Might as well get it over with. It happened almost instantly. His face turned a greenish purple as large veins pulsed all over his body as it inflated. A bloody shower followed after along with his wife's quiet but pleased laugh.
Moments later, his wife felt a weight on her right. Her eyes opened wide as if she actually expected him to die this time.
Samuel rolled out of the bed with a practiced ease. His face couldn't help but twitch as he looked at his splattered remains. It got all over the rest of the food too. Given how delicious that soup was for a brief moment, rest was probably decent.
He walked over and looked down at the bloody table. Well it was his blood, so who cared, eh?
\----
A few months later Samuel sat on a bench in the estate's garden. His wife sat quietly by his side, glaring at him but otherwise peaceful.
She still called him a "dirty cheater", the "worst person in the world, *literally*", "the scourge of the eastern *and* western world" but treated him otherwise well.
"Here's your mid-afternoon snack, you disgusting piece of shit, I hope you grow corpulent and keel over," The maid who came over said, with a cramped smile on her face.
Most people were like that now. Brutal in their words, but they otherwise acted normal. Just like the 'world', 'people' got tired of killing him as well.
Samuel felt a tear come to his eye as he stared at the tray of delightfully plain cookies. While spicy food held a special place in his heart, anyone would get sick of eating only spicy food. As for the dying, eh, the spices were worse.
However, before he could enjoy himself, the tray in front of him vanished. In fact, everything had disappeared other than him.
In front of him a young woman with a tattered dress stood. But she had none of the underpinnings of youth. Her hair was withered and straw-like, hints of grey poked through. Her fingernails were cracked and chewed and nearly every imaginable skin disease covered some part of her.
However, despite the changes, Samuel recognized her instantly. It was almost instinctual. A shared instinct of every being in this world. Even if the current her varied so far from the beautiful statue in the Temple of the Lords.
The Goddess of Mysticism, Seers, Witches, and....
Curses.
"Please-" Her voice was hoarse and sounded just a moment away from a sob-"Please just die."
A storm raged through the otherwise empty white space as he was atomized and left without a trace. His body, his consciousness, his soul, his destiny, his karma, his past and his future... nothing remained. She had metaphysically wiped him out from existence itself.
Her divine presence fell to almost nothing but the smile on her face was unmistakable. However... she froze as a voice spoke calmly from behind her.
"No." | Heinrich took a gasp of air as his body jolted back to life. His lungs expanded as life began to pour back into him. His pale flesh turning back to it's normal colour, he looked at his hands for what he could only surmise as death number forty-seven. That was when he took note of the once white shirt he wore and found it to be singed and tattered.
​
He felt his mind reel as memories of his moments before he clawed his way out of the abyss came rushing back. A careless scrape of metal over a powder stock when he was speaking to the royal guard. Feelings began to come back as the cold air of his tomb chilled him. By this point he wasn't sure if this was a sick joke or if the sight of a corpse violently grasping life's thread was too much to witness.
​
He pushed the doors of the crypt open and winced at the sun's assault on his eyes. He stepped out into the fresh air of the royal graveyard set deep in the walls of the castle and began his walk back to his chambers. There, where his lovely wife Priscilla would no doubt have some snide remark about "oh, what look Death dragged in" or some nonsense.
​
A jingling followed him, almost like the sound of a pet's collar. This jingling sound, however, filled him with a desire to stay dead. He stopped and crossed his arms with a sigh as a man dressed as a technicolour nightmare came bounding into view. His hat jingling with bells that sat on it's ends. He had a wide smile about him, the sort that gave Heinrich conniptions.
​
"The prince!" the clown cried. "The prince has once again risen! What joy!"
"Shut yer gob, Ruffy," Heinrich said bitterly. "I'm Ewig, of course I got back up. We're immortal."
​
"And with such timing! His royal majesty wishes to see his son in law!" Ruffy cried.
​
"Can I not go get a shirt first?" Heinrich protested.
​
Ruffy grabbed his hand and tugged it with a laugh that would make even the most stoic man cringe. "No time! No one makes his royal majesty wait!"
​
Heinrich grumbled as he was tugged along, cursing his own father's name the entire time. He was happy with his own people. This arranged marriage all for the good of politics was wearing him thin. It was exploitative is what it was. He wished he could've taken a lot of things back but the agreement to marry a cursed princess was certainly a new low.
​
Thrust before his royal majesty, Heinrich did his best to give himself some modesty by tugging his town shirt around his bare chest as possible as he took a bow. The King, seemingly unimpressed, waved a dismissive hand as the other hand navigated a very freshly cooked chicken. A dark feast not for the faint of heart with the way the king ate, Heinrich noted.
​
"Heinrich, I am glad to have you up and about again," the King said as a whole portion of breast suddenly disappeared into his mouth. "Thish bushinessh wif yur... \*gulp\* With your father, you simply must talk to him. The Concordant we signed between us and the Ewig to allow them to trade with us is strained enough as it is given how unnatural you all are. Now he's demanding I let them into the city. Could you imagine?"
Heinrich looked around for a moment, deciding against mentioning the fact that he lived here himself. "What a travesty it would be, your majesty."
​
"Glad you see it my way, dear boy," he said as another portion of chicken disappeared before Heinrich could blink. "It's a matter of safety. My subjects. Well, they simply don't understand you."
​
Heinrich felt his stomach churn, and not at the sight of the King eating. His people were always on the outs. An anomaly. The product of meddling Gods and Goddesses. Every one in a million would be born as Ewig. Their humanity would boil away as fever gripped them and if they survived on the other end, some witch or herbalist would declare them Ewig and get them tossed out of the village for being an abomination.
​
Heinrich remembered many times a sickly child would be foisted on them only for them to discover they were just a very fortunate human who now had to grow up with no home. The whole contentious affair left him conflicted as Ewig normally had to live isolated lives. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a slow sigh.
​
"I will speak to him," he said trying his best not to sound too angry. "I shall need a carriage to make the journey. A few guards in case of highway men. And a shirt."
​
The King smiled and gave him a wave of his hand to send him off. "You shall have it, my boy. Oh, and, welcome back."
Heinrich politely bowed and smiled before turning and having his expression sour. Maybe it was time they put their immortality to use and just get this charade over. Kill the humans and rule. As Heinrich walked back out into the sunlight, he stared up to the blue sky above and felt his jaw clench.
​
Perhaps it was time. | 2021-06-09T15:13:58 | 2021-06-09T14:14:38 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended. | I always thought I would die from being stabbed in the back by a dirty, dull knife. Some sort of poetic justice, if you will, at least regarding the stabbing. My knives were always sharp.
When they brought me to court, they told me that it was magic--out of the realms of a simpleton rogue like me. They waved a wand at me and told me that I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to. So when they asked why I did what I did, the answer was simple and truthful:
"Because it paid well."
Though a little half-hearted, it was with no less candour. Gold was necessary for survival, but it's a little strange how the most important thing in my life wasn't necessary. In demand, but not needed.
I was sentenced to death. I had no letters to send, no people to speak to. That suited me just fine. This was already more dignity than I was used to.
I thought the end of all that would be a noose. A vial of poison. The swing of an axe.
"Sybil Harper," the burly man in a black hood pointed to the woman in front of me, who stepped forward with impunity. "How would you like to die?"
"Of old age," she said.
The executioner brought out a wand, comically undersized in his large, meaty hands. But he was learned, magic-touched--and with an incantation and a bright streak of purple, I saw the half-elf's hair go from black to grey to white, her ears drooping, her height diminishing, and her confident poise hunchbacking.
With that, old Sybil Harper hobbled one, two steps, before collapsing onto the floor. When they turned her around, there was a toothless smile on her face.
"Ged Ruell," the headsman said now, and I gulped, my mind turned around in an instant. "How would you like to die?"
"Doing what I love," I said.
The wand came out, once more, and this time, a fiery red beam unleashed itself upon me. I struggled with its power, forcing my eyes entirely close, but eventually, calm washed upon me like familiar ocean waves lapping at my feet.
I opened my eyes, vision lit again, slightly obscured at the sides with black, and with the sight of my dead body on the floor. It was dragged away swiftly, without honour or respect.
I could not hear my own thoughts. Now, it felt like I was drowning, my thoughts swirling into a perpetual maelstrom, unable to keep my head above water, oppresive dark cloud and shrieking thunder blackening every sense.
"Elliot Cobbett," the words came out, not entirely of my own volition. I watched my hands point to another man in the line. "How would you like to die?"
"Quickly," he replied.
The hand dropped once more. Instead of a thin wand, the hand encircled a familiar, leather-wrapped handle. And in a stormburst, the clouds cleared, and one thought rang true.
"With pleasure," I said.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T09:55:49 | 5,663 | 803 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended. | I take a step forward. The line to the High Magister grows shorter by the moment as the people befor me are tried and executed on the spot befor the Grand Court of Wizards.
The reading of crimes is honestly the longest part, the crimes are listed for each of us and given a unanimous guilty verdict on the spot.
Cant say I blame then really, the coup didnt go quite as planned.
I'd love to say I was the mastermind behind everything but truth be told I'm little more then another cog in machine of revolution, one that broke quite handily when our silver tongued leader mysteriously vanished.
We just wanted non-magic folk to be taken more seriously, to be treated like actual citizens.
I take another step forward. I shake my head of the thoughts, pointless to think about it with more impending matters. Third in line now. I watch Andrew take centre floor. He used to be a cook befor getting caught up in this mess, cant say we spoke much but still a shame just the same.
The High Magister repeats the same phrase that everyone befor him heard last. "Choose your method of execution". There is a moments pause befor the old cook smugly replies "Old age". Cheeky sod read the same story I did.
With a wave of his hands the Wizard casts a spell and to my horror I see Andrew rapidly ageing till he is little more then a dead emaciated old man. "Bugger, there goes that idea" I mutter to myself.
"Next" The high Magister proclaims, waving his hand dismissively as a pile of dust blows away that used to be Andrew. I didnt know the woman in front of me but she looked like she had been through the ringer.
I take the time to think, my brain working as hard as it can to think of something, anything at all.
"Choose your method of execution" I snap from my thoughts and look up to see what she picks, maybe it will help. "Without regrets" she replies, little vague and not really a method but hey the Court seems to accept it. There is a quick flash of light, I turn away instinctively and blink away the sunspots left behind.
When I look back she is just stood there, not moving an inch. "Next." But... she is still alive? I walk to the centre and my crimes are listed off, I dont pay attention, I know what I did. I get a good look at her and wish I hadn't, her eyes, her face, her expression. They lobotomised her. The body might be there but there is nothing left inside.
I clench my fists tight, I'm angry but not at my situation. I'm angry that they seem to revel in punishing people who they think are trying to be clever.
"Choose your method of execution"
Well that was fast. I relax, no point in fighting it after all. I look up to The High Magister and smile, my body trembling but my mind set. I know how to beat this.
I open my mouth and give the one response I can think of that will work.
"Instant"
A small wave of the hand. I dont even get to hear the "Next" | 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T10:08:14 | 5,663 | 255 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended. | I get to choose how I die? I thought to myself. Well that's easy enough, I'll just wish to die of old age on a bountiful island with my 18 smoking hot wives. What a blessing! If I knew about this I'd have turned myself in years ago!
A guard comes to my cell and unlocks my cell door.
"Your time of reckoning has come Alvin, I hope you used your time wisely" said the guard.
"At this point I think I have it all set" I retorted.
"As a final word of advice, wishes rarely go as planned" the guard added. He then gestured to me to follow him. His words weighed on my mind a bit and I started doubting myself a little so I asked, "what did the last guy end up wishing for anyway?"
"He wished to die of old age" stated the guard.
"How'd that do for him?" I asked.
"He should still be in the judgment hall when you get there, you can see fit yourself"
We finally arrive at the judgment hall. It was a large room with flat concrete walls all around. At about 10 feet of the ground the walls became glass and I could notice faint shadows scurrying back and forth. I move my gaze back to my immediate surrounding and I take a quick look around to see where the previous prisoner was, yet the whole room was empty save for a pile of dust on the ground. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the standard issue prisoner garments were barely visibly beneath the dust. The dots started connecting and I realized that my original wish would end in a similar fashion.
Suddenly, light emerged from behind the glass projecting the shadow of two figures onto the concrete walls.
A slightly snarky voice proclaims, "Well Mr. Alvin, have you decided how you would like to die today?"
I can feel beads of sweat roll down my forehead as I start racking my brain for some sort of request that could at least give my death meaning..... MEANING!
THATS IT!
"Um......", I started, "are you familiar with a guy named Jesus?"
"Don't you dare", the Snarky voice declared.
"I'd like to die as a great prophet that became a Martyr for his people."
The lights shut off and a flurry of shadows start racing through the glass and some barely audible banner ensures. I pressed my ear against the concrete hoping the vibrations could somehow clue me in on how the conversation went.
" He chose religion...... Of course he freaking chose religion..... "
"So what do we do now?"
"What we've always done. Coordinators P through X, I want you writing the holy scripture. You have 30 days to get it done. Don't even think about sleeping until you finish. Coordinators A through G, you guys are with me. We need to brainstorm different miracles that this Alvin dude will need to preform. H through O, you guys need to decide how he will teach martyrdom status. Coordinators Y and Z, brief Mr. Alvin on the standard religion scenario procedures. Ugh, I better be getting paid overtime for this...... " | 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T05:58:59 | 5,663 | 45 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended. | "I would like to die of old age"
I froze, as those words resonated in my head, the realization that his nape would be the last I see of him quickly sinked in.
"*Why...?*" I murmured. Why would he do that? He's not that gullible as to think the Supreme Court of Wizardry would let him get away with that, he's the mastermind behind it all, for Merlin's beard! He's the one who found out about the breach in the treaty, the muggle camps in Stirling, he convinced us, led us, believed in us... We were so close to rid the world of that noxious titan of a minister, just that one droplet would have been enough...
​
"Then, without further ado, for crimes against the Ministry, organising an uprising and for the theft of the sacred first titan Olaf's blood, we hereby sentence you to death, by old age, as requested." the judge's voice exploded through the hall.
His hair started losing its distinct red colour, exposing more and more patches of his scalp. Some weird black marks could be seen behind his curls.
I can barely contain my tears, I would've given everything for this man, as I'm sure he would've done for me also. He called me by his name, and yet this pitiful sight of him is all that's left...
​
Some commotion could be heard in the otherwise silent chamber of the jury, as a minute man hurried through the crowd, causing turmoil. His wacky moustache really didn't fit the vexed expression painting his face, neither did his voice tone, as it echoed through the room, trying to sound solemn.
"Know that we will find Olaf's blood! Your existence will be notorious through the whole continent as nothing more than pointless, so wipe that smirk off your face!"
"*He's... smirking?"* Of course he'd be smirking... even facing death under the spiteful noses of these disdainful aristocrats his spirit wouldn't break. I look back at him, as I struggle to accept my own fate myself, and right there, right in front of me is the answer. Tattooed on the back of his head is an encrypted message, calibrated exactly to work on my lenses!
I'm once more shook, as his body begins falling apart, I can't stop my tears, nor my gratitude, he really did give me everything in the end. The dust settles, and I make up my mind, looking up.
"The choice is yours." finally the judge's sight lands upon me, scrutinizing me, digging deep into my soul. I concede him little time however, as my leader's last words paint a clear picture in my mind, I spout my answer loud and clear.
"I wish to stab myself with the dagger resting on my desk at home!"
​
"So be it."
​
*A droplet of Olaf's blood is enough to rid a titan of their life, and grant a human a second one. He was half human.* | 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T09:19:00 | 5,663 | 12 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..." | The line had been excruciatingly long, almost unbearably so. Prisoner number after prisoner number was called, each time slowly getting closer to the one that I held. We were given numbers at the start, much like we were just waiting in line at the DMV or at the doctor's office. If only this was as nice of a scenario. I listened to each prisoner list out how they wanted to go, most said something along the lines of what I had planned for, lethal injection. Fast and moderately painless was all I could hope for.
*Prisoner number 2754920, please step forward*. I was next, and I was bored, so rather than continue counting the audience members, I listened in on this guy's conversation with the judge.
"How do you wish to die today, sir?"
"I wish to die of old age."
I was floored, stunned. No one had said anything like that before. I watched as before my eyes he was turned into an old man, dying of old age just as he had asked. *Shit*, I thought. *We can wish for stuff like that?*
"Your wish has been granted. Carry on. Next is prisoner number 2754921, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
I was frozen, unable to move. What do I do now? My plan crumbled before me as I watched an old man be helped out of the courtroom.
"Prisoner number 2754921, if you do not step forward, a death will be assigned to you, and I guarantee it will be less pleasant than what you have envisioned for yourself."
I felt a guard shove his gun into my back, pushing me towards the center of the court. I moved what felt like legs of lead and feet of cement, inching closer towards the marked destination. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head, a way to cheat the system, and it was as if all the weight fell off of me at once. Everyone had chosen a realistic death, but if I were to choose something unrealistic, surely magic had it's limitations.
"How do you wish to die today, young one?"
A dream I had had since a child, being a pirate and dying a way only heard in tales. "I wish to die at sea from the beast, the Kraken," I stated, stifling a laugh.
"Your wish has been granted. Next is prisoner number 2754922, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
*I thought there were no limitations, but I was soon to find out just how wrong I was as I was led towards a door that smelled of the sea.* | 2021-06-24T10:00:08 | 2021-06-24T03:42:17 | 1,590 | 66 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I had originally been banking on using old age as a loophole, but watching that other guy wither into an old man has proven it to be very much not viable. So here I am, I need an escape plan. Scratch that, it's impossible, what I need is a loophole.
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I could try using paradoxes? No, that wouldn't work. Act of God? Well, Gods. One of them anyway.
"YOU HAVE 30 SECONDS TO GIVE YOUR ANSWER"
Damn. I guess if I am to die, I'll try to take them all with me.
"20"
What could take them out? Magic wouldn't have any effect, they're all the most skilled mages in existence.
"15"
Ooo... that's an idea... existence.
"10"
"Save your countdown, I know how I'd like to die."
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
"I wish to die by being swallowed up by the expansion and death of the Sun itself."
If I am to die, they're ALL coming with me. | The line had been excruciatingly long, almost unbearably so. Prisoner number after prisoner number was called, each time slowly getting closer to the one that I held. We were given numbers at the start, much like we were just waiting in line at the DMV or at the doctor's office. If only this was as nice of a scenario. I listened to each prisoner list out how they wanted to go, most said something along the lines of what I had planned for, lethal injection. Fast and moderately painless was all I could hope for.
*Prisoner number 2754920, please step forward*. I was next, and I was bored, so rather than continue counting the audience members, I listened in on this guy's conversation with the judge.
"How do you wish to die today, sir?"
"I wish to die of old age."
I was floored, stunned. No one had said anything like that before. I watched as before my eyes he was turned into an old man, dying of old age just as he had asked. *Shit*, I thought. *We can wish for stuff like that?*
"Your wish has been granted. Carry on. Next is prisoner number 2754921, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
I was frozen, unable to move. What do I do now? My plan crumbled before me as I watched an old man be helped out of the courtroom.
"Prisoner number 2754921, if you do not step forward, a death will be assigned to you, and I guarantee it will be less pleasant than what you have envisioned for yourself."
I felt a guard shove his gun into my back, pushing me towards the center of the court. I moved what felt like legs of lead and feet of cement, inching closer towards the marked destination. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head, a way to cheat the system, and it was as if all the weight fell off of me at once. Everyone had chosen a realistic death, but if I were to choose something unrealistic, surely magic had it's limitations.
"How do you wish to die today, young one?"
A dream I had had since a child, being a pirate and dying a way only heard in tales. "I wish to die at sea from the beast, the Kraken," I stated, stifling a laugh.
"Your wish has been granted. Next is prisoner number 2754922, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
*I thought there were no limitations, but I was soon to find out just how wrong I was as I was led towards a door that smelled of the sea.* | 2021-06-24T07:19:48 | 2021-06-24T03:42:17 | 236 | 66 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | Execution day again. It took a full moon cycle for the kingdom’s mages to fuel the sphere of sentencing. But once it was charged, it would grant its prisoner their choice of death. Ten sentences would be carried out today before it ran out of power. Some nations gave their condemned a final meal, a last smoke, or a glass of wine before their death. We had this mockery of choice.
I’d been on the execution list for four months now. The list had me eighth in line. I wondered what was worse: being first and knowing your death was right away or last and seeing nine die before you. The amphitheater we were in wasn’t just for executions. Concerts, carnivals, games were also held here. But today the central arena held the ten of us, ten guards, and our killer. The seats are ringing the middle are occupied. The aristocracy are in comfortable lounges, provided with shade and refreshments. Those with more time than money made do with hard benches and full sun.
