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] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | *Any moment, now.*
I glanced to the windows and skylights that drenched me in sunlight, panels of crystalline glass so huge that a blind man could pick me out from the amongst the diners. On second thought, picking a location with so much fragility may not have been a stroke of genius.
"Are you okay, dear?" my darling Sophia asked, her voice sweeter than the tiramisu before us. Natural light scattered in her sapphire eyes, bouncing, like a set of mirrors in the ocean.
I wrinkled my upper lip, itching under a mustache, a wiry, rough thing, like strands of a broom. "Yes, yes. My mind is just... Preoccupied," I replied, glancing to my hands, hidden beneath the table, wincing.
She frowned, but turned back to her dessert. This was the sixth attempt now, and the first time we'd even made it past hors d'oeuvres. Of course, we spent most of our time together in private, but it isn't fair to keep hidden a woman commanding such beauty and presence. Imagine finding the most beautiful exotic bird, a magnificent beast exploding with color and grace, then stuffing it into a cardboard box to shove under a bed.
The fact that they still hadn't arrived was amusing, if nothing else. Wrinkling my lip again, the thought of it made me chuckle despite a sense of looming dread. There would only be one chance.
Thoughts shattered in my mind with the skylights, an ear-piercing crash that threatened everyone below with shards of glass like icicles raining from the sky. Of course, none of it hit us. *He* would never let it.
'Strike Team 6', they were called, a band of mercenary superheroes that have held sway over the city for years now. Each of them had militaristic might that threatened the greatest army.
"Do you not learn, Cobra?" one of them asked, approaching me. Their leader, the fabled King Crusher. He was a brute of a man, one that hardly looked like a superhero.
"Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how not to need food." Upon wrinkling my lip again, I noticed a distinct lack of the wiry itchiness. Cheap little thing.
"We're not here to monitor your dieting habits, jackass," he replied, taking a step forward. "You've moved against civilians in the past, what would you expect us to do when you suddenly put yourself in a building with eighty other innocent people? It doesn't matter how long you've been quiet for. One drop of that poison of yours could kill a whale in twenty seconds."
I glanced down, flushing slightly.
"Though," he continued, "I will admit that stupid mustache threw us off a little bit. But the ruse is over, now. Just come quietly with us. This doesn't need to be hard."
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath, then straightened my back. "Crusher, if I may... could we please finish our meal? I've been with this woman for half a year, now, and it feels like this is our first real date. It's not completely ruined, yet."
The hulking man eyed her with the assessing judgment of a general. There would be nothing for him, though. She was an average woman in only one way: mutations. Sophia was a normal person without power or ability.
"Why would I trust you?"
"Well, for starters, you've done more damage here than I have." He raised an eyebrow at my comment.
I took another deep breath and raised my hands in front of me, earning a few shouts from the crowd and tensing amidst ST6. Flinching, hissing, I slowly and crudely peeled off the crimson gloves on them.
*Sorry, Sophia. I know you didn't want this, but there's no other way.*
A few groans sounded through the crowd, and even Steelheart gasped a little. Underneath the medicated gloves, effectively just bandages that looked nice, my hands were mangled. Swollen, matted, shiny and marked with the black, dashed lines of sutures, where there had once been venom sacs, there was now only pus and pain. The mutation had been deeply embedded in my wrists, entwined with my nerves and ligaments, and... difficult to cut out, like trying to unroot a great oak tree, even with a healing mutant aiding me. Repair would take weeks of repeat sessions, the damage was so bad. Painkillers kept it manageable enough not to cry.
Crusher stared at them, contorting his face with disgust. "Why?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on the mangled flesh.
"She's worth it," I replied, turning back. Sophia had a delicate hand over her mouth, poorly containing violent sobs. "I would give up anything for her, Crusher. Even my identity."
*/r/resonatingfury* | The problem with being a supervillain with a known face is that doing anything, anything at all tends to draw the attention of superjerks in tights. But if you aren’t, like, one of the big names? Then there’s a solution!
Leave the city. Hell, you know what? Leave that entire region. So I did! Goodbye LA, hello New York!