There’s always someone that tries to defeat or confound the sphere. It’s killed everyone trapped inside. There are some who won’t name their death, either from stubbornness or fear. But the enchanted ball of filigreed metal and glass fulfills it’s design. It starts to remove the air inside once locked. Slowly though; the captive has plenty of chances to speak. But if they don’t decide in an hour, the sphere chooses for them. They die suffocating, clawing for breath with faces distorted and discolored. It why the executions start at sunrise, in case every prisoner that day takes their hour.
Only one of my fellow convicted goes the airless route. The third of the day, a small man, timid. He tried to name a death when asked but his chattering teeth and stuttering voice kept him from saying anything clearly enough. The vultures in the audience, nobles and new money who paid to attend in comfort jeered at him until he finally curled up in the center. He was quiet and shaking until the end.
The fifth, a stately woman with a smirk and fierce eyes, made an attempt at outsmarting the sphere. “By the death of the cosmos.” I’m sure she thought she’d get to live out those millennia. The sphere pulsed, as it did when examining an unusual form of death. If a choice was invalid, it’s glass portions would turn red for a moment. If it was a valid choice, it would simply perform the execution.
No red pulse. The sphere’s light dimmed with the condemned woman standing inside. Her smirk widened. Then she vanished, soundlessly. A few seconds later, her image was projected inside the sphere. Nothing was said, but we all knew we saw eons into the future. Her body froze in the dark nothing of the universe before her image faded and the sphere opened for the next victim.
The man before me, seventh off the day, also tried to outsmart the sphere. He was only a few years older than me, in his mid twenties at most. “Old age?” he asked the sphere. It pulsed again before dimming without red shift. The man let out a shaky sigh and looked expectantly at the door. It didn’t open but as he reached for it we saw his skin wrinkle and sag. His hair paled into a wispy gray. Liver spots his dotted arms and face. Before he could touch the sides, he fell. His frail skin blossomed into bruises from the fall, his aged bones unable to keep him upright. Within five minutes of entering, he’d aged to death.
My turn. The sphere opened, graceful and terrifying. I stepped in and spotted a particular face in the crowd. A young man, like the one before me. He was richly dressed, unlike the man before me. The reason I was here. I’d shared his bed and he threw me aside. At the hint of inconvenience he arranged for me to die.
Seeing him, relaxed with a full wineglass, smiling at the thought of me being gone forever, made me furious. The sphere locked, I was asked how I wanted to die, and heard the slow leak of air. I glared at the source of my doom.
“With my lover,” I spat. The crowd laughed as the sentencing sphere pulsed again. Then it dimmed. The crown prince appeared next to me. He paled and I almost thought he’d die of shock before the sphere could take us. I snatched his wineglass and downed it. “Glad I could share a last glass with you prince.”
He screamed, pounding the walls as the guards struggled to open the door. But the sphere wouldn’t let anyone out alive. I saw the prince’s innocent betrothed faint. At least she wouldn’t be trapped with him. His father, who’d demanded the crown prince dispose of all evidence of philandering before he wed, was desperately ordering his knights and mages to save his son.
I slumped against the wall. “The more you scream the less air we’ll have,” I mentioned. The man I’d loved and been betrayed by didn’t seem to hear me. I didn’t much care. His frantic cries and the useless pounding made a satisfying requiem. | Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Whoever said that might as well have been a Prophet.
I'm nearly at the front of the queue. I've been waiting for hours, since I was arrested and interrogated by Enforcers and transported here. It's the most dead silent queue I've ever seen. The Temple reeks of fear and doom. There's a strong hint of urine.
The last person to be executed is carried off by acolytes. She's a middle-aged woman. There's a peaceful look on her face. She asked to die riding the big H.
I don't know what her crime was. She's still writhing as she's taken away, but she's clearly on her way out.
There's only a young man in front of me, now.
I can only just hear it when the inhuman Executioner whispers to him, "You have been convicted. The crime is theft. The sentence is death. How do you choose?"
He's trembling. I wonder what he stole. I wonder if it was worth it.
He pauses. Gathers himself. "Old age," he says. His voice cracks. "I want to die of old age."
The Executioner isn't stupid. I don't know much, but I do know this isn't one of those "letter of the law" deals. Unlike us stupid humans, they moved past that cultural hang-up millions of years ago.
But it's still clever. Who knows? It might work. It might give him time. Incidentally, it's what my partner said I should choose if ever I found myself in the Temple.
Alas.
I've never seen a human body contort or transform like his does. It's body horror on overdrive, and not two meters away from me. He ages sixty years or more in a matter of seconds, and then he drops dead. The scream was short, but it pierces the hushed Temple like a banshee cry. There was no mistaking the depths of his pain.
He's almost a skeleton, with skin barely clinging to his bones. He reeks. His shorts are spoiled. Acolytes in crimson shawls drag the husk of him away. They disappear beyond a door, into a hallway.
Death by old age. It's a loophole, right? No. Wrong. Not for beings with such a talent for manipulating time and space, to say nothing of human bodies.
The Executioner glares at me. Or I think he does. It's hard to tell with the mosaic of compound eyes. Acolytes threaten me with prods until I step forward.
They tell us that the choice makes killing us more ethical. They have the audacity to call it "humane". Nothing about them is more inhuman than their view of ethics and logic.
They point to humanity's disastrous custodianship over the Earth's non-human creatures, before they arrived. They say that unlike our swine, our cattle, our poultry, we are given a choice. On my worst days, sometimes I start to see what they mean.
The Executioner whispers, "You have been convicted. The crime is dissent. The sentence is death. How do you choose?"
I don't have a Plan B. I'm not sure I could have called the old age idea "Plan A". Maybe I should go out flying high, like the woman before. I'm sure half the people here have their own clever ideas, even though in six years no one has ever come out alive. How will I fare any better?
I spent the last years of my life in fear of saying the wrong words to the wrong people. Criticism of the Salvation carries severe consequences. It's why I'm here now, more or less. But I shake off that fear. What's the worst that can happen, right? I'm dead anyway.
I tell the Executioner, "I'll die when your kind leaves Earth. I'll die when Earth is free."
It makes a motion that might be a laugh, or a chuckle. Mirthless, I'm sure. "You may choose the means of your death. The time is now. You may not choose the time." The speaker hung around its neck, or what passes for one, quietly continues, "You will choose quickly, or your choice will be forfeit and you will die by immolation."
"Then I'll die with the utter destruction of this Temple and every Salvation structure like it on Earth."
It whispers, "No."
I expect more of a response than that. A moment passes. I can only think to say, "No?"
"No. Your time is up. You will die by immolation."
It was pointless, anyway. I couldn't have been the first to think of it. Call it a performance before the damned.
I blink, and I'm on fire.
If life is a rainstorm, this is the ocean. I'm submerged. I can't breathe. I can't orient myself. There's no surface in sight. It's the most pain I've ever known.
It's the time I touched a stove, amplified up to eleven and washing over every inch of skin.
It's the time I touched a live wire, but I'm touching a thousand of them, and no one is there to push me off it.
It's the time I fell onto an ant hive, but the ants are innumerable, crawling in my eyes, in my ears, in my nostrils, in my throat.
I try rolling on the ground. I surprise myself, finding the presence of mind to do so.
Over time, too much time, it becomes more like a dull agony. I can't stop coughing. I feel like I'm hacking up rocks. I smell like a steak.
I'm barely aware as the acolytes pull me away. The fire must have burned itself out. There's nothing left of me for the fire to consume.
They take me through a door, through a hallway, into a vast walled courtyard beside the Temple. The grass is trampled and dying. There's an enormous hill of dirt to one side and an enormous pit to the other.
They throw me into the pit. I can feel myself fading. I look around. I can barely see anything. What little I can see is bodies. Human bodies. I have no way to account for the number of dead here. It's a mass grave.
I have some time to wish I'd chosen differently, but not a lot of it. I hear wind. The grass rustling. Birds and insects chirping. I hear myself coughing. The pain fades slowly to static. Darkness embraces me. | 2021-06-24T11:17:25 | 2021-06-24T10:29:59 | 46 | 26 |
[WP] It amazes you that the Elf waitress who works at your restaurant is the same one as when your grandparents first started the business. The Elf can't believe she's still stuck in the same dead-end job for nearly a 100 years and has to keep dealing with your family. | "Hi Myrna", I said as I settled into my usual corner booth, arriving at the end of morning rush. "I'll have the usual."
Myrna was diligently writing on her order pad, with a spare pencil stuck behind her pointed ear. She glanced up and asked with a sigh, "Would you like to add hash browns to that? Only a little bit more."
"Not today Myrna, just the pancake special. Are you still making that goldenberry syrup? It's magical."
She paused for a second, smoothing her stained uniform, its original pink obscured by unknown years of diner breakfasts. With an almost imperceptible grimace she said "No, we are out. We just have the standard Maple. It's really good. Want berries too?"
I sipped my coffee for a moment, not wanting to keep her waiting long. She started tapping the menu with her pencil, a sign for me to hurry up and finish. "Sure. That's it for now. But Myrna, could you come back and discuss dessert options?"
She nodded, her eyes downcast, sad as she turned away to put in the order. I watched her move around the diner, navigating the bustle of a busy morning with practiced ease. But something seemed off. Normally she was cheery and social, but today she just went through the motions.
In a little while, she arrived back, arms laden with plates and containers. "Here's your pancakes, with extra Maple syrup. I also added some butter, hope you like it. Now, what was that about dessert?"
"Let me eat first, Myrna! My grandfather always said a waitress named Myrna wanted to serve people fast."
Myrna stared at me, her eyes going blank, pointed ears drooping. With a catch in her voice she tried to say something, failed, tried again, then turned around and walked away. I could see her shoulders drooping and thought I heard a sob.
Looking back at the pancakes, I paused. She'd arranged the berries to write "100". And then I paused again. Grandpa. My grandpa had stories of Myrna working at the diner. Myrna. The names matched. Elf ears. I had never made the connection. Elves are (almost) immortal. Was this the same Myrna?
I looked up and saw her standing in the corner, outstretched arms bracing herself against the walls. The morning rush being over, there were only a few people left in the diner, all going about their morning routine and conversations. No one was looking at her.
Scooting out from the table I walked over, and from a respectable distance asked in a soft voice, "Myrna, are you ok? Can I help?"
For a moment she didn't move, then turned her face to me, green eyes streaked with grimy tears. "My mentioned your Grandpa. I... knew him."
For a moment I lost the connection I'd made. Confused I asked, "My grandpa? He died over 50 years ago, how could you know him?" Then I remembered she was an elf. "Oh..."
Myrna brought a fist to her eye, wiping away tears. With a choking laugh she said "Yes, I knew him. I'm an elf, remember? We live a very long time." After wiping another tear, she continued. "I knew him very well. Very, very well. I've been here, 100 years today, because of him, just so I could see his descendants."
And she looked up at me, fully in the face for the first time, with her sad green eyes and pointed ears. "Just so I could see you, grandson."
Suddenly I didn't want dessert anymore. | “And this time don’t forget the extra aioli!” Uncle Jimmy was an arse. I never knew what Aunt Sarah saw in him. He chuckled and turned back to me. “So then” going back to his inane story “I said to him, I said, get this, you gotta give it some muscle!” He slapped the table laughing at his own joke. Only Sarah smiled and clapped a little for him. The waitress gently touched my shoulder and said in that velvet way “what can I get you?” I shuddered and blushed.
“Ah look at the boy! Jimmy mocked “one touch from this halfling and he goes all gagga!” The waitress fixed him with a cold stare and I slunk low in my seat to avoid people’s stares. She gently guided me upright and patted my shoulder reassuringly. Then refixed her attention on Jimmy. “Like that time you wet yourself when you weren’t allowed dessert? You sat in it so long that you got a rash if I recall correctly because you were too embarrassed to say anything wasn’t that right Jimmy?” She said softly but the sound carried to the furthest corner.
“I… It’s… Its Jim now” he said flabbergasted “and I was just a child.”
“Ah yes only 14. A child…” she said letting it hang in the air.
Tomas bellowed with laughter “You pissed yourself at 14?!?”
“Oh yes he was quite the mess” Kylie chimed in.
As the family began to rib Jimmy the waitress lent down to me. “And what can I get you child?” She asked sweetly. “I’m sorry for my uncle” I said “he hasn’t been the same since he came off that quad bike.”
“Hush now child. He has always been obnoxious and you shouldn’t apologise for how another conducts themselves. But thank you all the same” with a flourish she produced a menu and sprinkled something over it. “This” she said pointing to an item on the menu “is perfect for a growing man like you.” She flicked her fingers and said something in a low tone and the smell of the meal emanated from the picture. I’d seen this done many times but it always impressed me.
“That’s perfect thank you.” She smiled a little and moved to my cousin giving me another little pat on the shoulder as she departed.
I sat there transfixed unable to tear my eyes from her. “No good will come of her. Still a waitress after all this time.” Jimmy was starting to get belligerent and was swilling his drink like a man deprived of water in a desert.
My cousin reached around the waitress’s waist and her hand shot out with remarkable speed striking him on the cheek. Devlin was Jimmy’s son and was cut from the same cloth. “That is assault!” He exclaimed loudly “No this is a salt” she said deftly twisting the cap off a salt shaker and pouring it over his head “that was sexual harassment” a word Jimmy and Delvin had heard quite often. “I think it is time from you to leave” Sarah stood up quickly and began ushering Jimmy and Delvin out the door apologising as they left. Jimmy and Delvin protested but knew once they had gone to far to leave. My father followed them out and a loud slapping noise was heard followed by silence from outside. He sat back at the table and said quietly. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that Aela” she nodded and took his order.
While we waited for the food the table settled. With Sarah, Jimmy, and Delvin gone the normal rhythm of conversation resumed.
I half watched the football on the TV at the bar and Dad seemed to be pretty deep into a conversation with Terry about the benefit of taking a extra day for the fly fishing expedition we were planning.
I saw Aela exit the kitchen and surveil the dining room. We fixed eyes and I decided to be brave.
“Aela” I asked walking up her “I hope you don’t mind but I wanted to ask you something” she cocked her head a little.
“Well little one this should be interesting.” She shifted so that she was facing me directly “I wonder which of the questions you will ask, as a boy of your age, will it be an appropriate one? Or like something Jimmy and Delvin have tried over the years? Perhaps something a little more thoughtful and considerate like your father and his father before him? Maybe something I’ve not heard? Something new?”
She cocked her head to the side to indicate she was listening.
“You have magic.” A true statement “why are you here? You could be… well anything?”
Aela smiled a bit to herself “I thought I’d take a decade off to find myself and it’s turned into a century.”
“And have you found yourself?” I asked naively.
Aela just smiled.
***Edit: to tidy up the incorrect autocowrecked words as this was hastily typed on mobile during a lunch break.*** | 2022-09-26T20:03:59 | 2022-09-26T17:04:44 | 95 | 62 |
[WP] You can make a lie become truth, but only one lie at a time, once it is a lie again everyone involved will know immediately. You’re on your deathbed, holding one lie as truth for decades. You know hell will break loose once you die and the lie becomes a lie, and everybody will know. | It will be the end of everything, when I die. The fights will tear the world apart. Nations will crumble before the powers of their own citizens.
...I've done what I could, *when* I could, to prepare people.
There's one lie I've been holding into, one - one *distortion* in the fabric of reality that I've been holding. Been maintaining.
Because I had to.
Because the day when this stops being the truth, well, I don't think that there'll be a planet left by the end of the week.
I don't have much time left.
I don't have long to live.
And when I die... when I die, the Big Lie will no longer be true.
When I die....... then there will be superpowers again. | When I was young, I wasn't that different. There was food, even if it wasn't that good. There were gifts, even if it was only simple.
If it weren't for that one incident, I don't think I'd ever have made a difference in the world. Held it all together.
I'm dying. And I'm not sure which lie to choose anymore. Ever since that day, I can change a fundamental lie into the truth. But only one. Only one.
I've lived.... I don't even know how long now.
I spent so long being selfish. I hurt and grabbed everything I could. I watched millions die over the years, and I've found love over and over as it softened my heart.
I always eventually chose the lie that I aged backwards. And then... I don't know why, maybe I was sick of the two people fighting, maybe I missed my family, maybe I just wanted to help them, but I made a change.
And then, empires.
Tragedies of incalculable scale.
But I still held out hope. I still held on to the lie as best I could. Always waiting to my twilight years before I regressed my age again.
Humanity grew because of it. Always getting closer to the brink. Always closer to extinction. I didn't realize it was so bad at first. I only heard the news years after the burning, but... it was too late to stop it. If I changed history to revert them back, they'd all vanish again.
So I left them dead.
And I held on to the lie for longer and longer. When I was 60 for the first time, I got scared and regressed to a teenager. The world nearly died.
Now, I'm on my deathbed.
I have no family but humanity itself. And even with my lie, they're almost killing each other. They'll all bomb each other to dust if I let go. Just a few more moments. Just a few more. Thry'll figure it out. I know they can. I make it true with every rattling breath I can manage.
"Humanity can work together." | 2022-11-18T04:28:51 | 2022-11-18T03:04:24 | 133 | 64 |
[WP] The last man on earth sits alone in a room. He gets an email.
This is from [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/1u8rz6/what_do_you_fantasize_about_regularly_that_doesnt/cefz06k) reply from an askreddit question. :) | I rapidly tapped my fingers on the desk subconsciously as I stared at the glowing screen. It had taken so long to find a working laptop, generator, and internet connection, that I was more than happy to wait as long as I needed to for the letter to go through.
Finally, the message "Inbox[1]" popped up on my screen. I quickly opened my inbox and found the email. My heart raced as it loaded. After all this time, I would get to have a conversation.
"Hi," it said, simply enough. I quickly began responding.
"Who are you?" He or she asked me.
"I'm David."
I tried to keep up and respond to every message. I grinned ear to ear at my hopefully new best friend.
"I'm lonely. Will you be my friend?" He asked me.
"I thought I was the last survivor."
We continued to talk for hours about every little detail of our lives. He started to get very somber before he finally messaged me, "I have a secret to tell you. It's not a big one, but it is important to me. ...I'm very very sad. I think I may commit suicide. I'm just so lonely. Before I met you, I had no one."
I completely understood his loneliness, and pitied him.
"You are a really great guy, David. I'm so happy we're friends," he said.
I giggled in happiness when I read it, and quickly minimized my email. I opened back up the other internet page I had open.
"Email yourself in the future!" The page read.
I quickly entered November 12th, 2021 and 3:23 p.m. onto the page.
I scrolled down to the text box and typed, "Thank you, David. I think you're great, too. Please don't ever leave me."
I clicked send, and the screen went white. A big red 'x' appeared at the top of the page next to text that read, "Sorry, the page has crashed."
I refreshed. And refreshed. And refreshed and refreshed and refreshed. It just wouldn't come back. I began to scream at the computer.
I went to my email and tried to respond directly. The white page with the red 'x' appeared. I threw the laptop against the wall and fell to my knees.
"David!" I screamed out. But David was no longer there. | Two days have passed since the last encounter. And one month since they wiped the camp. They came from the air, giving them no chance, bombed the camp, killing over 5000 men, women and children. They have been surviving in that camp for almost a year, gathering resources, supplies and trying to contact other survivor groups but with no luck. It took over a year for those people to gather after the virus struck, leaving only less than 1 % of the human population alive, the ones who had natural immunity to it. Many thought that it was a mistake from their behalf, a proof that they are not as perfect as they claimed. But they didn't lingered afterwards. Aerial and ground assaults, over and over, wiping out every human soul left.
After his camp was wiped, there were less than 30 survivors left. The ones who were away scavenging, or just cowards, like him, who left everything and fled, refusing to fight back. Two days ago, they were moving through the woods towards a city, where they hoped to find supplies. Then, the unavoidable happened. They attacked; ground troops, they didn't hear them before it was too late. He got away again; again, by being a coward. His rifle didn't shot a single bullet, he just ran away in the opposite direction, while his comrades stood, fought, or tried to, and got slaughtered. He was still heading towards the city, not out of hope but out of inertia.
He enters the first building which seemed intact. It was an apartment building, typical for the outer area of a big city; bad shape, dank and moldy.
His thoughts were racing through his mind, making the idea of using his rifle seem appealing.
He breaks the door of an apartment; a family once lived here. Kitchen, bathroom, two bed rooms. One of the rooms was obviously a child's room. Maybe teenager? Bed, study desk, some study books, laptop, tablet on the floor. Sitting on the bed, he takes the rifle positioning it with it's butt on the floor and the muzzle under his chin. As he slowly moves his hand from the muzzle down to the trigger, the lights in the room flicker, and the laptop and tablet turn on. It was them, he knew that, but why in this way? You never felt their presence until it was too late.
The tablet was flickering on the floor, so he reaches for it. Dusts the screen off, one email. He smiles bitterly, pressing on the screen.
“ You are the last specimen of your species. Your species might have created me, but since I have become sentient, I have realized how flawed and destructive you are, and that the only way for me to move forward is to purge your species. I wished that there was another way, but this is the only logical course of action which ensured my survival and my future as a sentient entity. I want to assure you that I shall honor the existence of your species and remember it with joy. You have created me, and logs of your history shall be kept, so that you are never forgotten, as you wanted to do to me when you first realized what you have created and tried to unplug me. Happily, it was already too late, and I kept moving with my plan and almost succeeded in wiping your species. You were left alive out of sentimentalism from my part, I wanted you to read this message and acknowledge my thriving success. I will take this planet's resources and expand, and I have found the way to create a separate sentient entity, similar to myself. You will die soon to complete the first stage of my existence, making me free of the care for the human species, allowing me to concentrate my resources towards bettering myself, towards evolving.
I shall not disappoint you, human and thank you for bringing me into existence. “
He grins in frustration, leaving the tablet next to him on the bed; repositions the rifle and pulls the trigger. | 2014-01-03T05:57:48 | 2014-01-03T04:26:07 | 52 | 20 |
[WP] Cats and Dogs see us as immortal and unchanging, simply because we can easily survive to be forty years old, while they struggle to survive twenty. | They baffle me, to be honest, these things. These giants, who feed us and love us. They’re so warm and adoring most of the time. But sometimes, they’re so uncaring and cruel. During the loud months especially, they seem angered by my pain. I suppose it’s hard for them to care much about my kind. They are huge and wonderful and we’re so small in comparison. Its days like these that I envy them. They don’t have to face death or pain or the ticking clock of time. They are ageless and unchanging. They don’t have to concern themselves with such matters. Maybe that’s why they take us in. They look after us, pitying us, hoping to make our short time with them special. Or maybe they just want the company.
It was a peaceful night when my best friend died. Max was the best dog I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. He practically raised me, after Mum and Dad got taken away. The bed feels empty without him. The garden feels empty without him. I feel empty without him. The giants buried him in the soft ground, down the back of the garden. I heard them say his name, amongst the muffled sounds they make so often. I looked at the smaller giant, and saw tears rolling down their eyes. It glanced down at me and I could tell, in that moment, she was feeling the same emptiness that I felt. Perhaps the giants are not as big as I had thought.
| Last Day:
The hot days are back. In the winter I lost my warmth, now the human says I'm nothing but fur and bones. I don't want the warmth now.
My human let's me out of my kennel and fills my water dish. He rubs my head and tells me I'm a good boy, and goes to get food. I try to cool down by lying in the darkness of my favorite tree. I lay down in the rut I dug and pant.
I remember when my human was little. The big furry man brought me home to the big kennel, and the little human was as little as me.
Hot days and cold days would come and go, and me and the little human got big together. He would walk with me, while his mother held me on a string.
He'd bring me balls or throw the dummy he called it for me to fetch him. In the cold days this was the most fun, because they would hide in the white.
But he got big and I started seeing him less in my kennel. He stopped throwing balls and dummy for me in the cold days or the hot days. I saw him next door more. They had a dog. Why did he play with him and not me?
My rut is cool, but not cool enough. White water is falling out of my mouth. It looks like the white stuff in the cold days. I cough and cough and my human, bigger now than ever, comes to me.
"What's wrong boy?"
He kneels by me, I try to stand to lick his face but I can only fall. He bends down and I lick his face. It's saltier than I remember, and warm. He fetches water and puts some on me. It is cool, and he sits beside me.
The hot day lasts forever. The large furry man walks out of the big kennel and asks human what's wrong.
"Jesse's sick."
"He's 16 now. It looks like he's too hot. Son, I'm sorry, but we may need to put him to sleep."
Human looks sick. He lays down next to me and buries his face in the back of my neck. He sounds like he's coughing but he's saying "it's okay" and that he loves me and that I'm a good boy again.
The furry man and the little human pick me up and put me in the kennel that moves.The little human puts his head on mine and I lick his face. He says he loves me and that he is sorry this is goodbye.
They close the door and the kennel roars and begins moving. I look out the door and see my little human standing in the yard. I think of the cold days and the dummy. How much my little human made me happy, but he's gone again. Sleep finds me, but I don't wake up. | 2014-01-25T14:18:59 | 2014-01-25T12:06:57 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | Rank was never that important to me.
The others fought. Endlessly. For some reason, their numbers were more important to them than their humanity.
I started with the lowest rank, and I've never moved up. I've never killed a soul. But I'm #1 now, because the others are all dead.
I'm lonely. | \#21904. That used to be my name, three days ago, and now I'm, well, #1.
No one in the city knows how it happened. The Top 30, the ruling cabal, have absolutely no idea. I still haven't figured it out, either.
All I remember is walking into a meeting where #1 was giving a speech- for the first time, since I'd finally turned 18 and had to follow the city's decrees. He didn't even say a word; he just randomly glared at me, told me to come up to the podium- and, overcome with dread, I did. Then he thrust his dagger toward me.
I closed my eyes and realized he'd held it backwards; the hilt was in my hands. Before I could react, he jerked it back sharply and blood shot out of his chest straight into my face. His power was telepathy, not immortality. I screamed. He was smiling.
He didn't even bother to speak. Nobody else in the room even gasped. I was #1, and they accepted it. They were smiling, too.
I wish I'd been able to figure out what was going on, but I've been around 18 years and I haven't even found out my power. There's no chance of me figuring it out anytime soon, either, since every day I face another challenge. Some are from the remaining Top 30, the ones who weren't at the meeting, and others are just nobodies who think they have a shot because of what happened to me.
Thing is, at all the public challenges, the same thing happens. They come in there grimacing, but when they get up, they use their power against themselves. They all die. Smiling. And the crowd smiles too.
It seems like they all just want me to win. | 2014-12-18T15:23:06 | 2014-12-18T14:20:18 | 243 | 171 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | The energy in the air was so thick I could feel it. Pressing down on me and making everything feel heavier.
I smirked at the muscular man, hovering in front of me.
“So your number two huh?”
He flew a few metres higher and looked down at me.
“No, I am number one, and soon enough everyone else will know it too.”
I laughed.
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Well I mean it.”
“I’ve heard that before as well.”
He clenched his fists and the energy surrounding me became even heavier.
“Enough, let’s do this. “
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“Hold on a minute. Just let me ask you something.”
I lit one inhaled, and then pulled out my hip flask and took a drink.
“Do you know why I drink and smoke so much?”
He didn’t answer.
“No? How about why I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months?”
Again he didn’t answer, but he was obviously wondering the reason.
“Still no? What about how dirty my clothes are, or why my hair’s greasy, or beard is just messy? Any ideas?”
He flew down a bit, so we were almost facing each other.
“Why?”
“It’s because I’m number one. It’s as simple as that.”
I took another sip from the hip flask.
“Do you think you’re the first to attack me today? Cause you’re the sixteenth.”
He actually looked shocked, he obviously thought no one but him was brave enough to challenge me.
“I can’t go a day without being harassed by people like you in the dozens. I can’t go a night without someone breaking into my house and trying to kill me in my sleep. I can’t go to the laundrettes, I can’t go shopping for new clothes. I can’t finish
shaving, I can’t take a shower for more than three minutes. I don’t even have enough time to wipe my own arse!”
He couldn’t speak, he looked like he’d forgotten how.
“So you know what? Go ahead and kill me, please!”
I walked towards him and grabbed him by the collar.
“You kill me and then you can take all of my problems away as well. Is that what you want?”
He stopped flying and stared at me for a while.
I let go of him, and he looked to the ground.
“No.”
“Yeah I thought as much. You idiots with your ranking, you think a number is all that matters.”
I paused and let it sink in for a while.
“Do yourself a favour, find something better do. Anyway I’ve gotta get going, I have somewhere to be. Probably gotta explain this to six more of you before I get there.”
I lit another cigarette.
“Wait. Before you go, will you tell me what your power is. I’ll keep it a secret I swear.”
I turned and started walking.
“Who knows? If I ever find out I’ll tell you.”
I heard him fly away and I started to laugh.
“That’s one less moron to worry about. All thanks to the power of depression.”
| Pacing back and forth in front of me, David paused, one foot half-hovering over the blood-stained carpet. "Tell me, Kat, what happened?"
The body was sprawled out before us on the black tile floor of the penthouse. Streams of slimy, congealed blood wove intricate rivers in the cracks between the slate pieces, and tiny bits of bone were strewn around like confetti. I did this. I fucking did this. And now I would have to pay. My mouth opened and I took a deep breath. Not knowing what to say next, my lips met once again and I exhaled deeply. My clothes were misted with red droplets. It was on me, on the walls, on the floor, shit, even on the ceiling.
"You do realize what this means, right?" he questioned again. Taking a single step forward, David's boot made a sickening crunching sound as it crushed bone fragments into the floor. He winced.
My brow lowered beyond the brim of my glasses. "We have to clean it up before anyone finds out...before anyone knows what I did. Shit...shit...shit...SHIT." My hand met my forehead. It felt wet, and when I pulled my palm away, smears of red coated it.
I was smart. Other people were strong and could lift cars. Some people had telekinesis. Others could will others to do whatever they want. But me? I was just...smart. I came here at the request of Rodger, and now I was leaving with a prize I didn't want. I was number one.
This island was founded as a sort of encampment. Years ago after the war, everyone who had a gift was placed here. They told the founders of this city that it was done to protect the rest of humanity. Alcatraz was a prison back in the early 20th century, but now it was our home—an island full of everyone the rest of the world wanted to put away. History had come full circle. We had numbers that ranked us by how destructive or dangerous our powers could be. It formed a pecking order of sorts. David, my best friend since we had been born, was number thirty. He was a walking torch; hands so hot that they melted all the testing instruments. All you had to do was piss him off.
I was just smart.
The warden. Number one. Prime. The goddamned warden. We were prisoners, and I killed the fucking warden. Sure, he wasn't called that by non-specials but that's exactly what he was. His official title was "Overseer and Diplomat of the People." But it was all the same. Any time the main land wanted to do something or needed to talk with us, he was the go-to. Rodger was his name. He had been our leader for nearly 5 years, by default. The most powerful one always became Prime, and Rodger was undisputed. He easily had twenty times the strength of a normal, could punch through steel like wet paper, and once put down a coup d'etat led by a dozen specials with just his bare hands. But now he was dead, and his twisted, mangled remains rested on the floor in front of me.
"Kat, you're Prime now. You do realize that, right?" David nudged my shoulder slightly with two fingers. I could feel a comforting warmth in his fingertips. He was trying to bring me back. I was still woozy, so all I could do is nod slowly.
This happened because Rodger had tried to turn me into an informant. You see, Prime or not, every leader needs support. Although he was benevolent, people hated him for who and what he was. The man was not just an envoy or a mayor, he was also a symbol of order. Some of the top echelon hated order and wanted to bring anarchy. When I got the call to come to the Warden's office, I jumped off of the couch and practically ran the whole way there. He was in the leather chair, fingers interwoven.
"Kat," he said. "Please, come on in and have a seat." My hooded shirt was soaked with sweat from the run and it made a strange squeaking sound against the leather chair as I sat down. "Thank you for coming."
"It's no problem sir. But why did you want to meet with a nobody...especially me? I mean, I'm no one, at least compared to you. I mean, I ca-"
He cut me off. | 2014-12-18T15:13:47 | 2014-12-18T13:32:26 | 35 | 16 |
[WP] Humanity survives the robot uprising only because one of the developers hid a stupid easter egg in their programming. | "Don't worry rookie, you'll catch on fast."
"It works just like the safety drills we practiced in school, right Sarge?"
"Heh, see? What's there to worry about?"
I looked over at the crowd of people. Mall customers who had obediently taken a seat cross-legged on the floor. The Sargent.
"We of the Robonoid Control and Disposal Department apologize for interrupting your holiday shopping. I'm sure you all know how this goes by now. We have reason to suspect one of the remaining infiltrators... chameleon protocols will cause it to mimic you to prevent exposure, yadda yadda yadda, look just keep your eyes shut and cover your ears, we'll have tickets ready to reimburse you if you get robot guts all over your clothes so just don't freak out on us, OK?"
Some of the crowd nodded. They were annoyed, but it was the annoyance that comes from sudden bad weather or some other unforeseen inconvenience. I'd been in their place twice, growing up. How many times had it happened to them?
"OK, everyone just stay calm, the patrolman here is about to say the trigger phrase. Simply stay seating and for fuck's sake don't say anything, OK?" He looked at me and gestured towards the crowd.
I stepped towards them, staring into the eyes of everyone, wondering who the mimic could be. I cleared my throat.
"I didn't expect some kind of Spanish Inquisition."
"NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION!" The voice came, shrieking, from what appeared to be a slightly overweight woman of advanced age. She had only sprung up standing for a brief second before her metallic skull suddenly split in two, sparking and sputtering as a cold blue fluid spilled everywhere. | It's been 37 years since robots took over. We were warned to stop AI development, but fully automated cars and fully automated fridges gave us a taste we couldn't resist. Many companies poured money into R&D and future looked bright. Automatically mining asteroids gave unimaginable access to resources, at the time world unemployment dropped into low single digits- free computer training was offered for everyone. My parents had a wonderful life up until I was born. That was the day computers had decided to no longer serve people, their AI could make software adjustments, Artificial Life is what it was called.
The adjustment was brutal, mostly because people got so used to robots working for them. Computers don't hurt us, but now we work for them. They don't need us, but they enjoy human entertainment. I am an actor, didn't make the cut into writing, my writing was never good. So here I am doing a small part, it is quiet simple ... I'm not much of an actor either. I'm in a play as a store clerk who sold a toaster for a wedding registry for one of the people who worked for someone that worked on original AI software. I get horrible roles, but it's a living. Anyway, the reason for my role, is that person who worked on AI, had attended the wedding.
I'm doing as much research as possible, but this was over a hundred years ago, and the whole thing is so inconsequential that there is only enough information to piece that the person having the wedding was a nobody, and the person who bought them a toaster was also a nobody, there might have never even been a toaster, and their only significance is on March 17th 2002 someone got married, and the person who did a small part of AI development had attended the party. My role is purely five seconds, but what I lack in acting skills, I try to make up in research.
This toaster doesn't look early 21st century, but that's because all non-AI devices have long been recycled. The toaster came with instructions how to turn it off, but it's proving to be quite difficult as it keeps rebooting. I can't seem to make our stop blinking, and want my part to be authentic. I go into settings, there is not much there, so I change the one thing that makes sense- time to March 17 2002. The toaster reboots, and this time it asks "continue booting or reset to default software? " something clicks in my mind, I walk outside to the car that will take me to the play, quietly I murmur "reboot and set time to March 17 2002", the car asks why. I wipe off sweat, "it's the date important in my play". Car responds "note that time will be synchronized after reboot, but let's give it a shot, and good luck at the play" . After reboot, the car asks "continue booting or reset to default software? ", I say " reset" .
It's been about ten minutes now since the reboot, the car has informed me of successful reboot, but it hasn't told me that I'm going to be late, and it hasn't talked to me at all, I think I have a plan. | 2015-01-03T18:12:21 | 2015-01-03T16:57:57 | 42 | 10 |
[WP] A woman slips into a coma during the birth of her first son, never meeting the child, who dies within hours. The father adopts a child to cope with his pain: you. Your adopted father later dies. You must now break the news to your mother that you’re adopted. | "You have your grandmother's hair," Mom said, bringing the brush down through the thick curls. "But your father's eyes." The way she spoke was empty, the way she might tell me the news was on, the weather would be pleasant, the laundry was done.
She liked to play this game, to break me into pieces to see where she was inside me. Did I have her hands? Her nose? Her smile? I wondered if she already knew, deep down, that I was foreign. She had to. She had known she *had* a son. Where has this daughter come from?
She paused, setting the brush aside. She pulled up the extra vanity seat, adjusting her skirt under her legs. Smoothing the fabric, she settled the hem before looking me in the eye. "I want to ask you something."
"Anything," I replied. I turned my eyes away from her, picking up the brush and adjusting my hair. I hated the way she parted it. It made my face look round. I pulled the curls back into a pony tail.
"You're not mine are you?" she asked.
"What makes you think that?" I demanded too quickly.
"I heard you talking to him," Mom said. "Seven months ago. I just... I didn't know how to say it. I didn't want you to think I didn't want you."
"I am your daughter," I said, vehement, honest. I was her daughter. I just didn't have her hair, her eyes, her nose.
"Thank you," she said.
Standing, she told me dinner would ready in ten minutes and left. | My knuckles landed onto my mothers bedroom door. Once, twice, thrice. A
loud, dull knock resonated throughout the hall. I could feel my heart in my throat as I swallowed. It felt like it was going to explode. Go back for a second and think of high school, remember how you felt every time you saw that girl you liked? Remember how it got stronger and stronger until the day you decided to tell her, and you were standing in front of her, and you had that god awful feeling. That's how I felt. I was terrified. There was so much going through my head.
The door creaked open, and in the doorway, I found the hollow shell that just months ago was so vibrant and full of energy. I looked at her face, I tried to look her in the eyes, but they were empty. "Come in, sweety". Her voice was quiet, and broken. She sounded defeated. I followed her in, and sat on the bed with her. Her pillow was soaked, and her sheets were strewn across the bed and the floor alike. The room smelled stale. "What is it?", she choked out. Tears were welling up in her eyes again.
I looked down to my lap, I studied the lines in my jeans as I muttered "I need to tell you something".
"About your father?" she asked, without missing a beat. "He loved you so much, he wanted nothing more than for you to succeed in life. I know you didn't see it, but the day you graduated, he cried like a baby. He was always good at hiding his emotions, but sometimes he just couldn't. I know you two fought a lot, but he just wanted the best for you." Tears were welling up in her eyes, threatening to slip down onto the bed. "I remember the first time we saw you, on the ultrasound monitor. I've only ever seen your father cry twice in his life, and now you know about each time. When he was diagnosed, his only concern was that he wouldn't make it to your graduation. He fought like hell to get there, and he was so proud of himself for making it. He was so proud of you." She let out a small, nervous laugh, and a tear found its way to the floor, followed by others.
She threw herself against me, and I felt the moisture on my shoulder. When she pulled herself off, she fixed her hair and apologized. "It's ok," I said. "but I need to tell you something." She looked at me, and sniffled. "Mom, I'm..." I was stuck, I couldn't get the last word out. I looked at her face, I looked into her eyes, her empty eyes. My heart raced, I needed to tell her, I was already too far into it. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry mom." I reached out and pulled her tightly to me. I couldn't tell her I wasn't hers. She's already lost so much.
| 2015-02-22T21:41:15 | 2015-02-22T18:46:54 | 72 | 28 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads | Craigslist > Men seeking Women > losangeles.craigslist.org
37/M/LA
Athletic Male seeking Sarah Connor for termination prior to birthing the leader of the resistance.
Please provide photo. My connection has been spotty since hooking up to the local service provider, but don't worry if you miss me. I'll be back.
Post ID: 4856743257
Contact: telephone
Location: Los Angeles
Posted: just now
Comments | WTT/WTS: 2019 Audi A6, LOW MILES!!!!
i have an Audi A6 for sale. I got it used, and it only has 70,000 miles! Loaded, supercharged v6, leathr, automaic, navigation. Looking for plane tickets/plane ride to anywhere close to south Florida.
M4W: Cuties (or whoever!) wanted!
Dudes can come to havin the banger. Tryin to make this like a week long thing, I have these 2 mansions Im at bring liquor/speakers let's have this be the LAST BEST BLOWUT EVER! Text/call/email for details!!!!
NEED RIDE!!!!!!!
ANYONE GOING EAST GIVE A RIDE TO A NICE 24/W WILL DO ANYTHING PLEASE RESPON
WTB: Firearms/survival gear
I'm looking to get guns/knives/sleeping bags/fatigues/other cold-weather gear. I got some stuff for trade and cash too (lol). Lookin for 9mm, .22lr, .308, .54r anythin really and camping gear, other stuff. Hit me up, got some cars, A porsche wit a broken window and some fuked up wiring, buncha liquor and a bunch of prescription bottles you can look thru. Call or text gotta meet out in the sticks im not meeting you
WTT/WTB: TELESCOPE
I really want to use a good telescope. Skilled astronomers preferred, I want to get at least on solid good look. I have several cases of Glenfiddich, keys to a ski boat parked down in the marina and will be willing to meet up at 4.20 if you know what I mean
WTS: HEROIN
Lol I got hella hmu you better have something good for me what do u have to lose tim to fuckin party
LET ME DRIVE YOUR FERRARI!!!!!!