Now, I’m not naïve! I just began to probe at first. Being able to go to a big supermarket without Magos or Great Blue or some other costumed ass dropping on your head? Worth every penny it cost to leave everything behind.
I mean, I usually steal them anyway… but I digress. Tonight, I’m finally doing it; the one thing that kept being denied to me. Tonight, I’m going a date.
My breath actually catches when I see her. The profile photo does her no justice. Lovely, curled golden locks that cascade down her back, and a gorgeous yellow dress that hugs her body… but it’s her eyes that captivate me, rich brown and sharp, studying me as she approaches the table, and I can barely manage to stand up without knocking something over.
“Grace, I presume.” Her smile is radiant. “I must say that I wasn’t expecting a suit.”
I think she might have been making fun of me, but I’m far too enchanted to really comment. My brain does manage to kickstart before I make a fool of myself though. “I’m… afraid that I don’t really do well in dresses.” I trace a finger down the scar that goes down my cheek. “For the same reason why bikini season is over…” I catch myself before I elaborate too much. “Delilah, right? It’s a delight to meet you. Please!” I move so I can pull her seat to the side before the waiter can.
I would have a hard time describing this date at any other date. She’s absolutely charming, she laughs at my poor attempts of humor, the food Is good—it better be, at this price—and the ambience is lovely and relaxing. She asks me about where I’m from, and I manage to keep it somewhat vague, telling her I’m from the west coast but came all the way east for new opportunities. She doesn’t press too hard, and… and I think it’s going well.
Well enough that I’m actually caught by surprise when things go wrong. It starts familiarly enough, with a loud crash to overwhelm and surprise. I’m familiar with them, but it still catches me off-guard, and I can only stare dumbfounded at the couple of superheroes that have broken in.
I recognize them—I did my homework—Steelcase is a brick, super-strong and tough as nails, likely able to tank most of what I can throw at him. The other is Lightfoot, a speedster, just as likely to be there to carry my date away.
Surprise soon gives way to fury, and I move to stand up—
“Again! You are interrupting me again! Do you people have no manners?!”
\--Wait, that wasn’t me, what?
An enraged Delilah screams from the other side of the table at the heroes, on her feet and stomping on the ground.
“You know well we can’t allow you to kidnap people, Lady Tremor!”
Wait, WHAT?!
I go to stand up again, staring in surprise at Delilah—
\-- and then I’m outside of the dining room in a burst of wind, and I can only blink in confusion as Lightfoot sets me back on my feet. “Please make your way out, ma’am! We’ll handle it!”
I keep hold of his arm before he can zip off… and then I punch him as hard as I can.
My skin tears as the fire inside that feeds my power rips at it, all my anger and frustration only feeding it further. Lightfoot goes sailing through the air, mask shattered, and crashes past the doors of the dining room. I follow.
Inside, I can see that Delilah’s arms have turned into gigantic slabs of rock, and that her gorgeous yellow dress is ripped and torn to contain a form it was never meant to. She and Steelcase stare in surprise at where Lightfoot lays, half-embedded into the wall. Then their attention is on me.
… Only for a moment; Steelcase goes to say something, but the ground rises up and yanks him straight down as Delilah takes advantage of his distraction. I can barely hear his muffled protests as the earth seals behind him. Then… it’s just Delilah and me.
We can only stare at each other, and I finally lick my lips and step forward, running a hand down my hair. My face’s scar is open, revealing the glow underneath, and I can feel that my new suit is sipped and torn everywhere. “I…” I gulp down, and try again. “I go by Firecrack.” I don’t know why, but I have never felt my name being lamer than before. “… Hello.”
Delilah stares back, and then she sighs quietly, the earth dropping from her arms noisily, leaving behind dirty, if normal-sized ones behind. “Lady Tremor, as you heard. Are you going to fight me now?” There’s a hint of violence in her voice and it’s the most charming thing I have heard all week.
“What? No, no. I-I know what it feels like, OK? I mean—“ I take a deep breath to compose myself. “Would you… would you like to continue this date someplace more private?”
She stares at me, and I can feel myself fidget nervously. She steps closer, and it’s all I can do to not step back. Then, she raises her hand, and traces it down the open scar in my face. I can feel my face burning, and it’s not my power.
Then she smiles again, that same angelic smile I saw not long ago. “I would love to.”
I’m feel like I’m floating when she hooks her arm with mine, and we walk out of the ruined restaurant. She tells me she knows where to go, and I feel like a puppy, following her lead.
… I think I’m in love.
​
\-----
​
Somebody pointed me to this prompt and I HAD to write something!
(edited some typos and grammar) | 2022-11-30T23:13:37 | 2019-02-23T09:18:13 | 1,144 | 12 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | This is it! The Plan Bs to end all Plan Bs! This was absolutely fool-proof! I've tried concocting love potions; I've tried psychology tricks; I've tried going on blind dates with horrible people, even more horrible than I am; but all of those attempts were trashed! The common denominator? That little cocky brat coming in to save the princess like a valiant knight in rose-colored armor! She had foiled my attempts for a while now, but this time, I'm sure, shall be the last! I have watched her from the shadows, carefully putting the pieces, assimilating her behavior and preferences! Call it stalking if you will, but I refuse to play the part of a hopeless romantic any longer!
She is the blandest main character with a love for learning at day; magical girl by night. At least, that's what the data told me. Through my eyes, she was a kind yet nosy lady, and the frequent target of this nosiness is no other than me, a simple genius hacker whom she considers her equal, her rival! So I tried to adapt to her methods and analyzed her pattern. Home, school, library, home, superhero business.
Using this information, I acted accordingly. I began by applying as student librarian and developed a "close friendship" with her over time. I discovered she liked the same books I liked, and sometimes we swapped book recommendations. Sometimes she'd even talk about "that one hacker boy \[she\] knows that was kinda cute but has some questionable morals" and the misadventures that followed, not knowing she was making a fool out of herself. We also shared snacks and held hands, you know, the typical friendship stuff. So typical, I almost forgot she were my enemy.
But enough of that nonsense! No one wants to know the story of how we ended up crushing on each other.
I did the most sensible thing I could think of at the time. I asked her out on a date using my Librarian Alternate Identity, Lai for short. But whoopsie-doopsie! Looks like the hacker she loathes so much kidnapped him, and now it's up to the heroine to rescue her beloved!
And it begins now, as I hide myself in a closet. My phone was connected to the cameras with microphones so I had no trouble watching this unfold.
Today, as usual, she entered the library she frequented, but not as her civilian identity. She found the library barren. And most importantly...
Her favorite student librarian wasn't there.
"Curse that hacker!" I heard her say as she slammed her fist on a nearby shelf. "'The tables will turn, I will ruin YOUR date'? That's so creepy! How did he even find out about the boy I like? This is so frustrating!"
She goes straight to the empty counter, and there aren't any of his belongings either. All that's left was a book, and as soon as she touched it, the alarms went off.
This was my cue. I kicked open the door and ran to the counter, bringing with me the take-out snacks I ordered. I placed them on the counter and pushed the secret button on the book to turn the alarms off.
It was her turn now. She crossed her arms and ranted loudly: "What's the meaning of this? Where's Lai?!"
I smiled. I brushed my hair up and put on some glasses. "Here you go."
The look on her face was priceless.
​
//Second comment on this subreddit! I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing! ~~Sorry they don't have names hahaha.~~ The girl is named Tele, and the boy is named "Lai" (real name unknown for now) Might make this a rom-com series if I have the time.
EDIT: [here's a sketch of Lai and Tele that I thought you might enjoy.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/423083600053927938/549088955908358154/Lai_and_Tele_rWritingPrompts.png) | I used to be a super villain, but facing off against hero’s wasn’t something indirectly did. With my power I did best with quiet operations. I can manipulate my own body. I usually use this for changing my appearance, but I can manipulate my muscles for combat. However, recently I haven’t been doing that as much. Recently I have just been trying to go out with my girlfriend, Camila. It’s been six months since I had gone out with her on a normal date and it was our fifth anniversary, so I decided to do something special. She knows what I do, in fact that was what happened on our third anniversary, and probably why she hasn’t left me yet.