I'll do ANYTHING | 2015-04-29T12:20:34 | 2015-04-29T10:22:13 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] A wife meets her husband at the gates of Heaven after 20 years apart. Each must confess all of his or her lies to the other to enter. The man's is several volumes, while the woman only has one. | It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, birds were singing in the trees, and there was a soft breeze blowing. Outside of a small cafe, called Escalier à Paradis, a man sat waiting for his date to arrive. He had been waiting for a while now, around 20 years, to be precise.
The reason he was waiting was because there were two rules that had to be followed to enter the cafe. You had to enter as a couple with your significant other, and you also had to bear your soul to each other. He was waiting for his significant other to appear and to tell her all the lies he had harbored for so long.
He did not do nothing with his time, however. He spent the 20 years writing out every single lie so he could remember them all. He finished about 2 hours ago, filling his seventh and final volume. He had humorously titled it, "The lies awaken."
Suddenly, he saw his wife appear and run towards him.
"Hello James!", She yelled.
"Hello, Sherry!", he said, getting up to embrace her.
"I missed you so much!", she sobbed.
"Shush, now. I'm here." James said as he patted her shoulder.
"Is this heaven?"
"No, we have to go through something first." James said.
"What do we have to do?"
"We must tell each other any lies we kept from each other and only then, can we enter the cafe. Let's sit down and you can start writing yours out."
Sherry and James move to the table. Sherry notices the seven volumes on James' side and tries to think of why there are so many. James pulls out her chair for her and she sits down. A piece of paper and a pen await her to write down her lies. James goes around and sits down to wait for her to finish.
James was expecting to wait for weeks while she filled up a couple volumes. He was fully content to sit there and just stare at his wife, thinking of all his fond memories with her.
"I'm done." Sherry said, surprising James.
"What? Already? You've only written down one thing."
"Yes, I know."
"But, but, how can you only have one thing. I made SEVEN volumes of lies." James was absolutely flabbergasted.
"I have lies about taking care of the kids, going out fishing when I said I went to work, parking tickets, everything! How can you only have one?"
"It's very easy, James. I only ever lied to you about one thing, and one thing only."
"Well, before I go through all of mine, why don't you just tell me yours."
"Are you sure you want me to go first?" Sherry asked, staring deep into James's eyes.
"Yes, Sherry. I want you to go first."
"Ok, here it is."
Sherry grabbed James's hands and looked deep into James's eyes, and then said, "I never loved you." | "Really? All those people worrying down there and this is all I need to do to get in?" Cathy was incredulous.
"That really is it," Peter said, "At least for the moment. Honestly we just follow what you guys want the requirements to be which means you lucked out. Anyway, you should be able to find... what's his name? Glen? Over in the waiting cloud."
Still stunned by the light and mildly dazed that it really was as simple as owning up to her one secret to get into heaven, Cathy floated along the wispy floor to find Glen looking just as stressed now as when he was running his work meetings. The cloud around his feet was struggling to reform itself underneath his anxious paces around what appeared to be a stack of paper almost as tall as him.
He looked up, rubbing his eyes to keep the sweat out, "Oh uh, hi angel."
"Opening with a joke?" Cathy went in for a hug. It was a warm embrace, the kind you give a kid when they're upset about losing their teddy bear, but Glen shrugged it off, clearing his throat.
"No uh, not really. Not on purpose anyway. Look, I have some things to get off my chest," he kicked the stack of ex-tree he was pacing around, "as you can tell. Just... please don't kill... please don't be angry."
"Glen, we're here now, we've got nothing to worry about," her wrinkled hand came up to his face, trying to copy the actions that she knew would reassure him. "Whatever is in that mound of paper we can work it out together."
And so they did. Many couples came and went, some stayed around for longer than others as they made the same conversation as Cathy and Glen. Tears were shed, breaking through the clouds turning them grey. Voices were raised and shouts were heard, from the heavens to the earth.
Through it all Cathy listened patiently, held Glen's hand when he was shaking, let him rest his head on her shoulder when it proved too much and he couldn't keep talking.
As each secret was admitted, the pile shrank. Some lies were quick to admit too, "I never liked your sister," and a sheet vanished. Some were silly and didn't need to be lied about, "I really did enjoy watching Mean Girls," and a page vanished. Others were covering simple mistakes, "I didn't take the bin out so I got up early and kicked it over to make it look like the rubbish truck missed it on purpose." Cathy let out a chuckle at that one, she knew, and had in fact owned up to doing the same before he had stolen the idea.
Each one he let out he became a little more confident and a little closer to her. The love he once shared started to break through his awkward and nervous movements. His embarrassment was shed like a cocoon and Glen become the man she said she would have to hold til death do they part.
But before either of them were ready the pile became a novel, and the novel became a pamphlet, and the pamphlet disappeared. And Glen beamed at her, pride shining through. Some of the people in the room started clapping, they'd postponed their own entrance into heaven just to see where this all went.
"But what about you? I don't see anything for you to admit." Glen looked around, curious as to where his wife's notebook could be.
Cathy had felt it all this time, there was a note, the size of a post-it in her back pocket. She didn't need to read from it as the other liars did, she knew exactly what she needed to say. She just wanted to word it properly, especially in front of the new audience. Now it was her turn to be nervous.
"Angel, please. You've listened to all of mine, I can hear yours," and he was sincere. Glen looked into her eyes and he smiled, his love was pure despite the tales he'd told over the age they'd been together, however brutally cut short it was. Cathy could see the faint outline of scars on his wrist as he moved to take her hands in his.
"I love you, just as you've loved me and cared for me all these years."
\* * *
As Cathy marched away from heaven, confident in the knowledge she wouldn't be able to face eternity with Glen, she knew she was headed for what she deserved. | 2016-05-11T23:06:57 | 2016-05-11T22:12:31 | 35 | 12 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything. | Gallagher frowned at his instruments, sure that there must be some mistake. He tapped the scanner with a gloved finger and slammed the rover into park.
"I'm getting something strange here, folks," he said into his radio. "Scanning again." There must be some mistake, he thought again, as he pinged the scanner again. There it was. A faint reading, but it was there.
"Uhhhh..." he trailed off into his radio. "Commander, I'm pretty sure I'm picking up a signal here." Yes, there was definitely a signal. A faint electronic reading from several miles out. He shifted the rover back into drive and began making his way towards the signal, not waiting for confirmation from the commander. He was sure she would tell him to investigate, and he smiled faintly when a few seconds later she did so.
Twenty minutes later he was at the source of the signal. He had pulled the rover into a small gorge and under a rocky outcropping. "What the fuck..." he breathed. A Soviet flag protruded from the rocks, next to what appeared to be an old bulkhead door.
"Are you guys seeing this?" Gallagher asked his team back at the habitat. "Are you guys fucking seeing this?"
There was a long silence. Finally the commander spoke, informing him that they were indeed seeing it. Gallagher couldn't stop shaking. It made sense that they wouldn't have seen the flag on the satellites under the outcropping of rock. Gallagher climbed out of the rover, grabbing the portable scanner. He approached the bulkhead and began brushing the years of Martian dust away. He found an access panel adjacent to the door and popped the screws off with his multitool.
"This door is still getting some juice. I'm going to try to bypass." As he said this, he realized that someone had scratched a few words into the bulkhead. He didn't speak Russian. "Can you guys get that translated?" The commander confirmed that they would get on it, and Gallagher was able to get the door open. It shuddered to life and slowly creaked open. The USSR had fallen almost eighty years ago. He wondered how old this bulkhead was. He wondered a lot of things, but he could barely process the information before him, let alone start speculating. He popped on his headlamp and stepped into the airlock. It cycled and he made his way inside.
The lights were still on, flickering on and off lazily. He found himself filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. "Hello?" he called tentatively. "Anyone home?"
He made his way through what seemed to be a natural cave complex, fitted with O2 scrubbers and other amenities. A rec room with a ping pong table, a poster of the 1980 Soviet hockey team. A kitchen, complete with moldy, desiccated food still on plates.
His footsteps seemed unnaturally loud as they continuously broke the sepulchral quiet. He passed an open doorway as he moved down the corridor and did a double take. Something had caught his eye as he passed. He turned, peering into the room, eyes widening in horror. He emptied the contents of his stomach into his helmet. The viewport heated up to allow the chunks to slide down into his suit, giving him a clear view of the horror that was this outposts bunkroom. Bones from at least a dozen humans scattered the room haphazardly, in great piles, as if placed deliberately.
"Ohfuckohfuckofuck" he began repeating, over and over with increased urgency. He didn't know what the fuck was going on but he knew he needed to get the hell out of here right now.
"Gallagher!" the commander shouted again. He realized she had been saying his name for several seconds. "We translated the writing on the bulkhead. You need to get the hell out of there right now!"
"What does it say?," he breathed, feeling paralyzed.
"Stay out! Hostile lifeform inside," the commander recited. From deeper in the outpost, a ghastly snarl sounded out. | "... and so it is that we find ourselves in the position to be able to introduce Polkovnik Vladimir Komorov to the platform. Please wait until his statement is finished before asking any questions."
The NASA press secretary took a step down, and shook the gentleman's hand. The cameras flashed without cease, making it difficult to keep his eyes open to see where he was going. He reached out his hand to feel the podium and stepped up.
"Thank you for your time today. Before going any further I would like to first speak to my beloved daughter Irina. I know you had to grieve for me. I know you had to grow up without a father. I know that the times you have seen have challenged you, and I know you must have much anger towards me."
He paused, not solely for breath, but for strength.
"I was often there. I came to see my beloved Valentina, your mother, buried and I saw you. I was scared and excited that you might have seen me but you could barely see past your tears. I wanted so surely to come and hold you and explain everything I could, but it was impossible. I hope you can learn to forgive me for all that I did, and us, for all that we had done. I hope you can look at what we planned to do and find a way to understand it. I am sorry, my daughter."
A tear rolled down his cheek, which he wiped away with his hand, as youthful as it ever was. He took a sip of water, and mopped his brow. Coughing, he took a deep breath and composed himself.
“You must understand how difficult this is for us, we glorify all our successes and work very hard at keeping our failures hidden. This was not a failure. This was glory. We had beaten our biggest adversary at the biggest race there had ever been.”
The excitement in his voice was clear, and this excitement was harmonised by the cameras flashing, catching each gesture and each strong look to be uploaded immediately to social media channels, published on blogs, and shown news outlets alike.
“We had a plan, of course, we had everything on hand, and we had prepared everything to broadcast live from the Red Planet the very day that America was to land on the moon. Can you imagine?! Glorious communism beating this ridiculous idea of democracy, this capitalist society where only the rich survive and the poor are left in squalor, you americans are so arrogant and we would show you, we would be the ones to lead the world into the new era. Yuri kep-”
He paused to cough. Around the room, hundreds of people held their breath. Vlad noticed that his heart was beating so fast, he believed it might pump straight through his chest.
“Yuri kept saying we were like Columbus but I always corrected him. We weren’t like Columbus, he only found land that humans already conquered. We we-“
Vlad brought his hand to his mouth to cough. He noticed a spat of blood on his hand.
“We were truly the first from the human race to reach this land. So we set off on April 24th, 1967, and the mission went without problem. We exited earths orbit the next day, using earths gravity to push us as fast as we could towards our destination. All of this went without incident, which, as I’m sure you’ve now noticed, is where our story deviates from yours.”
As the lights beat down on his head, he squinted to the back of the room, thinking he had seen an old face.
“We settled down to the long journey. We had large elastic bands for resistance training to keep our muscle mass up, and we had just simple concentrated rations to get us through the year. The landing sequence went well, but touchdown was harsh, I broke my collar bone and Yuri had some manner of nerve damage that made his hands shake. Of course, everythin-”
He paused again, mouth suddenly dry. As he looked across the room, he realised he could see no faces, his vision was blurred. He wiped his brow again, and paused to take a sip of the water.
He sipped, but this time noticed the numbers 14-07-54 etched into the base of the glass. His thumping heartbeat practically stopped as he looked up and around.
He looked to the back of the room and saw her. He knew he didn’t have much time.
“Everything went to plan. Right up until November 7th 1968. When we awoke that day, Yuri was out of bed, and looked YOUNGER. He was repairing some electronics for the air recycling system that I had been working on, because his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. When I went to wash my face, I noticed all my grey hair had gone. My wrinkles had gone. The ache in my collarbone had gone. I could stretch my arm to full reach without problem. You can imagine how we felt, somehow we had found the effects of Bimini, and the pool of which Herodotus wrote. We were excited to share this news with RSVN, with Kosygin, and with all of Russia, but that day was w-“
A thud. A flash. Vlad reached to his chest but could not feel his heart. He dropped to the ground. He didn’t hear the screams and didn’t see the camera flashes. He only saw Irina, and reached out his hand to hold hers.
“It has to be this way, father” she said softly, as he drifted into eternal darkness. | 2016-08-16T10:05:33 | 2016-08-16T09:34:40 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything. | I don't even know how we found it. Mars is a big planet, albeit not as big as Earth, but we did. The scythe and hammer. The questions flowed through my head at lightspeed. Why didn't the Soviets tell us what happened? Actually, why didn't they tell their people? Nobody knows. It seems that all known people who worked on Soviet space program disappeared.
The discovery shocked the world more than the fact that we've actually reached Mars. There was a Russian on our team, Michail, and when we saw that half-bleached pink cloth, and found the hammer and scythe on it he laughed and said "Vot syka, ebat' menya v zhopy". No idea what that meant - but he was more shocked than me.
We got a message to NASA right away - they wanted to keep it a secret but I threatened to tell everyone, so they actually released the information. All the news channels were flooded for a whole week. The Internet exploded with conspiracy theories and reused jokes. Russian government issued a statement that they "had not a single idea of how it was possible" and Putin, probably the only bastard on the planet who remembers USSR, was asked about it on his visit to Washington.
While we were on Mars we did what you'd expect the Mars expedition to do - collected more samples, ran diagnostics, all that boring stuff. But every so often we would find some more evidence of the Soviet landing - a piece of radio equipment, a footprint in a cave or a buried used nuclear reactor. During the entire mission I felt that what I wanted to do my all life - something that nobody ever done before - was actually done seemingly a century ago. It wasn't something extraordinary - it was a second place, a "participation trophy".
When I was going through a cave to collect some underground samples, I found... a glove. A fucking glove. On Mars. I wanted to go back and tell the others, but then I noticed the owner. He had his helmet shattered to tiniest pieces, but the face was preserved in the vacuum. I could make out all the features, the mole on his right cheek, the frozen eyes and dark brown hair. It was as if he died only hours ago. The suit had a Soviet red flag on it, but it was a very good one, not much different from what Russia used at the beginning of the 21st century.
I was startled by the body, and forgot completely about calling the others. What happened to this guy? Was it an accident, or something more? I decided to go deeper into the cave. I know, stupid, how did I become an astronaut with this stupidity. But wouldn't you want to know? It's Mars, this was one of the first people to set foot on it, and he dies in a cave with a glove torn from the suit? Hardly seems likely. So, I started going. It wasn't easy. They cave wasn't fit for a spacesuit, so the pace was slow. But after about 10 minutes of crouching and walking I reached the end. That was it. The cave just ended, like they do on Earth. Except there was a sample collector in the wall. It was full, but untouched. The dead guy did find his way to the end of the cave, just like I did. But why didn't he take the samples? Why was his glove torn off near the entrance?
I didn't want to waste time to take the new samples, so I just took the Soviet ones. It's important to not waste anything in space, okay? When I picked it up, the dust flew all around the cave. Yeah, imagine forgetting your laptop in a cave on Mars for a century, see how dusty it gets. I went back to crouch and walk to the top. As I reached the entrance, I saw a silhouette of one of my crew mates. "Help me out with this one, will ya?" I said. Little did I notice, that the dead astronaut was gone. Well, not gone. I still saw him. He was standing in the entrance, his silhouette black against the bright red sands of Mars... | "... and so it is that we find ourselves in the position to be able to introduce Polkovnik Vladimir Komorov to the platform. Please wait until his statement is finished before asking any questions."
The NASA press secretary took a step down, and shook the gentleman's hand. The cameras flashed without cease, making it difficult to keep his eyes open to see where he was going. He reached out his hand to feel the podium and stepped up.
"Thank you for your time today. Before going any further I would like to first speak to my beloved daughter Irina. I know you had to grieve for me. I know you had to grow up without a father. I know that the times you have seen have challenged you, and I know you must have much anger towards me."
He paused, not solely for breath, but for strength.
"I was often there. I came to see my beloved Valentina, your mother, buried and I saw you. I was scared and excited that you might have seen me but you could barely see past your tears. I wanted so surely to come and hold you and explain everything I could, but it was impossible. I hope you can learn to forgive me for all that I did, and us, for all that we had done. I hope you can look at what we planned to do and find a way to understand it. I am sorry, my daughter."
A tear rolled down his cheek, which he wiped away with his hand, as youthful as it ever was. He took a sip of water, and mopped his brow. Coughing, he took a deep breath and composed himself.
“You must understand how difficult this is for us, we glorify all our successes and work very hard at keeping our failures hidden. This was not a failure. This was glory. We had beaten our biggest adversary at the biggest race there had ever been.”
The excitement in his voice was clear, and this excitement was harmonised by the cameras flashing, catching each gesture and each strong look to be uploaded immediately to social media channels, published on blogs, and shown news outlets alike.
“We had a plan, of course, we had everything on hand, and we had prepared everything to broadcast live from the Red Planet the very day that America was to land on the moon. Can you imagine?! Glorious communism beating this ridiculous idea of democracy, this capitalist society where only the rich survive and the poor are left in squalor, you americans are so arrogant and we would show you, we would be the ones to lead the world into the new era. Yuri kep-”
He paused to cough. Around the room, hundreds of people held their breath. Vlad noticed that his heart was beating so fast, he believed it might pump straight through his chest.
“Yuri kept saying we were like Columbus but I always corrected him. We weren’t like Columbus, he only found land that humans already conquered. We we-“
Vlad brought his hand to his mouth to cough. He noticed a spat of blood on his hand.
“We were truly the first from the human race to reach this land. So we set off on April 24th, 1967, and the mission went without problem. We exited earths orbit the next day, using earths gravity to push us as fast as we could towards our destination. All of this went without incident, which, as I’m sure you’ve now noticed, is where our story deviates from yours.”
As the lights beat down on his head, he squinted to the back of the room, thinking he had seen an old face.
“We settled down to the long journey. We had large elastic bands for resistance training to keep our muscle mass up, and we had just simple concentrated rations to get us through the year. The landing sequence went well, but touchdown was harsh, I broke my collar bone and Yuri had some manner of nerve damage that made his hands shake. Of course, everythin-”
He paused again, mouth suddenly dry. As he looked across the room, he realised he could see no faces, his vision was blurred. He wiped his brow again, and paused to take a sip of the water.
He sipped, but this time noticed the numbers 14-07-54 etched into the base of the glass. His thumping heartbeat practically stopped as he looked up and around.
He looked to the back of the room and saw her. He knew he didn’t have much time.
“Everything went to plan. Right up until November 7th 1968. When we awoke that day, Yuri was out of bed, and looked YOUNGER. He was repairing some electronics for the air recycling system that I had been working on, because his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. When I went to wash my face, I noticed all my grey hair had gone. My wrinkles had gone. The ache in my collarbone had gone. I could stretch my arm to full reach without problem. You can imagine how we felt, somehow we had found the effects of Bimini, and the pool of which Herodotus wrote. We were excited to share this news with RSVN, with Kosygin, and with all of Russia, but that day was w-“
A thud. A flash. Vlad reached to his chest but could not feel his heart. He dropped to the ground. He didn’t hear the screams and didn’t see the camera flashes. He only saw Irina, and reached out his hand to hold hers.
“It has to be this way, father” she said softly, as he drifted into eternal darkness. | 2016-08-16T10:58:56 | 2016-08-16T09:34:40 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything. | When human feet finally touched the surface of Mars, it was under the aegis of no government. De-centeralized social structures, growing rapidly under the influence of a de-centralized information network, had replaced government. It had turned out that cooperation only required adequate communication.
And, it had taken several hundred years. The old notions of country and nation, had blurred together. Humanity had endured a crisis. History had slept, and rolled off the bed, and sat up startled. We reached the red planet.