“We really don’t need to do this,” Camila said.
“No really, it’s fine. I changed my appearance so even if one of them walk by while in their normal life they won’t be able to tell. Let’s just enjoy ourselves for once and not post about our date on social media. As long as True-sight is out their they will know it’s me even if I became a women.” I said
Our food came and we were having a really fun and enjoyable dinner. We were having dessert and I asked for the bill when a certain someone came barging through the door. It was a man dressed in a black and red leotard and a metallic fanged mask. It was Pyrus a super villain with super strength and pyrokinesis. “Alright all of you on the ground now!!” He yelled.
“Get down and post a picture of our date, I’ll distract him,” I told Camila
“But you’ll get hurt, if not by him than the heroes who come to stop you,” She said
“I prefer that over you getting hurt for what I do any day, besides I have a plan” I said as I changed my form and walked up to Pyrus.
“I said on the ground, or do you want an early cremation,” He snarled at me.
“Well,” I began to say before being interrupted by a new person barging in followed by two other people.
“Because now your a hostage,” Pyrus snarled at me as he grabbed me.
I then got a better look at the three heroes. The one in the front was Hydros, Pyrus’s nemesis. The two flanking him were his sidekicks, Psyche and Knuckle, two twins who had psychokinesis and super strength respectively. “Let that hostage go Pyrus or do I need to remind you why I’m called Hydros” Hydros proclaimed loudly.
“Is it the best water based pun you could come up with, because if so you are terrible” Pyrus laughed “If you take one step closer I am going to fry this hostage!” As he said it he flared up his hand and I could feel the fire itself.
“And if you do it matters not, one less villain for us to worry about” True-Sight said as he appeared behind Hydros. “That is no civilian that is Face, the shapeshifter. Approach as you please Hydros,”
I felt the heat go away as the ground came closer to my face until I fell onto the floor. “That changes nothing I still have other hostages,” Pyrus said.
I think I’m just going to stay on the ground and wait until Pyrus and Hydros fight them I’m going to sneak out of here. Then I heard Camila scream. “Now all of you leave or the woman gets it,” Pyrus yelled. I turned my head and saw him holding Camila with fire bursting from one of his hands.
He was turned away from me so I silently got up and slowly approached him. Using my power I increased my muscle’s mass and power by 50%. “Unhand her now.” I commanded.
“Or else what,” Pyrus said. “If you want her so much then you should realize I can kill her at any moment. Crush her neck, burn her alive, or many more fire or strength related methods,”
While he was delivering this monologue I brought my hand up to the shoulder of the arm holding Camila and I crushed it. As Pyrus howled in pain his grip loosened on Camila and I grabbed the rest of the arm and held it behind his back giving Camila the chance to escape. Pyrus then grabbed my head with his other hand and I felt it getting warmer and warmer until that felling was replace by wetness. I felt my body be lifted off of Pyrus in True-Sights signature telekinetic fashion and I was slammed against a booth.
“Looks like you did all the work for us. To thank you maybe I will see about lowering your prison sentence” True-Sight said as he was hovering over me. “But when you get out you’ll probably go back to your villainous ways.”
“Wait, don’t hurt him,” Camila cried as she ran over to my side.
“I’m fine Camila, but are you okay. That’s all that matters to me,” I say
“Yes I’m fine, but now your going to go away and I may never see you again”
“Don’t worry he’s not dangerous enough to go to a super prison, just a maximum watch normal prison. But if he keeps with his robbing he may go for life”
“Don’t worry Norton I am not going back to that life, I think maybe I’ll try heroism.”
“Kept me waiting long enough, brother,” | 2019-02-23T07:17:19 | 2019-02-23T07:15:35 | 43 | 25 |
[WP] A grim discovery is made on humanity's first interstellar mission. Evidence shows that every other space fairing civilization purposely destroyed itself with no telling as to why. | As humanity spread out into the stars we found nothing but endless tomb world's. Some torn by war but most just... dead. The ancient bones of their inhabitants gathered in small groups.
For millennia humanity struggled with the mystery as our reach and understanding of the cosmos grew.
We finally found the answer with the unification of technology and spirituality and it is worse than anyone had believed.
All intelligent living entities have a spirit, soul, essence. It is real. The religions were right. But they were wrong about what happens to it.
There is eternal life.
But there is no heaven. There are hells.
Endless, infinite hells filled with darker horrors than anyone could have imagined .
In our initial optimism we thought we could do something about them.
We have proven their existence , learned how to peer into their depths... and proven the impossibility of doing anything about them. Proven with the cold certainty of mathematics.
Slowly, across the human world's people stopped having children. Who could create another person knowing they would suffer infinitely.
Slowly and quietly the world's of humanity became tombs. | There was nothing but the whoosh of the spacecraft onto the blue, dusty ground.
A barren, empty Trifen was the only thing Kit could see.
As dust swirled in the thin air with each step his spacesuit took, Kit's gut told him to enter a cave tucked away in a mountain.
*It's always been like this,* he thought, sitting down on an elevated bunch of blue rock. *Every planet I touch, nothing is there.*
*Nothing but a... pile of carcasses...*
Kit came closer towards the alien corpse. His gloves traced a symbol down the alien's throat, trying to remember something that had come up before.
He took out his datapad and snapped an image, before the datapad spewed out heaves of information regarding the same symbol.
*Must* *be that crest again. Gotta send it to Mission Control.*
Kit pressed a button on his sleeve. "Trifen to Mission Control. Kit Farlax. Found nothing but carcasses again. What is going on?"
"*Mission Control to Kit Farlax on Trifen. That's why you're out there, investigating. No one truly knows what happening in our galaxy. Every other civilization that's ventured out into space has vanished. We think that it might have been self-inflicted. What have you found there, Private?"*
"The same symbol on the same area of the same alien's body. But this time, I'm the one seeing it, not cameras or what not. Want me to send you an image?"
"*By all means, Private. Over.*"
"Over and out."
After sharing the images with Mission Control, Kit decided it was time to venture deeper into the cave. He took one more glace at the opening -
Only to have it sealed off suddenly, leaving him in total darkness.
"Oh, hell," he muttered. "I come in peace, exploring the galaxy, aiding the human race, finding knowledge and what not-"
Slimy and bony fingers with sharp nails encircled Kit's throat, crushing the spacesuit from the outside. "Soon, you will find that knowledge is the least of your worries."
The crest was emblazed onto Kit's throat, breathing in the toxic gas of Trifen.
"Who are you, even? What do you want from me?" he spat out in terror and asphyxiation.
"Your life."
"You'll never have it," he took out a knife from his pocket. "I am the only one who decides whether I die or not."
...
*"Mission Control to Trifen. Mission Control to Trifen...? Mission Control to Kit Farlax on Trifen, do you copy? Mission Control..."* | 2019-06-11T23:28:26 | 2019-06-11T22:09:12 | 74 | 15 |
[WP] The world's greatest detective doesn't fear the world's greatest criminal mastermind, they fear the stupidest, because they can never predict what the idiot will do next. | "Stupidity drives unpredictability," Detective Daniels said as he surveyed the crime scene. His drawl twanged more Southern than a banjo, his eyes more keen than a bloodhound's snout. "And unpredictability is no more than justice's demise."
The officer standing nearby shifted uncomfortably. Not just from the detective's vague ramblings, but from the nauseating stench of rotten flesh that emanated from the scene.
"You've taken all the prints?" Detective Daniels said.
"Yes, sir. One-hundred and forty-five unique fingerprints. The DNA tests will take a little longer but--"
"Did you check the *fingers* for prints? Not the fingertips. The knuckles. The nails. Wherever somebody might have held them."
The officer gulped and shuddered. He'd have to sort through them all again, dust them down, see if any fingerprints existed on the fingers themselves.
"No, sir. Did not think of that."