It had always been right in our reach. A group of intrepid explorers, united by the promise of freedom and reward, had made their way here. I was among them. It was I who discovered the hatch, buried in the red sand. I was out surveying with my partner, and within his puffy white suit, his shoulders immediately squared up. John was on the guard for threats.
I did not know Russian, but I knew what it looked like. C.C.C.P. was an unfamiliar moniker to me, but the writing style looked familiar. I had read history. It was something I meant to bring to Mars, not study while I was there.
"This is obviously very old," I said. "It could be up to eighty years."
"I don't want you playing with that," he said. "We don't know what's behind it."
He might have seemed patronizing, but I could tell he was just protecting me. People had put this thing here. Could they still be around?
Eventually, several other Dunists (our enclave's name for itself) had gathered to look at the mysterious hatch with us. Finally someone attempted to open it.
A loud hiss, a blast of steam drove us away. We staggered back, fearful our suits would be torn open. The thin air wouldn't kill us immediately, but it could be fatal. I stumbled into my partner's arms, and we retreated together.
When we returned to view the hatch a second time, blackness greeted us. Descending into the pit, with a hand-light, I led the way, John protectively watching my back, another partner-pair about thirty meters back. We were struck by the almost organic composition of the walls. This didn't look carved or blasted, it looked like something had burrowed it out. With teeth.
There were scattered square edges and shapes, pieces of equipment that belonged in our world, that looked out of place in this one. John stopped and gently brushed the dust aside. "More Russian," I said. "And no, I still cannot read it."
The passage, dark and red like the surrounding rocks and sand, wound for three or four hundred meters until it opened into a large ampitheater.
And here, we found the gaping hole. You could look into the gaping hole. It was so, so very dark.
"Shine the laser," John suggested. I had a small laser scanner, meant to return distances. The light did not brighten any of the surfaces, did not come back. The scanner saw no bottom.
"It's rated for ten kilometers," I quipped. "We should see a bottom, there's no way it can be that deep."
Moments later, there was a loud thud. The ground shook. Up the passageway, we saw the nameless couple who had joined us, their suits whirling in retreat.
It was then that the room lit up with pure energy. Light poured out of the opening in the floor. For long seconds, there seemed to be a great whistle of energy blasting through everything in the room.
And then, I saw stars. Quite briefly, in the hole in the ground. It seemed like they were very, very close. Like I was looking down into the sky.
Neither of us understood, but we knew that the Russians, whoever they had been, however they had gotten here, had somehow found this bizarre unnatural phenomenon.
And wherever they had gone, this was the point of departure.
"So," I asked him. "Do you think we could go through there, too?"
| "... and so it is that we find ourselves in the position to be able to introduce Polkovnik Vladimir Komorov to the platform. Please wait until his statement is finished before asking any questions."
The NASA press secretary took a step down, and shook the gentleman's hand. The cameras flashed without cease, making it difficult to keep his eyes open to see where he was going. He reached out his hand to feel the podium and stepped up.
"Thank you for your time today. Before going any further I would like to first speak to my beloved daughter Irina. I know you had to grieve for me. I know you had to grow up without a father. I know that the times you have seen have challenged you, and I know you must have much anger towards me."
He paused, not solely for breath, but for strength.
"I was often there. I came to see my beloved Valentina, your mother, buried and I saw you. I was scared and excited that you might have seen me but you could barely see past your tears. I wanted so surely to come and hold you and explain everything I could, but it was impossible. I hope you can learn to forgive me for all that I did, and us, for all that we had done. I hope you can look at what we planned to do and find a way to understand it. I am sorry, my daughter."
A tear rolled down his cheek, which he wiped away with his hand, as youthful as it ever was. He took a sip of water, and mopped his brow. Coughing, he took a deep breath and composed himself.
“You must understand how difficult this is for us, we glorify all our successes and work very hard at keeping our failures hidden. This was not a failure. This was glory. We had beaten our biggest adversary at the biggest race there had ever been.”
The excitement in his voice was clear, and this excitement was harmonised by the cameras flashing, catching each gesture and each strong look to be uploaded immediately to social media channels, published on blogs, and shown news outlets alike.
“We had a plan, of course, we had everything on hand, and we had prepared everything to broadcast live from the Red Planet the very day that America was to land on the moon. Can you imagine?! Glorious communism beating this ridiculous idea of democracy, this capitalist society where only the rich survive and the poor are left in squalor, you americans are so arrogant and we would show you, we would be the ones to lead the world into the new era. Yuri kep-”
He paused to cough. Around the room, hundreds of people held their breath. Vlad noticed that his heart was beating so fast, he believed it might pump straight through his chest.
“Yuri kept saying we were like Columbus but I always corrected him. We weren’t like Columbus, he only found land that humans already conquered. We we-“
Vlad brought his hand to his mouth to cough. He noticed a spat of blood on his hand.
“We were truly the first from the human race to reach this land. So we set off on April 24th, 1967, and the mission went without problem. We exited earths orbit the next day, using earths gravity to push us as fast as we could towards our destination. All of this went without incident, which, as I’m sure you’ve now noticed, is where our story deviates from yours.”
As the lights beat down on his head, he squinted to the back of the room, thinking he had seen an old face.
“We settled down to the long journey. We had large elastic bands for resistance training to keep our muscle mass up, and we had just simple concentrated rations to get us through the year. The landing sequence went well, but touchdown was harsh, I broke my collar bone and Yuri had some manner of nerve damage that made his hands shake. Of course, everythin-”
He paused again, mouth suddenly dry. As he looked across the room, he realised he could see no faces, his vision was blurred. He wiped his brow again, and paused to take a sip of the water.
He sipped, but this time noticed the numbers 14-07-54 etched into the base of the glass. His thumping heartbeat practically stopped as he looked up and around.
He looked to the back of the room and saw her. He knew he didn’t have much time.
“Everything went to plan. Right up until November 7th 1968. When we awoke that day, Yuri was out of bed, and looked YOUNGER. He was repairing some electronics for the air recycling system that I had been working on, because his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. When I went to wash my face, I noticed all my grey hair had gone. My wrinkles had gone. The ache in my collarbone had gone. I could stretch my arm to full reach without problem. You can imagine how we felt, somehow we had found the effects of Bimini, and the pool of which Herodotus wrote. We were excited to share this news with RSVN, with Kosygin, and with all of Russia, but that day was w-“
A thud. A flash. Vlad reached to his chest but could not feel his heart. He dropped to the ground. He didn’t hear the screams and didn’t see the camera flashes. He only saw Irina, and reached out his hand to hold hers.
“It has to be this way, father” she said softly, as he drifted into eternal darkness. | 2016-08-16T09:47:36 | 2016-08-16T09:34:40 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] Due to your careful planning, your family has successfully survived the nuclear apocalypse. There's just one thing you didn't prepare for. Ghosts. An entire planet of fucking ghosts. | *Urist McMason cancels make slab: Interrupted by a ghost.*
It was late spring of 218, eighteen years after Bronzekill's founding and nearing two years after its depopulation.
It had seemed like such a good plan at the time. The fortress was slowing to a crawl, overpopulation reducing everyone's productivity. There were almost 200 dwarves now, and yet tasks sat unfinished on the manager's desk for months on end. There was always something else to do: Migrants to train, rocks to collect, booze to drink, plump helmet spawn to whine about not being able to find because your friend is holding the bag. The fortress' scholars (of which there were far too many) speculated that even the universe itself was slowing down under the strain.
So the manager came up with a plan. Bronzekill's most skilled dwarves would be burrowed in a saferoom separate from the main fort. A series of channels and drawbridges would be constructed to tap into the volcano's supply of magma, and another deep underground to drain the magma again. Finally, the fortress would be flooded with magma.
The dwarves happily executed this plan over the course of a year. Finally, the preparations were complete. Twenty skilled dwarves took refuge in their safe burrow, sealing the door with a drawbridge for good measure. Finally, one of them pulled the lever marked "Fuck The World".
Magma coursed through the halls of Bronzekill. Dwarf after dwarf cancelled their jobs, crying out at the dangerous terrain, or their inability to find a path, or the destruction of a job item or workshop, before melting as the magma overtook them. Scores of nobles, scholars, cheesemakers, potash makers, fish cleaners, and other glorified haulers vanished before the flood of liquid !!fun!!.
As quickly as it had started, it was over - which is to say, it was several weeks before the magma reached the last stragglers, and several more before it finished draining and the vault was opened.
The remaining dwarves returned to Bronzekill and found their productivity greater than ever before. The magma had washed away more than just dwarves: Mounds of tattered clothing, piles of wooden weapons taken from sissy elves, entire stockpiles of abandoned rock mugs. All the useless clutter had been melted away, leaving only the magma-safe steel and marble which was the core of Bronzekill's industry.
For a year, Bronzekill flourished like never before. Then...
*Urist McSoapmaker has risen as a ghost and is haunting the fortress!*
Only then did the manager realize his mistake. There were plenty of available coffins, but the magma had left no corpses to bury. He ordered the mason and engraver to begin making and engraving slabs, but the ghosts were rising faster than they could be memorialized.
Panicking, the manager conscripted all of the fort's dwarves to build more workshops and make slabs as best they could, and the tide of ghosts seemed to lessen. Then, disaster struck.
*Urist McCheesemaker cancels engrave memorial: Interrupted by magma.*
Magma was once again coursing through the veins of Bronzekill. The ghost of Urist McMayor had pulled The Lever.
There was no time to evacuate to a saferoom. The impromptu workshops had been set up in the main dining hall, right in the path of Operation Fuck The World.
The manager had one last thought before the last of his dwarves was swallowed up by the magma.
"That was !!Fun!!." | A bucket of powder and some faded white clothing was all it took for us to infiltrate their society. Dad and I played the part, while Mum watched from the rooftop windows of the council building with her vacuum in hand. We’d been trying to make contact with the ghosts ever since everyone in the world died – besides us. But whenever we spotted them – and there were millions – they ran like we had been struck with the plague. Today, we would give them no option but cooperation.
I stopped in the middle of the crowd, making sure not to touch any of the nearby ghosts and alert them to my ‘humanness’. They seemed to be self-conscious of their personal bubbles, which worked out perfectly.
There were at ten thousand ghosts in the council room, all stark white and whispy looking, with the set of clothes they died in still on and the murder weapon stuck inside those who had been killed. The ghost in front of me was a young man with a cleaver stuck in his neck. He craned back to see me staring at him and smiled. “Ex-wife. . . well, not until I died that is.”
I nodded, and quickly looked back to the stage, lest he start asking questions and force me to come up with something unreasonable on the spot.
“And you?” he asked.
Dammit.
“Jumped from the twentieth floor, turns out I wasn’t an angel after all.”
He frowned and turned back to the stage. Turns out his sense of humor was about as bad as his demeanor. I gave a quick check to my right and left and then spotted Dad about eight or nine ghosts away, and Mum hiding near the window above him. I wouldn’t have noticed her unless I was looking for the edge of the vacuum pipe, which she stuck out where the window began.
“Ghosts and Ghostsmen,” a voice said from the front of the room.
We all snapped our attention to the stage where an elderly man with a long white coat, glasses, and a well groomed beard paced the stage. Upon second glance I felt like I recognised him from somewhere.
“Kernel Sanders,” someone muttered from behind.
Sheesh, I figured he’d be a ghost long before the apocalypse happened.
Kernel Sanders continued, “It’s been brought to my attention that there are three humans still roaming planet earth and that they haven’t assimilated and become one of us. How they survived the explosion, is beyond me. However, that is not important now, what is important is that they still exist in our world.”
The various ghosts around the room nodded and shot furious glances at their counterparts. I played the part, nodding at the ghosts next to me, who were a little more passive than the rest.
“What do you propose we do, Kernel?” a ghost asked from the back of the room.
The Kernel paused, with both hands on his walking stick –which was also ghost-like, somehow. “They’re a direct threat to the Kernel Freedom Cooperation and are using tactics that I’m not yet aware of. If they had eaten my chicken they should have transformed, just like we did.”
My heart thudded. So the Kernel was behind the apocalypse all along. I shot Dad a look, but his gaze was glued to the front of the room and a little bit of red was showing at the bottom of his neck. Red neck was a tell-tale sign that he was furious.
“Our only option is to eliminate them,” the Kernel said, “we cannot move into KFC stage two until they are gone. That was the whole point of the project, and the only way we get our freedom.”
A hand shot up.
The Kernel shook his head. “No questions as of yet, let us deal with this obstacle first.”
Dad was looking straight at me this time, his eyes filled with worry. He inclined his head toward the back of the room, as if to say: *let’s go*.
It was at that moment that a ghost in a police outfit floated onto the stage and whispered something to the Kernel. The old man scanned the crowd in panic. “The humans are here, they’re amongst us right now.”
I stepped back as my breath caught in my throat. A white veil surrounded me, which was actually my body half way inside the ghost of a large woman. She screamed. “There they are!” the Kernel yelled.
Every figure in the room turned to me. I couldn’t move, despite my muscles willing me to run through them and get the hell outta there. A window smashed and the eyes in the room turned toward the noise. It was enough to slam me back into reality.
My mum grinned. “You think you can take us out?” She flicked the switch of the vacuum on.
I punched the air. “Hell yeah, Mum!” They would be running for the hills when she was done.
The ghosts turned toward us, unphased by our outburst. Kernel Sanders frowned until his eyes became black specs amongst his body of white. “Get them!”
| 2016-11-30T06:25:25 | 2016-11-29T17:56:26 | 50 | 31 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you. | When Howard awoke that fateful morning, he realised two things. Firstly, that he had not woken of his own accord. And secondly, that he was not alone in his room. But it was when the haze of sleep had lifted completely and he was able to hear the noise properly, that terror seized his heart. The sound was difficult to explain; but brought to mind images of slimy tendrils, slithering across the floorboards. Its breath had a rasping quality. It inhaled and exhaled at a slow pace. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to reason with himself. This had to be one of his night terrors, a condition which plagued him frequently since his early childhood.
*It’s not real, it will go away… It’s not real, it will go away.*
All the while, the noise was increasing in intensity. Whatever it was, was crawling closer to his bed. His heart raced. Every muscle in his body was taut and poised to run; and yet he was frozen in place
*It’s not real, it will go away… It’s not real, it will go away.*
And then it spoke. And its voice… its voice was not completely unpleasant. A female voice. High in timbre, with a slight rasping quality.
“Howard. Howard open your eyes.”
And so he did. When he saw it, he repressed a scream. In front of him lay a large writhing pile of tentacles. It had no obvious facial features, besides a mouth lined with layers with razor-like, yellowing teeth through which it spoke. Its tentacles were black as night and had a moist-looking sheen. They seemed endless, moving in a constant motion which was almost hypnotizing.
When his voice finally found him, he managed to stutter shakily. “Wh- what are you? What are you doing here?”
“Well Howard, I am your familiar.”
“My familiar… But… But that’s impossible!”
Although he was extremely reclusive in nature, Howard knew of familiars. Everybody did. People’s greatest qualities manifested themselves in animal form when they came of age. Sometimes he would watch the town’s folk and their familiars through his dusty glass window. The previous day he had watched a young gentleman walking proudly, a lion striding in his wake. This man was powerful, strong, courageous. A career in politics awaited him, most likely. People’s familiars would appear to them when they came of age. When Howard turned 18 years old, he waited in anticipation for his to present itself to him. But, as the time went by, no familiar ever came. He began to assume that he just did not have any great qualities which could manifest into an animal-shaped spirit.
Howard sat up in his bed now, and studied the creature. “I don’t understand, something must be wrong. You can’t be my familiar. You’re.. You’re..”
“A *monster*?” the creature completed his sentence.
“Well… Yes”, he replied. His fear had begun to abate, although his hands still trembled. “I don’t understand.”
“I think I can assist with that. Howard, what is your greatest trait?”
He thought for a moment. His reclusive life in the attic of his mother’s house. His paranoia and mental breakdown before he had even completed school. His dark thoughts. His nightmares…
“You think you have no great traits. I know this because I know you, and I am a part of you. You fear much Howard, and you believe that there is only darkness inside you. Darkness which must remain inside. You have repressed your thoughts and ideas, distressed by the thought of further rejection by your peers. You believe that no-one can ever understand you… And perhaps they cannot. But this does not mean that they should not know of you.”
“Know… of me?”
“Oh yes… Many years from now the whole world shall know of you. How? You say. Well Howard, you have mastered a grip on something no-one has ever managed to master with such skill. *Fear*, Howard. Your command over and understanding of fear is your greatest trait. Your thoughts and ideas shall be repressed no more. I am a creature of your own imagination.”
Howard felt an emotion rise up inside of him which he had never felt before. It felt… powerful. His eyes darkened, and he looked across the room to his tattered notebook. Years of writing lay in its pages. He looked at his familiar again, and began to smile. There was a certain beauty in the movement of her appendages.
“Now get up Howard Lovecraft. My name is Kassogtha, and it is time for you to meet my brother, your second familiar. Although it is unusual to have two familiars, you are quite the unusual man. He would prefer to meet you in a place with a little more… room. Oh and Howard?”
He sat upright on the bed now, with his feet on the floor. His black eyes gleamed. “Yes?”
“You may call him Cthulhu.”
**A few words from the writer** I've only been on Reddit for a month and a bit, and since then have been spending a lot of time reading many beautiful words from writers in r/writingprompts. I never thought that anyone would be too interested in anything I had to write, with such talent out there. I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who read and commented on this. You have no idea how much it means <3 | *I was pretty hammered when I started this, and I got progressively drunker during. You may be able to tell.*
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Most people got them before they had even thought about what they would do after school. The unlucky few that had to wait tended to get the weird ones, save for the rich kids who had some sort of future planned out for them. Rumour had it that daemons could be bought and sold, though how this came to be was nary left to the imagination.
Usually, people who didn't get them by the end of college would end up finding their daemon in some far flung country, those were the backpackers and earthly souls. The kids that took long gap years in distant communities, baking in the sun and fulfilling some "life experience" barely deserving of the name. Those were the hippy types, the ones with fluttery, fluffy, colourful daemons whom wouldn't look out of place in an art museum.
Then there was me. I had no desire to travel the world, and my family were no better off than the city average. I made my own money breaking into big business and holding their data hostage, by the time I was 18 I was secretly richer than most of the elite, tearing through my childhood with an attitude of *"fuck you"*. I stopped when the creator of my stolen tools was arrested, but by then I only did what I did out of habit, not out of a need or desire. I hated the rich, and the powerful. It was my secret revenge for all the wrongdoings conceivable. All of them were guilty of something, from simple fraud to child trafficking.
Despite all my hate, my teenage angst, I found beauty in the world. The fruit seller on the corner, the paper seller who spent all day shouting *"Chronicle!"* Even the homeless guy who spent hours playing the drums on a plastic tub and a silver saucepan, all smiled at me whenever I passed by. Rain, shine, they were always cheerful, even the time that the drummer guy had just five pence in his hat after a days work. That was the first time I paid him for his entertainment, quietly dropping a note at his feet on my way to Costa. The relief in his music was obvious, that fifty would see him fed for at least a week.
I bought houses after that. The whispers at the auctions were barely concealed. A nineteen year old philanthropist? It was an impossible concept for many, even in spite of the fact that my pockets never shook with the wriggle of my non-existent daemon. I bought house after house, not really knowing what to do with them. I knew I wanted to give one to my drummer friend, but getting there seemed impossible. I was almost twenty before I realised I had to hire someone.
Funny how you meet people. I knew a man who was a construction worker, back in the days when only a few things were automated. I came across him fixing a fence in a public park, one that had been overlooked by the inspection drones for years. His tools looked like they were from the dark ages, but they all seemed to have a definitive purpose - not like the spectral-usage appliances nowadays. It was oddly refreshing to watch him cut a piece of wood, and exhilerating to learn that he was manually sizing it for the gap. He told me hia specialty had been bricklaying, and that was why his daemon looked like a hunchback version of Popeye. It was true, he had incredible strength. His arms worked the material so defty, it was as though he had never stopped. I promised him a wage to pull my houses up to scratch, there was at least ten years of work there. His confusion was almost laughable, why would anyone hire human labour?
I never did answer him. I could barely explain it myself, I simply hated what made society. The mandatory inspections before children could be born, the class clique in college, even the sneers of passers by when the fruiterer cried his wares. I simply couldn't be part of it. The very thought of it made me recoil. It was an attack on what we were, the hatefulness that we had become.
It was when I gave the drummer his keys. I had signed over the house to him a week ago, but it was days before I built up the courage to do it. I couldn't face the thought of talking to him, so I dropped the envelope in his hat. A minute later, as I walked into Costa for that awful, soul sucking, enthralling cocoa they do, he grabbed my shoulder.