Detective Daniels shook his head. "What saves a criminal's stupidity is the level of incompetence of this department, officer. I hope you're pleased to be part of the problem. In fact, I'd dare say you may encompass the entire problem. Evidently evidence collection ain't a task you're fit to handle. Get out and get checking, understood? Them fingers didn't get here just by themselves, ain't no finger rain causing sprinkles of limbs down upon this house."
"Yes, sir," the officer said.
Detective Daniels turned back towards the scene. Blood splattered the walls like a Pollock painting the detective had never cared to see. The lock on the back door was broken. The windows were forced. The front door had been kicked in so that when the officers arrived they just strolled right on in to the grisly scene.
"Do you really need to berate my officers that way?" Chief Arnold asked. "We've never seen a case like this."
"I ain't seen a scene quite like this scene neither. But I know not to go effing up the evidence for the sake of getting home to an unhappy wife and a bowl of leftovers."
"His wife is dead," Chief Arnold said.
"And I bet she ain't happy about it."
Detective Daniels stepped into the next room. The bed was unmade, the sheets strewn about. They'd found the body in that room--the only body. Beyond that, the criminal had left nothing but fingers.
"Why fingers, Detective?" Chief Arnold asked, interrupting the detective's mumbling.
"Because stupidity, Arnold. We got so much DNA and fingerprints, he thinks we won't know left from right by the time we get through 'em. We'll forget about him."
"We won't. We can't. He's the serial defingerer. Plagued my city for months now, I won't let him get away."
"He won't. You see, stupidity eventually comes around on itself. Like a snake bites its own tail, takes too much and ends up swallowing itself."
"Does it?" Chief Arnold interrupted.
"Don't interrupt me. This here fella, he's seen an inch and took a mile. Should've kept to fingers, and not his own."
"I beg your pardon?"
"That's right," Detective Daniels said. "He's spent so long thinking if he could, never stopped to think if he should. I want the owner of every finger in this room brought to the station."
"But... But they're victims. Some are still hospitalized. Others traumatized. I can't put them through that again."
"Oh, you can," Detective Daniels said. "And you will. Call it collateral. Call it putting a lighter to taxpayer money, I don't give a flying fuck. He's been there. Right beneath your nose 'cause he knows it's got him cleared from the list of suspects. Or he thinks he knows. Get me every last one of 'em fingerless folks, because one of 'em is our killer."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | The world's greatest detective stood deathly still. His arms were crossed, his eyes were closed, his mind rapidly processing what had happened at the crime scene before him.
For the first time in his career, Chernock Bones found himself utterly and hopelessly stumped. He did not smirk in well-earned smugness after victory over an immense criminal adversary. Rather, he found a sigh of resignation inevitably escaping his lips, the heavy clouds of defeat storming his brain.
---
The world's stupidest criminal could not stop fidgeting. He had not prepared gloves to mask his fingerprints, nor a disguise to shield his identity.
Not for the first time in his life, Norom Thick found himself utterly and hopelessly clueless. He was about to attempt something he had never done before. Considering this was a man who tended to fail even at things he had attempted before, the rate of success was certainly far from optimal.
---
Chernock clenched his fists tight. He led a pipe to his mouth and begun to smoke.
No. Chernock Bones was far from giving up. After all, he owed it to himself as the world's greatest detective. One last time. He would walk through the scene one more time, eagerly awaiting his eureka moment. It would come. It always did.
---
Norom clenched his fists tight. He had a cigarette in his mouth, of which he had carelessly flicked ash all over the ground.
No. Norom Thick was going to do it. After all, he could not give up now. He had invested far too much into this opportunity by purchasing a cheap pair of garden shears and mystifyingly, a ball of yarn. It would work out. It never did, but this time, it would.
---
Chernock put out the pipe, carefully storing it away. He walked the ground once more. He had spotted the obvious ash and cigarette butt, and thought that it was a brilliant first clue.
Sadly, it turned out not be. The more Chernock looked into it, the more he was misled by the situation. He found himself focusing on the cigarette, which turned out to not have any identifiable markers or saliva on it, more than he should. It threw him off.
---
Norom smacked his lips, which were dryer than the desert. He chucked the cigarette carelessly, and started to get to work.