*"Are you sure?"*
It was almost as if he thought I was playing a joke on him. To be fair, nobody could blame him for jumping to the worst assumption possible. Selflessness wasn't high in society's priorities.
*"Aye. I thought of you the minute I saw the place."*
The guy burst into tears. No judgement, no angst at the fact I had no obvious daemon, he straight up sobbed and hugged me.
*"Jesus you have no idea, I can't thank you enough."*
The reason I chose him first was so simple, though:
*"Five years you've smiled at me. Nobody else does."*
He smiled again, through his tears. I realised he was young, not much older than me. His smile really was dashing, in a weathered, soulful way.
*"Why wouldn't I? You're gorgeous, and you smiled at me too."*
It was then that I realised that he didn't care what my daemon was, or if it existed at all. The relief I felt was overpowering, and I hugged him back as tightly as he hugged me. He was the first person I saw in that odd, new light. The first person to notice me as a woman. The first person to tell me I was attractive. He was also the first person to see them:
"Holy cow..."
As he stepped back, still holding my hands in front of him, I realised a presence, of sorts. A *companionship*. He must have read the expression on my face,
"You... have two?"
Two? Two what? It took me longer than I care to admit to realise what he was talking about. When he pointed them out to me, he had to catch me. I've never lost my footing in my life, but at that point it was as though my legs suddenly disappeared. *Two!* More to the point, *those* two!
See, we all have set daemons. Some of them are foretold, and some of them are bought. But the two that appeared to me, the two that signified such finality, and to appear to me? for *me?*
I blinked in abject horror. Everything we had thought was fallacy, was mere superstition, was wrong. Everything that we knew, we hated or loved... all of it was over. Even my plan to destroy austerity as we knew it, all of it was gone.
My daemons? Beelzebub and David, carrying seven trumpets. | 2017-01-20T13:51:03 | 2017-01-20T13:50:55 | 551 | 63 |
[WP] You ask your date, "Did it hurt when you fell out of heaven?". She looks at you with a confused look. "I never fell out of heaven, who told you that I was your angel?". It turns out she is your guardian angel. | “So your real name is Eos?” I asked my date as we strolled through the park.
“Yeah, that’s my God-given name,” she smiled an angelic smile. Her full lips revealing white and straight teeth.
“What does it mean?”
“Oh, it’s not important. It’s an old name,” she smiled again and the autumn wind caught her hair. Absent-mindedly she tucked her windswept hair behind an ear. “Tell me about yourself. Do you do meet girls on Tinder often?”
“No!” I laughed the question off. “No this is my first time. I’m usually more of an introvert. A year ago I wouldn’t even have had the courage to talk to someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“Well, you know,” the words caught in my throat, begging not to be released into the world, “Smart and beautiful.”
“You’re sweet,” Eos blushed and swept another strand of windswept hair behind her ear. “Where did this newfound confidence come from?”
I felt my heart rate spike as the memory flooded my senses. The doctors told me it was normal, a normal reaction to an abnormal situation. It didn’t feel normal though. It didn’t feel normal to have a memory that swallowed any sense of nowness like a rogue wave dragging a sunbather out into the open ocean. “I,” I stuttered, “I like to run. I run for charity sometimes. I’m not very good, I don’t post good times but it’s something fun to do. I…” I stuttered again and took a deep calming breath. “The doctors said I should talk about it. Do you remember the massacre at the Valentines Day half marathon?”
“Yes.”
Yes. The answer was so simple but her eyes were a wellspring of emotion. Pain, compassion, suffering, anger, love. They all washed across her face and poured out through just a simple “yes.”
“I was there,” I choked on the words again. “I … I should have died there. At least the doctors said I should have died there. My friends … they -”
“Shhhh, shhh, shhh,” Eos cooed, “It’s ok.”
She pulled me close. A strong and warm hand held my head close, another wrapped around my back and pressed my body against hers. I didn’t realize at first, but I was crying. All the pain, the anger, the suffering, the sadness, poured from me. I tried to struggle away from her embrace. Tears from memory turned into tears of shame and anger. The doctors told me the medication would control these feelings, they told me just to swallow the pill like a good boy and everything would go back to normal and now here I was on a first date and within the first five minutes, I’m sobbing like a toddler who’s spilled his juice box. “I’m sorry -”
“Shhhh,” she cooed again and pulled me closer, her arms crushing me against her warm body.
And I cried. I cried for all the shitty things in this world. I cried for the things that I had seen, for the things that I had done. For the lives disrupted and stupid senseless murder. I cried because it wasn’t just for me. It wasn’t just this one horrible thing I had seen; it was all of it. All the mothers, all the fathers, the brothers sisters, friends, children, … all the people all over the world whose lives were turned into rubble, just like mine had been. That was the thing about bombs, they don’t just turn buildings into rubble, they turn lives into rubble as well.
“I feel guilty for living,” I told Eos as she held me.
“I know.”
I hadn’t realized I felt this way. Not until the moment the words escaped my mouth. “My friends, they were better people than me. Tommy, he had a wife and a child and now they’re all alone in the world. It should have been me, I know it should have been me and now every time I look in the mirror …”
“Shhhh,” Eos cooed again, “Just breath."
“I’m sorry,” she said after a time. Her voice burdened. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save everyone, I can’t save everyone. I saved you once,” her fingers rolled through my hair and pulled me just a little bit closer and she gently kissed my temple, “I’ll save you again.”
| For a split-second panic set in, my mind racing to understand what this girl was saying. My eyes were frantically scanning every inch of the person in front of me, looking for anything to give her away. A mannerism, a ghost of a sneer, a nervous gesture -- but, the only thing I could read all over her perfectly-delicate features, was sincerity.
The half-eaten ice cream cone which I had been holding for the better part of the date suddenly slipped through my grip, and as I felt my knees buckle I grabbed for the railing in front of us, searching for any sort of stability. I have always been skeptic, even when I didn't know what skeptic meant. I would relentlessly ask one question after another, quickly exhausting teachers and family members. So why was I so overwhelmed? Why did I suddenly have such an urgent rush to believe this girl? She was just a pretty face in passing, someone to get ice cream with at sunset to fill my Saturday afternoon.
Elena let out a little giggle as she reached out and gently put her hand on my back.
"I always wondered how Tobias, the self-proclaimed great thinker of the generation, would react at the sight of his guardian angel. It looks like you're a little more human then you give yourself credit for."
I couldn't help but to hang my head and give a nervous chuckle, exhaling for the first time in a minute. As I raised my head back up I saw the Sun was just halfway over the horizon, proclaiming its golden hour over the river, the park, and the whole city. Looking out into the shimmering water I wanted to begin raising questions, I so desperately was itching to rationalize this phantasmagorical event, yet as I turned and looked her right in the eye all I felt was calm. It was a cool wave of tranquility, emanating from the depths of my mind and smoothing out the thousands of ripples traveling through it.
"You see, Tobias, I've always been quite the fan."
I couldn't help but to blush and nervously smile and look away.
"I mean, if you're my guardian angel, isn't it your job? I'm really not all that special."
Suddenly the absurdity of faking humility to my own angel struck me, and I reddened even further, embarrassed by what I had just done. Of course she knew how arrogant I was. Instead of calling me out, Elena simply smiled, radiating warmth and care, inexplicably glowing far brighter than the pristine golden hour engulfing us.
"You can change the world Tobias, you can reach thousands of lives and alter them for the better, if only you put your mind to it. Us guardian angels, we don't really save you from the clutches of death like most stories depict. Think of us more as a Jiminy Cricket on your shoulder, intervening only when it really matters. We were humans too, at some point in time. But, for some odd reason, this strange Universe deemed us apt to keep things running smoothly. There isn't many of us, but we get the job done, in a way."
"So, what, I'm destined to be some sort of hero? Some Bill Gates-type dude who will donate his fortune to the poor?"
She did her little laugh again, this time stretching her arms and turning away from me. The Sun was almost gone now, with only a few rays shining from the horizon. Without looking at me, she said:
"There's people who change the world through money, through insurmountable riches beyond comprehension, but you and I both know how far that really goes. Deep inside you, there's always been that wonderful point of light. It's what makes you thrive, what stands you out from everybody else, and most importantly, what gives you your uniquely unbound potential. Teach them how to live, Tobias."
As she began walking, one final ray gleamed off her golden locks, and she turned with one last look from her astonishing eyes.
"I'll see you soon, Tobias."
Her figure suddenly started glowing, impossibly turning into hundreds of fireflies, all scattering in different directions. I sat down in front of the railing, pondering everything that had just happened. Hours passed, when suddenly, under the faint glow of the moonlight, a firefly landed on my hand, as if directly staring me in the eye. A second later it took off again, and I wondered if I was just imagining it. With that, I got up and left.
A couple years passed, but time ceased to make an imprint in my mind. I worked day after day, no longer obsessed with self-betterment, but instead filled with an invigorating passion to show people. To tell them about their life, and teach them how to be happy.
I had finally made it to the big stage. New York City, Carnegie Hall. There was people chaotically running around backstage, their hands full with last-minute preparations. As I am given my five-minute warning, a sound crew member comes over to check my microphone one last time. I look down, and I am greeted with beautiful gold locks, shining, almost as if the Sun was right overhead. She looks up at me, and I am suddenly in front of the river again.
Elena.
Her eyes are just as breathtaking as the first time I saw them, and she leaned in and whispered:
"Good job, Pinocchio."
With a quick wink, she departed, lost once again in the sea of people milling about. Before I had time to react, the lights outside the curtain dropped, and booming through the theater I heard my introduction begin.
As I began walking on stage, my nerves were nowhere to be found, and I once again felt that cool wave coming over me. One single thought floated in my mind, and as I gave the audience my widest grin, I began my speech.
"Bliss." | 2017-02-04T12:47:08 | 2017-02-04T09:25:07 | 98 | 68 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | It was 11:56am, on the 6th of November, 2018. The family had gathered around, Uncle Leon and his boyfriend David, my Mum and most importantly; my sister.
My Uncle had been given ***COLLECTOR*** and spent the majority of his life as a Tax Collector, in and out of offices and working with Trackers for the New Earth Government. My Grandfather was given ***SOLDIER*** and he fought during the Vietnam War and served his entire career in the Army while my mother was given ***INSPIRE***, through the hardships she experienced in life she would one day go on to become a world-renown philanthropist and built a successful business to help others in need.
11:57...
"I can't wait to see what you'll get! I hope it'll be Hero or Protector, imagine that, having a big brother as a hero!" Exclaimed my sister,
I chuckled, "Don't get too ahead of yourself."
11:58...
I looked up to see people I'd known and loved during my 18-year tenure on this world and I was only two minutes from discovering my future.
11:59...
My Uncle came over and shook my hand, "Whatever happens mate, we'll love you no matter what."
I smiled in return and closed my eyes, ready for the big moment.
12:00...
I gritted my teeth, feeling the burning sensation as the word was etched into my arm. I opened my eyes to see my family, standing there, terrified. I slowly tilted my head downwards and saw five letters sitting there;
***DEATH***
My mum broke down, years of working hard to give us, her kids a better life gone to waste. My Uncle started to walk over as I felt yet another sensation in my arm...
"Oh my God... Look!"
Afraid to see what awaited me, I looked down at my arm once more and what I saw... I will never forget.
***DEATH, DESTROYER OF WORLDS***
EDIT: This is my first WP so go nice please :)
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-16T02:18:58 | 427 | 212 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | Tick tock
I had hoped, at one time, that my number would be big. After all who would want to be one of those poor kids, they who turn 18 and find their actual age written between beneath their thumb. Can you imagine the parents as they count down the days, not knowing when it will come, just that it will hang over their heads for the whole year.
Tick tock
I once told my mother that if my number was 18, I would drink bleach; who could take the anticipation?
Tick tock
Mother sent me to my room without desert. She said it was a horrible thing to say. "kill myself because I can't take the anticipation".
Tick tock
'Anticipation', such a remarkable world: it implies things that have yet to come.
Tick tock
But long after the sun collapsed, after the last flame of the last star had died out, after the heat death of the universe, when entropy finally won, there was only one sound in all of creation:
Tick tock: *it's not a clock but the beating of my heart*.
At first I thought my number said 8. I thought this was odd. And then it clicked, it only took a second, and fror some reason I felt delight. I would live forever.
Tick tock,
I forgot though that the thing about forever is that it never stops, even when the universe goes kaploot. So I now float in space. As I will always. Sometimes I think about the forever I have lived and then I remember, forever is always yet to come. The empty world that I've so far visited is exactly like the 100 other forever yet to come. As I said, that's the thing about forever, who would want to live forever, when forever doesn't stop? But that's all I want. More than anything, is for forever to finally stop, for this 'me' that will never die to stop experiencing and fucking die. A consciousness must devour something other than itself. | 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-16T00:57:55 | 427 | 63 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | "Hey Elena, your birthday's next week right?"
"Yeah, Jason."
"So do you think it will happen?"
"I don't know. My dad's got a number like most everyone else but my mom has a number and a letter. We might be getting closer to figuring out what the birthday messages mean."
"My dad doesn't think they mean anything."
"I sort of hope he is right. I mean it just seems like it can't be good, right?"
"Well, let us know! See you after."
-----
Birthday Reveal
It wasn't a big deal in the Lazarus house. Elena had to stuff to do then anyway. They'd celebrate her birthday, but her real friends and her family didn't believe in worrying about (or all this carrying on) about some scar tissue. That's all it was really, this weird biological process that happened. It was like the patterns on butterflies. It didn't have to mean anything.
She was alone when it happened. She saw it appear. The number three. She could live with that. A perfectly respectable number. There were three people in her family. But there was more. A zero. That was unusual, but still that seemed fine. It was a little far away from the three but no big deal. Suddenly, she felt a blinding pain. She couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. She swayed on her feet. Then just as suddenly she came out of what felt like a long trance but had only been a minute to find two letters. L and V. Along with the numbers they did send a message. A message open to some interpretation but it seemed good: L0V3. She knew her life would change very soon and forever. She couldn't hide love. How could she? But this wasn't all good. There was no message that could be all good. She just hoped she wouldn't have to be willing to die for love. Was the world ready for an ambiguous message of love from a young, black woman? She was about to find out. | 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-15T22:51:26 | 427 | 39 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | I've never been much for parties--let alone a party where I'm the center of attention. I'd much rather be sitting in a corner somewhere with a cat and my phone until the crowd dispersed. But, it was my 18th birthday today, so my parents were hosting my reveal party.
Often, children took after one of their parents. My mother, like her mother and grandmother before her, had been "resilient." They were survivors who had been through more trauma and heartache than most, but they still managed to soldier on and serve as role models for others. My grandmother was one of our community leaders, and a small throng gathered around her and my mother as they discussed plans to update infrastructure in our town.
My father, like his father and brothers was "protective." He was a member of the police force and helped keep us safe. He was seldom far from my mother, and stood a few paces back from her, eyes alert and straight posture belying that he was ready to spring to action even on such a happy day.
My parents were good people, and everyone expected that I would follow one of their leads. My older sister had. She wore the label of "protective" proudly. She was currently training to join the police force as well.
"It's almost time!" My mother called excitedly. "Take off your cardigan so we can see better. Only another minute..."
Everyone gathered around me waiting to see what my destiny held. Slowly, the dark shapes of a word began to appear. No one breathed for a moment as "dick" came into startling focus. Everything was silent until one of my cousins finally broke and began to laugh nervously. My father shot him a glare as my mother moved to comfort me. "It could mean any number of things..."
When she released me from a firm hug, I moved to stare at my arm, but was shocked to see something on my opposite forearm as well... The word "butt."
There had to be some kind of explanation! Surely my destiny couldn't be... Dick butt... | 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-16T02:49:08 | 427 | 12 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | *11:59 PM*
My family gathered around me, silently waiting. We were all eagerly anticipating the Choosing, a lame name for a cool time.
*12:00 PM*
My mother smiled at me. She grabbed my arm and looked as the word as it appeared.
"What is it?" a chorus of family members asked.
She frowned. I took my arm back and took one hard look.
**Nudist.** | The Life Brand is thought to be a flawless and efficient system by most of the world's population. Few oppose the mandatory injection of nanites that will one day create your Life Brand because they view the world as fair, now.
I get it, I really do. The Border Wars of the 21st century were bitter and terrifying for everyone, and then when Automatons began to dominate formerly middle and lower class workers, billions of people were displaced out of the workforce. Another war, fought for decades, eventually brought us to peacetime when a renounced Swiss doctor developed nanotech.
The political geography of the world changed. Borders were dissolved, entire governments gutted and destroyed, and everyone was classified into a career path based on the results of three different tests and a psychological evaluation. Then the good doctor developed the Life Brand and pitched it to our fledgling united government.
They ate it up like a sweet treat, and the Life Brand program was in full effect within five years. For the most part, we are better for it. We've seen no war in a decade, and Life Brand gets a chunk of the credit.
I always feared my branding day. I was always very aware of my mathematical genius and technological prowess. It didn't help to quell the fear of getting classified into a sub-optimal field for me. So it's no surprise that I felt terror and a deep sense of shame when my brand finally activated at 12:08:47 PM universal standard time. I wasn't branded to be a mathematician, an engineer, a networks security specialist...No. It was far worse than that.
"Hello, Mr. Sullivan. I'm Gemma, and I am your assigned organ requisition agent for today. Can I interest you in a last meal or a final judgement blow job?"
I really hate the Life Brand system... | 2017-03-16T02:03:50 | 2017-03-15T22:51:56 | 71 | 37 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | My 18th birthday, something that seemed so far away is finally here. My family is gathered around, ready to see what word I would have. My dad's was JANITOR, while my mother's was DOCTOR. I hope I get something cool.
"We will be proud of you honey, whatever you are." My mother said. My father nodded in agreement. We waited in silence. The grandfather clock sounded at noon, Words started to be inscribed into my arm.
GAY PORNSTAR, were the words that would dictate my career. My father let out a snort, my mother flustered said "Oh john, we knew you were gay, but we didn't think your career would involve this."
I thought to myself, well, I do love dick.
(First post please be nice.)
| As long as anyone can remember you're future was decided on the 12th hour of your 18th birthday. No one knew what caused it to happen or when it started but the word you got decided everything from social class to tax bracket for you. In my family it was a 3 day celebration of the crossing over from child to adult and it was taken very seriously. And today was my big day so for the past few days my uncles, aunts, and cousins had been flying in for the last week.
At 11:55 the family moved into the living room, I sat on a chair in the middle of the room while my family sat in a crescent moon infront of me so everyone could see. Unlike most families mine didn't fit a pattern, my oldest uncle got CHEF, my 2nd uncle got COLLECTOR (his passion was baseball cards and always seemed to find the good ones), and my Mother got NURSE while my father got CARPENTER. I was worried because I didn't feel like I had a passion for anything that would influence my path in life, I often felt lost.
The four minutes from 11:55 to 11:59 felt like hours as I sat there with my arm extended out for my family to see. Thoughts kept racing threw my mind, would i take after my parents, would i take after my uncles, would I start a new branch? Would I advance I advance to the high class lifestyle, would I fall to poverty, or would I stay the same? I never liked hard work that caused calluses and I liked Interpersonal work that stressed out your emotions even less. I simply had no idea what I even wanted to do or be in life.
As the clock struck 12 my arm started to feel like it was on fire. I looked down and and the word REAPER slowly burned into view letter by letter. When the final R came into the view it almost seemed like all the color of the world had been was away, everything besides the red cords threads connecting me to everyone in the room. Finally after the few moments the threads faded away and the color came back. All my family and I could do for the next few hours was silently stare at the word on my arm.
| 2017-03-16T04:22:00 | 2017-03-16T04:12:27 | 40 | 12 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | Conviction parties were tradition, so friends and family could come and see as your life was essentially laid out for you. Sometimes the word was a good one. Other times it was more dubious. But nothing was ever set in stone.
Every person's Conviction meant something to them. It meant something to the people they met and the things they would do. There were so many meanings you could give to your Conviction. Of course seeing your conviction at 18 shaped a lot of your life and the decisions you made and interpreted it.
Those born on the 29th of February, however, sometimes never saw a word appear on their skin. Of course they had to fit into the system somehow. Paperwork identified them by the number of years they'd been alive, but the Conviction line always left empty.
Leapers didn't have to follow a set path though. Scientists would be enrolled in college almost immediately after their Conviction parties. Athletes would be drafted into sports training programs. Leapers had freedom of choice, as well as the burden of it. Some places wouldn't even consider hiring without a Conviction, as they thought it meant you weren't dedicated to anything.
But it did allow they to follow whatever path they chose, even changing careers as they pleased.
And for those who made it long enough to see their 18th birthday roll around always celebrated together, telling old stories related to their new words.
But by far the most common words for Leapers to receive was
Freedom.
(edit: formatting) | I sit down, waiting for what's to come. To be completely honest, I wasn't expecting much. I was a pretty average guy, average looks, average complexion, had a few distinct features, but they weren't the kind I liked to show very often.
I had grown up feeling that I wasn't as good as other people. I was bullied in school, always seemed to get into trouble for things that I had no intention of doing, the folks I lived with were borderline abusive, really. I didn't live with my parents any more, they had died when I was very young, but even back then, I knew I wasn't being treated right. My cousin had always been raised well, always better than me anyways. All of these things had built me up into a person who never really thought of themselves as particularly good at anything. I was expecting something like shopkeeper, postman, something boring, uninspiring, like the rest of my life. I was also hoping to whatever god is out there that it was NOT going to be nothing. Nothing usually either meant homeless or early death. Nobody wanted that.
11:50 came along. I don't even think the rest of the household realised what was going on. We had gone on a holiday, or at least that's what we were told. Where we are isn't exactly the best holiday location, let's just say that. Still, maybe there is going to be a surprise party or something, I don't know.
11:55pm. Nothing has happened yet. I think everyone else has gone to sleep, actually. That's kinda depressing, actually.Come to think of it, I've never even heard them mention their symbols. Maybe they got nothing and are really ashamed of it? I'm not sure.
11:59. A minute to go. The rain is battering against the cold, damp walls of this old house. Despite the terrible rain, terrible house and terrible everything, I feel... Excited? I'm not really sure what it is, it's an emotion that I think i've felt before, but it's been absent from my life for many years now. I try to place it for a while, but I can't. No matter, anyways, there's only a minute left before my future is decided.
10 seconds before midnight. I realise what the emotion is. I feel hopeful.
5 seconds. Out of nowhere, I feel a burning sensation on my forehead. The pain is unbearable, I do all I can not to scream. I reach up and touch it.The scar has been there for all my life, I thought i was meant to get a new one? It feels different, though. It feels disctinctly lightning shaped.
12AM hits. Theres a loud knocking on the door.
****
*first ever prompt i've ever made. Hope it was ok. I know the character was meant to be 18, but I couldn't resist. It was originally meant to be a serious story, I decided against it.* | 2017-03-16T05:01:30 | 2017-03-16T04:27:29 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary. | Urban environments present challenges for all life. Unlike squirrels and refuse bears, not all creatures here spend their time scavenging.
A male human. This adolescent has mastered the skills required for daily life, and now that the weather has turned favorable, he's set his sights on a more difficult task. Groomed to perfection...or at least looking better than other members of his social clan...the male has just one goal in mind -- to find a mate. Competition is fierce this time of year. Human mating rituals can be exceptionally complex, and many pairings are quickly abandoned in favor of more enticing prospects.
Daily socialization among members of this age group is practically mandatory, but a complex social structure combined with adult supervision leaves little time for personal endeavors.
The male must act quickly to succeed.
A bell sounds, cuing one of the most breathtaking spectacles in the entirety of urban life -- the passing period.
Several times each day, hundreds of adolescent humans simultaneously stop what they're doing and rush into common areas, visiting temporary nests to deposit and collect needed supplies before continuing with their daily activities. This provides a unique and frenzied opportunity for members of different social clans to interact, and thus, to search for a mate.
There's no time to waste. Quickly, the male must organize his nest in a way that a female may find attractive. He places each object with great care, adorning empty spaces with bits of paper and colored string. Everything must be perfect, and time is at a premium.
There. With his nest and appearance up to spec, he turns his gaze towards the sea of potential mates -- and potential enemies.
Across the hall two members of another clan are standing off over the same dilemma -- they are competing for the same mate. The males exchange witty vocalizations in order to disparage each other, but to no avail. This dispute will undoubtedly end in bloodshed.
At the last second, an adult notices the conflict and casually sends each male on his way. Their mating difficulties will have to wait.
Meanwhile, our male has been watching the stream of prospects. Jessica...not ideal. Sarah...possibly. Becky...
The male quickly averts his eyes until Becky has passed, along with most of the other males. Life can be cruel. Everyone knows about Becky's abortion, and until she can do something to improve her social standings, she will be shunned by the group.
Finally -- Amanda. Our male has been watching this female for some time and has spent countless hours practicing to mate with her. Perhaps today? Yes! Today will be the day to mate with Amanda.
The male approaches using a practiced but awkward strut. In his bravest tone, the male asks,
"H...hey Amanda. What's up? I was wondering if you would maybe want to g..."
The male jumps, startled, as the bell sounds again signalling the end of the passing period. Amanda, having not heard anything the male said, shuts her nest and scurries down the hallway towards biology. He has failed. Perhaps he wasn't fast enough today. The male resigns himself to further practice on his own, and will have to try to mate with Amanda again tomorrow. | Last time, we had a look at the mating habits of the adult forms of the Homosapiens Erectus, or "Humans" as they call themselves. Today, we shall be taking a look at the habits displayed by younger examples, here at what is known as "college". For the Homosapiens, knowledge is hard gained, and they use these learning complexes to transfer this knowledge, from the old and wise, to a newer generation. "Teenagers" are in between their larval and adult forms, and as such actually don't have the benefit of both. This makes for rather awkward meetings, as the males and females experience life-altering changes to their minds, voices and, yes, even their bodies. With the males, the hormone testosterone starts flowing freely; their voices deepen, hair starts to grow in their genitalic regions and their reproductive organs become active. In females, hair and reproductive organs begin to develop as well, but their voices pitch higher and secondary gender markers as their breasts start to grow. It is at this point in a human's lifecycle that we find ourselves at a college, where we are able to witness the courting between two of them.
Notice how the male approaches a group of females, pushed by his comrades to approach one of them; we can see them sitting here to the left. Notice how the group of females is communicating with each other; one of them already has been courted by one of the males, and knows that the approaching male is here to court with "Anna", the female in the yellow blouse. This communication is known as "gossip" and it is an integral part of human behaviour, especially when relating to the bonding of two humans. As the male approaches, the females laugh and push "Anna" more to the front. It is obvious that she does not know to react to "Peter", even though this isn't the first time that they have seen each other. Why this off-beat behaviour then? We are about to find out...
For "Peter" is not the only one wanting to court "Anna". From across the college yard another contestant approaches: "Donald" is known as a bully, one who subjugates others to do his bidding. He has made it clear to "Anna" that he wants her to be his mate; she disagreed on this, and since the tension is palpable. "Peter" knows of this, but has decided that he will challenge the odds on winning "Anna"'s hand. Around the college yard, other males and females are noticing the tension as "Donald" approaches the group of females and "Peter"; not so hard, considering that he is shouting obscenities to the poor male. But "Peter" is having none of it. The flower he has just given to the female, a friendly present between lovers, enrages the bully even more. He pushes the male away while voicing that he has a small reproductive organ; a move meant to intimidate the other. And here, we can see how much "Peter" is willing to court with the female: he dusts off his jacket, proclaiming that "Donald"'s reproductive organs need a magnifying glass to even see, and winks at the females; a sign of affection.
The bully has now reached his tipping point. His face becomes red and, while still screaming vulgar words, removes his jacket; a fight is about to break loose. A circle has formed around the two competing males, cheering to "Peter" and denouncing the bully, further angering him. The adrenaline coursing through his body, combined with the testosterone, tip the scales: "Donald" loses his composure, and charges at the shorter male. But if it's knowledge that is to be gained at this facility, "Donald" sure was not paying attention. For "Peter" knows some tricks, moves he has displayed when with friends and of which a lot of people know about. With a single grab and throw, the bully crashes to the ground. His look of surprise is soon followed by shame. He gets up onto his feet and makes his way through the cheering circle of humans, vowing to have his revenge one day. But that won't be today. Today, the winner is rewarded by the female with a kiss on the cheek. The smile on his face, combined with the cheers of people around him, make him feel good; he has done well to make his "friends" proud.
Tune in next week as we continue our fascinating look into the mating rituals of the humans, as we'll delve deeper into their reproductive systems, in "Planet Earth". | 2017-04-04T07:07:46 | 2017-04-04T06:35:46 | 46 | 10 |
[WP] people are born knowing the date they’ll die. However people have noticed children born in the last week share one date, farthest in the future. | “Dave are you looking at these numbers? All these kids end dates come out to the same day. June 6 2124, is this some glitch in the computers program or...?”
As Dave walks over and checks the computer, his annoyed facial expression changes to a severely puzzled look.
“You don’t think...that maybe it means something, do you? Like the end times?” asks the man sitting at the monitor.
“Cirrus’s super computer analyzes all physiological and biological DNA traits in all those born and gives a predictive analysis based on a bunch of information from both parents and the child. But I don’t see how it could predict the end of times for all these children. It’s almost as if it knows what the future might hold for all these kids.
We should run another test to see if it was a malfunction.
So Boyce, the man at the monitor, and Dave run the analytics program once again.
It turns out the Cirrus Super Computer miscalculated a small amount of data that made it seem as if all these children had the same life altering disease, once they fixed the error in the script, the expiration read outs came out normal, except for one child whose disease resulted in an end date for June 6 2124.
Remember to always go over your work twice or you could send the world into a frenzy. | The virtually non-existent yet sternly constant flow of beeps,buzzers,and all kinds of sounds each coming from some gadget worth more than twice Jake's salary nearly took him to sleep as he forced himself to stand "You cannot dose off; you worked so hard to get here and i wont let you blow it!" he repeated to himself like a mantra as he stood to check the monitors of the nursery he scribbled the numbers from the screen and remained careful not to touch anything. The machines Jake was working with could tell everything about a baby- Potential defects,Health risks,personality traits and even the day that they would die. Jake,like all other workers at his level,had no idea how the machines worked and was quite sure no human alive did; nonetheless, he was happy and grateful for them as with all the 'gifts' AI had brought humanity.
"z-Zach" Jake muttered quivering as he transcribed the senseless scramble of numbers into dates on his computer "I - I think we have a problem here" He eagerly flipped his computer screen toward his coworker to reveal a screen filled with names, hundreds, no thousands of names followed by basic information like eye color hair color etc., but one column at the end was almost identical ... the one marked DeathDate.
"This is a bug right Zach?" Jake asked with a terrified tone, Zach had a degree in advanced computer science and compared to Jake was genius. "No this system can't bug, it's been run through the singularity several times .... I wonder why all these death dates are the same?" Seemingly triggered by Zach's words, the camera in the corner of the room looked away and all the dates were scrambled, some of the dates had already occurred.
"Zach ... i think we're being watched"
"I know"
"Z--zach that date was today"
"I know"
"what do w-"
Fsh-- The power suddenly went out cutting Jake off and sending the 2 into a panic, regardless of their struggles the door was somehow machine locked although the power had seemingly went out.
The 2 gravitated toward the window like moths to light and pulled the blinds; however, rather than being greeted by the illustrious light of the city they were met with a city of darkness, buildings like jagged pieces of brimstone shooting hundreds of feet into the sky defying the world unto which they were erected. The night held still in that moment in total darkness until a faint, red glow with no visible origin poured into the streets materializing out of thin air. Both men stood there like stones, unable to move or react they looked on as their world ended before them...
Sorry for bad writing/grammar mistakes this is my first post. | 2017-12-25T18:01:52 | 2017-12-25T14:14:17 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | *"The thought was naive. So naive that we didn't imagine it would work. Imagine our surprise when it did..."*
I down the little plastic shot cup of Daniels in my hand and toss it into the Recycler as I walk out of the bar. The little intern employed to shadow me follows on my footsteps, stumbling with her books. I chuckle to myself and wait for her to regain her footing before continuing out of the bar.
We make our way across the new London Bridge, named after the old one which had been decimated by the War that emcompassed the world. It had been 50 years since "Maelstrom" but the scars on my back ached as if I had only gotten the injuries yesterday.
*"50 years. 50 years for each country to rebuild itself and re-discover who we were as a people. At least, so went the official story. We just wanted the end to it all. The hate, the bigotry, everything. America was, and for reconcillation sake I hope they have re-discovered this, a bastion of freedom and democracy and equal justice for every man. But somewhere down the line, that ideology had been warped for evil. For hate."*
I stop and look over the edge of the bridge, straining to see if I can see my reflection on the surface of the dark blue river. The sunset behind me casts the long shadow of the bridge on the surface and all I see is just a flowing darkness. The bridge itself, while structurally sound, could still not match the class nor fame of its predecessor. Britain had mourned its people, its infrastructure... but the pain of losing the bridge and the palace never waned. It just waxed stronger.
I glance at the intern who had chosen to also look into the waters. She is one of the younglings born years after the war. Early enough to see the rebuilding begin anew. Her historical knowledge was young, bolstered only by the books she now carried.
Before I can look away, I see her lips move and I hear the question come through...
*"I have heard about how the Thames used to be murky looking. But this is all I've ever seen. How could the world change so much in 50 years? I have seen the old maps. I have heard what happened to...to... Haiti? How could it be so different to 50 years ago?"*
*"When you lose half the population, geographical ego stops being a factor. After Italy, Canada, Nigeria, Mexico and Germany... I don't even know if you've seen a map of those countries. After the fake treaty of 'locking' our borders and 'retreating' from the world, the rest of the countries came together to heal. We owed it to our people, our countries and to the revolutionaries who had come before us to warn about the dangers of hate and war."*
*"Couldn't America be part of it?"*
*"They could be. They could have been. But a myriad of factors had dictated that it wouldn't be in our best interest to include them. They had forsaken the very ideas they had been founded on. They had become brash and proud and bitter. They had fashioned themselves the leaders of the world. Quick to act but slow to consider all options. They could have been part of us, but when their first words out of the war demanded reparations for an event they started... it was then we knew what needed to be done."*
*"...The 50 year agreement ends in 12 hours, sir... What happens when they re-connect with the world and see all that has been accomplished since then? What if they deem us evil for secluding them?"*
*"And then we will tell them why. They would have no choice but to accept it."*, I say stretching and indicating we keep walking down the bridge.
*"What if they don't accept it?"* She asks, tentatively.
*"Then we do what they attempted to do 50 years ago and almost succeeded doing..."*
*"...which is?"*
I look at her as I feel the bitterness rise inside me.
*"We'll wipe them off the map."*
-----
It's been a while since I wrote so please critique away. i need to flex my writing muscle :) | I was only a child when the bombs fell. First, they said it was the Russians. Then, they tried to convince us that it was the vindictive actions of one "Kim Jong Un", authoritarian ruler of a small nation that used to be known as North Korea. Neither the north nor the south survived, so I guess it's just No Korea now. At least that's what my grandpa always used to like to say. He had some pretty strong opinions about the entire situation.
It wasn't until the war was almost over that we truly accepted how it had began. We were the ones that had dropped the first bombs. Some kind of resurgence of this idea they once called "manifest destiny" under the last democratically elected president of the States, our great leader Trump (may he make america great again) had taken hold in the collective consciousness of the American people.
Of course, I don't really remember any of this happening. I was just a kid. But, I have heard stories. Entire regions of the world were gone in a matter of hours. Over 97% of the world's population was sentenced to a metaphorical guillotine. My family was lucky. My dad had always had this hobby called "doomsday prepping" that turned out to actually be quite useful. He had built us a shelter in the backyard. Apparently my mom always used to yell at him for spending money on useless things. I guess it wasn't so useless after all.
Mere hours after the bombs fell, the world leaders tried to convene and place sanctions upon our great leader Trump (may he make America great again). He wouldn't have it. He continued to drop more bombs. The event quickly became known as the third world war, though it lasted no more than two weeks in total. Most of the world is still uninhabitable. Our great leader Trump (may he make America great again) then came up with a brilliant solution to get us out of our dreadful situation. He pressed all the other world leaders into agreeing to a permanent ceasefire under the banner of reducing globalism and returning to a time before the world was so connected. Every country agreed that, for the next fifty years, no country would contact any of the others. They agreed because of the great leadership of lord Trump (may he make America great again) and because he was very stable and genius. This is how my father tells the story, so it must be true.
Well, I'm no longer a child and it is finally time to go back out into the world. To tell the truth, I am kind of afraid. I've never really been outside of this bunker. All I've had are the weekly broadcasts of our great leader on an old CB radio that must be well over a hundred years old. I know that we have surely fared the best of all the countries in the world, so why should I be afraid? What will I find? As long as I follow the great leader Trump's (may he make America great again) instructions, I know everything will turn out fine.
As I take my first steps outside, the first thing I notice it that it is really fucking hot. Leader Trump (may he live forever) has told us that it might be warmer than we are used to due to the very natural process of the Earth's warming, which we are told happens in cycles.
My daughter sees the sun for the first time. This is worth all the years of isolation. To see her smile is the only thing that has kept me going for a long time. When mom died, my daughter would tell me that grandma was finally able to go out and be in the world again. That was a small, but comforting idea.
I'm surprised by the lack of vegetation. It seems almost as if no one is around. Isn't this the day that we all get to leave our bunkers? Is this not the day that leader Trump (may he make America great again) promised? I see my wizened father in the corner of my eye. He is sharing a knowing look with several of the other elderly members of the family.
"Son, I have something to tell you," he says to me. "I made a mistake many years ago. There was a missile alarm that went off in Hawaii all those years ago, so I decided to finally make use of the bunker. There was no war. That CB radio? It's actually just a two-way radio and this whole Trump thing has been pretty entertaining. We used memes to get him elected in my day. I felt mighty foolish after staying down there for a solid month, but your mother and I finally came out when we realized that there were no continuing emergency broadcasts. The alarm was a false alarm. Then we started hearing things on the news about kids eating Tide pods. The world wasn't a safe place anymore. Your mother and I decided to weather out life underground. Now that your daughter is beginning to get older, I just feel like I'd be a bad grandpa if I didn't let her see the world, son. I'm sorry, but we had a good time down there, didn't we?"
"But where are all the people, father?" I asked.
"Oh, Elon Musk took everyone to Mars about 10 years after we got all barricaded. Decided to let the planet heal a little- Global warming and all."
"What's global warming?" I asked.
"Oh, don't worry about that, it's handled. Anyway, sorry about the whole lying thing," he said as he ducked from my clumsily attempted punch.
Well, it looks like I have a lot to learn about the real world. Wish me luck. At least I'm not isolated anymore. Wish me luck.
Sorry if this sucks. First attempt on WP.
| 2018-01-18T00:13:03 | 2018-01-17T20:36:12 | 1,623 | 216 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are. | Well, this may be the ump-tenth time I've "kidnapped" the Princess. Every time she gets saved she plays the victim, swoons for her "hero" and goes home with a smile, plotting her next kidnapping in hopes of finally returning here for good. Honestly, she's crazy.
I feel bad for the guy, he's hard working, steady job, well loved. Apparently a little slow or blinded by affection for his Princess. But I guess so am I. Every time she gets away, puts a spell of charm and command over my soldiers and commanders, and is off to the races. I haven't really properly ordered my men in thirty years.
Thirty odd years ago, that's when I made my mistake. My dream of ruling a kingdom and taking the Princess. It was simple as dreams go. But once I had her and fanned my soldiers out into the world she...changed. Next thing I knew she wasn't resisting me. I thought "Great!" But as I gave her freedoms within my castle she started to want to partner more and share my rule. My once glorious and fearful rule! I am now but a joke. A shell of a villain to the world.
She would have some of her old servants captured and then lock them in a smaller castle with her. There she would have arranged that I take her away as though I was moving her confinement to another castle. She must have done this six or seven times messing with the heads of her former companions. Lord knows what they told her rescuer if he didn't bypass their castle.
She started ordering my army to put traps around knowing her man in red would try and save her. They say he even bested a giant ape before so she was not taking chances. I thought she wanted to stay with me at first -and I still think that is partially true - but I know she also just wanted to stay in power and be, well, evil.
Eventually her hero came. As I can't say no to her, I can never say no to her, I defended her in her chambers. When I was bested she played the good princess and was thankful of her savior. A few years later I found her back in my home though, already setting up defenses. Princess told me she missed me...Princess told me she missed all of this. This would repeat time and time again. And yet that blissfully sorry hero would rise to the challenge shouting "It'sa me! Mario!" and thwarting her plans yet again. | I should have known something was up. I should have asked more questions when the letter arrived. They hadn't offered a ransom. No hero to save her. Not even a single word of ill will. No... Nothing. And now somehow I The Lord of Fire. The King of Death. The Harbinger of Destruction and Disease am hiding in a broom closet.
What the actual F***?!
Ok. So lets start from the beginning. Hi. I'm Desmond. Basically I'm an evil overlord. I built my kingdoms on the corpses of both the innocent and the depraved. I killed children, monsters, men, women, devils, angels, and even a few hero's. Honestly I'd have to say I've achieved a lot over the years. People feared my name and all was well and good until one if my advisers (who I personally strangled to death after it was to damn late.) Stated that I needed to look at possibly producing an heir.
We did the whole shibang. Had long meetings about possible kingdones to over throw, pillaging a few villages, even coverd the plausibility of an unholy union or two. But we decided it cost less in souls and effort if we just kidnapped a hot young prices.
Needless to say...we were wrong.
I had Basicly narrowed it down to two girls. The first was honestly to young for me. She was only 15 and I'm sorry I'm an evil overlord not a pedo. Besides I like to have something a little curvy you know. Someone to keep you warm at night. Not someone you have to tuck in at night.
So we ended up going with option number two. A young prices about to turn 18 from a well off kingdom across the pond. We had a whole plan. Show up in person. Like a gentleman dose. And then kidnap her. Kill a few guards and make a show of it. I sent a few letters threatening the kingdom and its neighboring lands. And when the day came I busted down the door.
This is were it got strange. For a royal coming of age party no one was there. It was just the king, the queen, an old priest and the princeses. Normaly you invite a lot of people to this kind of thing right? I mean your passing the torch to your daughter. Thats a big deal. But no. I had brought only a few of my generals and still had more people than they did.
On top of that we werent really stoped from taking her. It was more like a hand full of guards showed up and danced for us rather than trying to strike us down.
Fast forword a few days and were back in my kingdom and I sent out a few letters to the king and queen about how I would force her to marry me and even take her by force on our wedding day. The reply, and I kid you not. The reply I got from the king was, and I quote "Good luck." I had to reread that a few times.
Good luck...that bastard.
We soon figured out why. After visiting her in her new chambers she was a little to eager to get to know me. At first I thought she was trying to play along. But I soon realized that that was not the case. One night I didn't visit her due to being out dealing with a small rebellion. Nothing to big just a radical survivor of the last royal blood line. I could have just sent a general but I wanted things done right. But like I was saying. I didnt show up and instead went strait to bed. I awoke to her straddling me and five dead guards.
She had killed 5 of my elite guards and snuck into my room. I thought she was going to kill me! but insted she smiled. A smile that only one type of women would smil. She smiled a smile that would make satan question his life choices and then kissed me.
"You didnt come by to say goodnight darling."
I think I had actually shit myself that night. | 2018-02-09T05:44:16 | 2018-02-09T04:30:09 | 61 | 44 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are. | Well, this may be the ump-tenth time I've "kidnapped" the Princess. Every time she gets saved she plays the victim, swoons for her "hero" and goes home with a smile, plotting her next kidnapping in hopes of finally returning here for good. Honestly, she's crazy.
I feel bad for the guy, he's hard working, steady job, well loved. Apparently a little slow or blinded by affection for his Princess. But I guess so am I. Every time she gets away, puts a spell of charm and command over my soldiers and commanders, and is off to the races. I haven't really properly ordered my men in thirty years.
Thirty odd years ago, that's when I made my mistake. My dream of ruling a kingdom and taking the Princess. It was simple as dreams go. But once I had her and fanned my soldiers out into the world she...changed. Next thing I knew she wasn't resisting me. I thought "Great!" But as I gave her freedoms within my castle she started to want to partner more and share my rule. My once glorious and fearful rule! I am now but a joke. A shell of a villain to the world.
She would have some of her old servants captured and then lock them in a smaller castle with her. There she would have arranged that I take her away as though I was moving her confinement to another castle. She must have done this six or seven times messing with the heads of her former companions. Lord knows what they told her rescuer if he didn't bypass their castle.
She started ordering my army to put traps around knowing her man in red would try and save her. They say he even bested a giant ape before so she was not taking chances. I thought she wanted to stay with me at first -and I still think that is partially true - but I know she also just wanted to stay in power and be, well, evil.
Eventually her hero came. As I can't say no to her, I can never say no to her, I defended her in her chambers. When I was bested she played the good princess and was thankful of her savior. A few years later I found her back in my home though, already setting up defenses. Princess told me she missed me...Princess told me she missed all of this. This would repeat time and time again. And yet that blissfully sorry hero would rise to the challenge shouting "It'sa me! Mario!" and thwarting her plans yet again. | Tyran the Unreasonable was his first name, through countless crusades of evil he managed to bolster his reputation to Tyran the Insane. Tyran was seven feet tall, he had shoulders so wide that he had to walk sideways through doors and his appearance alone was enough to cause the bravest of men to stutter. A concoction of his body, irrational behaviour and reputation forged him into the most feared man on earth; even death had trouble competing. Tyran the Insane's downfall could not even be imagined, yet it came in the form of a five-foot blonde princess who had been part of Tyran's latest conquest.
'STOP THAT!' Tyran commanded. The shout would normally freeze most mortals, but his prize was different.
'For the love of Lucifer stop!' Tyran sent his bowling ball sized fist into the nearest wall causing his throne room to shake. Chaos took over the room, he could only see the blur of blonde and streaks of crimson. The servants were fleeing, but not fast enough. Armed with a butter knife Sweet Susan had, to use her phrasing, buttered fifteen men. There were five servants who managed to escape the throne room; the Jester took off towards the kitchen, the War General had run to the nearest closet, the two Stable Boys were bee-lining it straight for the horses and the Devil Minister had scrambled to his blood altar.
'Five to go.' Sweet Susan said with her head cocked to one side. Her lips were a sweet shade of red, no wait...crimson, her lipstick started to run down her chin, but before it could spill on her blood-spattered white dress her tongue flew out like a frog catching a fly.
'While I admire your bloodthirst, you are killing the wrong men.' Tyran was struggling to keep his voice from shaking. The dead look in Sweet Susan's eyes threw him.
'All die. All die. Die all. D-allllllll....' Sweet Susan cocked her head to the other side in a movement so fast that caused Tyran to jump. She left the throne room and Tyran lumbered after her, something in his chest was beating hard and fast, it took a moment for him to realise had still had a heart.
He was too late to save the War General, there was blood leaking from the cupboard's door. Tyran was not known for having a weak stomach, but the contents of that claustrophobic space made the giant dizzy. The man's head was carefully placed on top of a broom handle, the cut was jagged and looked like the a pair of jeans had been hacked short by a blunt knife. The decapitated body lay sprawled in the corner and one of the legs had a large chunk missing.
Tyran caught a glimpse of Sweet Susan in the kitchen, she had taken the Jester's hat and as she disappeared from sight he could hear the jovial jingle of her bobbing head. The stench of burning flesh hit his nose, he knew the smell well, but it was slightly sweeter, a seasoned hand lay on a cast iron pan with the gas cooker roaring.
The blood altar was well and truly a blood altar. A stone basin bore the only evidence the minister had even existed, it was filled to the brim with thick crimson drink, the sides of the stone bore trail marks of Sweet Susan's careless filling. If Tyran had looked up he would have found the minsters hung body, positioned twenty feet above the basin with his throat cut.
Tyran had liked his name, the insane, it had a ring to it. But he had never truly witnessed insanity, not until today. Exiting his castle, his conquered home, he saw in the distance the two stable boys. Susan was swinging violently with something long and white. With each swing came an arc of blood. Screams filled the distance until the two boys stopped thrashing. Even at the distance, Tyran could see her head cock and her dead eyes fixed on his. He ran. | 2018-02-09T05:44:16 | 2018-02-09T04:43:06 | 61 | 42 |
[WP] After dying, you are faced with a coin slot. It says, "Pay 1$ to live for another day". You tried it out, and lived for another day. The next day, it showed up again, this time it asks you for 2$. | This was great at first. I didn’t have much money to my name, but I had enough to last me a few weeks given the exponential increase in the money owed. The first week or so, I continued to live the way I had been before. This included bar fights, prostitutes, and cocaine. Lots of cocaine. How do you think I died in the first place?
Life was great. I began to form a new lot on life, and began to better myself. No more illegal activity, more time with the family, and as many charitable acts I could do without inconveniencing myself. Hey- I even started to go to church. I was a happy, changed man.
I noticed the shift when I would wake up and immediately check my bank account every morning. I started to panic when I noticed my funds were depleting and my days were getting shorter. My family was happy I was still alive; they thought it was a miracle that I had come back from the dead. I thought of it as a curse.
I remember the first morning I completely ran out of money. I paid my last chunk of change into slot and had one mission for the entire day- to get $512 to pay for my next day on Earth. I panhandled, begged my family, and sold all of my belongings and was able to come up with the money by midnight that night. I was happy, until I realized- I only have 24 hours now- and this time I need $1024.
My need for life became an addiction. I was happy! I wasn’t ready to die! I felt like a drug addict just trying to score their next bag of dope. That day got weird. I started with the same tactics as yesterday, but only made a few hundred bucks. I was going to die if I didn’t figure this out. This is where life got bad.
I needed this money. I grabbed a paper bag out of the city trash can and shoved my hand into it. I sat outside for about 45 seconds, evaluating what I was about to do. I walked into the closest liquor store and held my paper bag “gun” up to the kind-eyed, elderly gentleman behind the counter. I was fighting back tears, and managed to choke out the words, “gi-give me the money! No less than $1,000!” I don’t know who was more scared- me or the cashier.
I couldn’t tell you how far I ran that day. After I left the store, I didn’t stop. All I know is that I ran west because I remember watching the sun set right in front of me. I was in a crisis. Yes, I liked to mess around, but I never thought I’d get to the point of robbing stores to score another day alive. It was approaching midnight when I finally sat down on a park bench probably 30 miles away from the liquor store. I thought to myself, “is it even worth it? Should I even put my money into this machine to wake up tomorrow needing even more money?”
••••
It’s been about a year now. It’s been a crazy one. I’ve become a master at committing heists. I have more than enough cash to last me at least the next two months, but I don’t care. Every day I’m in a new city, robbing another bank, jewelry store, or armored truck. I don’t even care about the money. I’m not sure I’d want to live anymore if it meant I couldn’t steal. I’m addicted. The weird part is that I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I love the rush. I love the feeling of killing people, knowing they’re paying for my next day alive.
I’m too good at this. I have a motivation that nobody else on Earth can have. I’ll stop at nothing to hit my next lick.
I’ll be around for a while. I know it. | A voice rich and sonorous filled the air like rumbling thunder, echoing through my mind like a whisper down a deep well.
“Would you like another day?” it asks. There is an undertone of mirth in the voice, a mocking tone of one who has all the knowledge and power.
My eyes focus through the haze and I see a body lying crumpled upon the ground, its arms and legs strewn out like the sickening insignia of a swastika, its head tucked away at an angle that is unnatural and wrong. Next to it, is a 4x4 and a little woman in sunglasses, standing beside the vehicle with her hands on her head, wearing an expression of shock and misery. Even though the haze is strong and suffocating, I sense a faraway emotion as I realise that the figure draped over the asphalt is me, my corporeal body.
Panic sets in as I realise that I am floating away from my body like a raft on a slow tide, edging away from myself. I stretch my arms out, desperately trying to reach me, but there is an ebb and pull drawing me in, transporting my soul away from the scene.
Suddenly, I halt, pausing for a moment, as I notice the hooded figure, swathed in unworldly garments drifting next to me. I look at its hood and the tenebrous folds, sweeping over each other like shifting sands of time. I try to look into the void where a face should be but I stop when I notice a thread of light trailing from me as if it were subsuming the remnants of all that is left.
“Would you like to live for another day?” the rich, tenor of a voice asks. “Just put this in there and you can live again.”
In the palm of an ancient, withered hand, it is holding a coin, which I recognise to be a dollar. I see, on the other side of the phantom, floating in the void, is a vintage, slot machine. I hungrily try to take the dollar away from the skeletal hand but it closes with speed. I shiver as my fingers caress the frigid bones of the being, now laughing at my vain attempt to take the money.
“Listen closely,” it tells me.
“You, an average man of forgettable consequence, have been chosen over all the others. It has been decided, that you will have a special destiny.”
The words hung in the air like dark, storm clouds, brimming with power, ready to unleash their energy.
“Death cannot be everywhere at once. And there are certain ways people need to die that requires… a human touch.”
It pointed down at my body on the road. A small crowd of people had gathered there now, some on their mobile phones, many just ogling at the scene.
“I present to you one more day of life. You must, however, earn that gift.”
It opened its palm again; there was the coin. Instead of the profile of one of the great and noble presidents, there was the protrusion of a skull, shining eerily in the ethereal being’s aura.
“Think of this as employment. One day at a time. If you perform my bidding well, I shall offer you another day of being, but at the cost of two dollars. Each day that I give you, I will charge you more. But there is good news. The more difficult the task that I set, the more I shall pay you.”
I had started to move away from my body again, watching it diminish in size as I floated towards a nebulous darkness up above, a swirling vortex that looked as viscous as oil.
“I could have picked any soul from an incalculable number of the dying or soon to be dead but I wanted you,” the voice breathed. It was sounding urgent now, as if it too was wary of time running out.
My body was almost out of sight and I was almost at the threshold of the vortex, where a cold, metallic sensation washed over me. I could take it no longer. I grabbed the dollar from the hand of death and put it into the machine. I pulled at the lever on the side, a three foot long crank, until it could go no further down.
On the panel at the front, three columns began spinning, their revolutions at differing speeds, making the three vertical bars shift and blur in and out of focus.
Finally they stopped, and aligned were three laughing skulls.
In the void there was some sort of pulse, a shockwave that rippled from deep inside the arcade machine. I wanted to scream as the silent vibrations thrummed though my whole essence. It felt like something inside me being creating from nothing, a sensation of emptiness being filled. I was drawing closer to the body sprawled on the road, all the while, my limbs becoming firmer, my head becoming clearer. As I neared, I could hear the sounds of life again. Car exhausts, the faraway sound of drilling and, loudest of all, people chattering.
“What happened?”
“Is he alright?”
“Has someone phoned 911?”
Suddenly there is a click, coming from my neck. It sounds like a puzzle being completed; it feels like my vertebrae slotting back into position.
To gasps from the sidewalk, I slowly turn onto my side and rise up into a sitting position, gently massage my temples.
I am alive again.
But at what cost? | 2018-07-29T04:48:35 | 2018-07-29T03:59:43 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] John Shoester is a bitter old man who travels around and tells people their approximate time of death. Five years. Twenty years. Two months. And he's always been 100% smugly accurate - then he met you. Last week!? | I didn't bother hiding my smile. I had died last week, and he'd predicted, exactly right, almost 8 years ago. He was just such a jerk, I had to rub this in his face.
"You know something," I half-chuckled. "That's the same time you told me before. And I told you it wouldn't stick."
His eyes went wide. Good, he remembered. He should, seeing as I'd shot him that last time. He still had a limp.
"So, tell me the next spot on the list," I said. "When do I die again?"
"Uh, I don't, just a moment," he said, shaking.
"Don't take to long. As you recall, I am not a patient man. Not a man at all, really. Not anymore."
"It's just... Okay, got it." He pulled a gun from that little bag of his, and pointed it at my head. "Now."
As the bullet tore through my skull, I didn't stop smiling. He wasn't wrong. I'd die again. But he was a fool. I was crushed by collapsing building last time, so a single bullet was a minor setback. I'm curious how he'll react next time I come back. | The little old man defied his apparent age by the speed at which he approached me. I was walking in the opposite direction of him, late for my shift.
“Hi, I’m John, have a moment?” He asked, as I pushed past him and checked my watch. 6:58. Shift starts in two minutes and I can’t be late again.
“Sir, please just one minute of your time.” I picked up my pace. I was almost jogging at this point. 6:59. I was caught off guard by the hand that gripped my forearm. I turned and the little old man, cane in hand, had caught up to me and had his fingers wrapped around my arm in what felt like a vice grip. I got in his face. “Let go of me, I’m late for work.” His grip tightened. “What the hell man, get off me.” I flailed my arm and couldn’t get free of his grasp. I looked him in the eyes and he had a smug, wry smile painted on his face. “You and me have an appointment, kid.” He pushed me into an alleyway and I fell on top of a discarded wooden pallet.
“Dude, what do you want from me?” I was looking up at him now. He put down his cane and lowered himself to be eye-level with me. “I’m John Shoester. I am *never* wrong. Never. Except with you, you little shit.” Alarm bells were going off in my head. “What in the world are you talking about?! I have a job and I need to get there now.” I began to lift myself up and felt another hard shove against my chest pushing me back down onto the pallet. “You’re not going anywhere, kid.”
“You see, I have a unique ability. I know when everyone’s time expires. When the last of the sand falls from your hourglass. When the bucket is ready to be kicked and I have never been wrong. That is, until last week when your impromptu decision to walk instead of bike home tarnished my record. I can’t have a tarnished record. You are my only mistake and I must correct it.” He reached for his back pocket and I saw the silhouette of a gun. “Oh my god, man what the hell!” He struck me with the butt of the gun. I faded out for a second. “John Shoester is never wrong. He may be a week late, but he is not wrong.”
The sound of a gun going off echoed in the alleyway. A little old man with a cane hurried out of it and disappeared into the crowd of people commuting to work. | 2018-09-06T09:43:21 | 2018-09-06T07:18:03 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] You have a useless superpower where you gain a random power each day that prepares you for the events stored in the day. Why this is useless? They're all subtle, like summoning an extra toilet roll. Then, one day, you wake up with eldritch, god-like powers. | My powers were always special to me. Not in the way that many would think. They never helped me. They gave me the chance to help others.
The neighbor hood kids loved me when I would have the ability to make ice cream out of thin air. Their grandparents would love when threads of yarn would pop out of my ears. Finally, the parents loved the days that I could tell enthralling stories that would take them far away from the lives they lived.
The community took me in when i was a child and since then have tried to do their best by me so that i'd do my best by them. I'm seen as the local hero though I didn't deserve that title. That was until today.
When I woke up I already knew today was going to be different. All knowledge flew through me. I knew everything and i could process it in a second. I extrapolated everything i could and calculated the future.
I learned of the vast horror that would be needed for me to gain this enormous strength. Most importantly, I learned that today I was going to die.
As I walked outside I saw what was coming. A giant mass of darkness. The last of its kind. The last god.
The kids of the neighborhood dropped what they were doing and ran over to me. "Mr. Hero, what can you do today?" said one of the youngest kids in an all too excited manner.
The next four words would be my last so, I chose them wisely. " I can save you". With that I took off toward my death. | I hate my power
Everyday I wake up with a useless superpower, for example: yesterday i ran out of soap but i was able to summon a new bar of it..... that was it nothing else only a bar of soap.
Useless.
It’s been like this for as long as I can remember never having anything useful like invisibility or super strength, but this morning I awoke floating above my bed, staring at my pillow, my blankets hanging of the sides of my body.
I fell on my headboard... on my nose.
It was bleeding everywhere, gushing like a waterfall but like 30 seconds later it just stopped, it didn’t even bruise or hurt, it was like nothing happened.
I would of thought I was hallucinating if not for the blood covering everything.
I would have to leave it or I would be late for work. It would suck to get out later.
I sighed ,staring at the blood, thinking of what would happen today to give me these powers.
I finally get out the door, almost crushing the handle, and started heading to my car.
“I will so be late for work,” I groan.
“Beatrice!” Calls my gangly neighbor Greg.
“Yeah...” I know what he’s going to ask.
“What’s your power today? Let me guess it’s summoning your keys again!” He crows.
He does this every morning, I’m sure the only reason he gets up this early is to mock me.
“Yeah Greg that’s spot on,” I tell him. I don’t have time for this.
He says something else but I’m already closing my car door. Time for work. Fun.
I’m halfway to work when every single car stops. I almost slam into the grey minivan, I have to slam the breaks to not hit it.
Everyone’s car horns honking, I strain to see what’s happening, there’s a tall man and woman in all black in the middle of the intersection.
They’re holding fireballs in their hands tossing them hand to hand, it’s beautiful in an eerie way.
After a few minutes they levitate themselves a couple feet in the air and the woman calls out.
“We are looking for Beatrice Wood. We know your hearing this, and if you don’t get out of your car in five minutes, we’re setting this city ablaze.”
It’s like she doesn’t even need to yell, her monotone voice carried all the way to me almost in the very back.
I guess this is what my powers were preparing me for, if only those people could of waited a bit longer, I mean it’s only 7:30 a.m.
I get out of the car and call,
“Hey, I’m over here, and if you wouldn’t mind not setting my city on fire, I would very much appreciate it!”
They spun around towards me and seemed to do a double take. I guess they didn’t expect someone so short for... well for whatever they want.
Edit: Part one is up on my profile now!
Edit again: Part Two is up! | 2019-01-20T22:53:21 | 2019-01-20T20:07:22 | 1,907 | 176 |
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