The first thing he had to do was to get through the fence. Norom opened his garden shears and got to work. Normally, garden shears would do well against chainlink fences. Unfortunately, Norom had not accounted for the wooden fence that was currently in his way.
---
Chernock trudged towards the fence. There were signs of scuffed wood and scratches, but they were typical in a neighbourhood that had dogs and cats. Rather, there didn't appear to be a point of entry at all.
The fence was sturdy and tall, and was certainly impossible to climb without the aid of a ladder or rope. No such object was found nearby, and the telltale weight of a step ladder would have left markings in the ground. So how? How did the dastardly criminal get in?
---
It didn't work. Norom was stuck.
That was until he heard the meow of a cat nearby. Norom turned, and was staring face to face with a tabby, who currently had a ball of yarn in its mouth.
"Oi," said Norom. "That's mine."
The cat meowed and started running away. The would-be criminal quickly gave chase, shaking his shears in the air. The cat was quick on its feet, and before long, Norom found himself wheezing and out of breath. He placed one hand out on a structure nearby, hoping for support, but it opened.
Norom had found an unlocked door into the estate.
He yelped in surprise and fell over, his fall cushioned by a lush carpet.
---
Chernock walked back to another point of interest: the door which had been left opened, showing visible tracks of a man. Mysteriously, it disappeared after a few steps, and the world's greatest detective could not figure out why.
His alert ears heard a door opening on the second floor, and out walked Norom Thick.
"Detective," said Norom. "Any luck?"
"I'm truly sorry, Mr Thick," apologised Chernock, "I... can't. I simply can't figure out how the criminal could pull off such an immaculate crime."
"It's OK, Detective," Norom replied reassuredly. "As far as I can tell, it only stole a ball of yarn."
"Amazing. Such wondrous planning, only for a statement crime. Nothing else you've lost, you say?" asked Chernock.
"Nope," Norom said. "I've got my garden shears here."
The detective looked at him a little weirdly, as if to question why he would be so concerned over his garden shears, but his thoughts were quickly overwhelmed by the fact that a person on this earth had outsmarted him.
"I might be back another day, Norom. I simply am not on my best form today, it seems," Chernock readily apologised again, before bidding farewell.
Norom, the would-be criminal who tried to break into his own home, was sad.
He had lost his ball of yarn, and even the world's greatest detective couldn't find it.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-07-13T09:57:31 | 2020-07-13T09:34:53 | 861 | 199 |
[WP] If you say Bloody Mary 3 times in front of a mirror, she'll come for you. Of course, there's lots of superstitious teens and only one ghost, so it's a bit of a queue. But, years after that long forgotten sleepover, Bloody Mary has finally worked her way down the list to you. | "I called you years ago. It was a joke then, but now I'm glad you've come."
She stared, unblinking, unmoving, blood dripping off her body, pooling on the floor.
"I want it to end. I've seen too much, and it's all I can do to keep it from consuming me."
Bodies of friends, of enemies, shattered before me. I did what I could; for country; for the Corps; saved more than I could count, but still too many died. Coming back home did nothing to alleviate the nightmares, the day dreams, the flashbacks... the screams.
A memory flashed; in high school I had called her. They goaded me into it. The fear gripped me but I couldn't back down. Face to face with my pimple ridden visage, the name echoed once, twice, thrice. My friends chuckled knowing laughs, "Told you it wasn't real!"
It was. It was only a matter of time.
The black pits that made a mockery of eyes, the scraggly mop that coronated her skull, the rotted stumps that crowded her maw; all meticulously curated to terrify the adolescent mind. I'd seen worse.
"You waited all this time and now you come! I've seen things that make you look like Sesame Street. I've done things! Things I could never forgive myself for! I tried to make them right by healing those I could. But it's fucking hard to be a medic with a gun! So do what you came here for! Take me you bitch!"
A crooked smile spread across her sickly excuse for a face.
"You think I have only just arrived? You called me."
Horror filled my body and darkness consumed me. She drew closer and gently embraced me.
"I've been with you ever since."
-----‐-‐-------------------------------------------------------------
Edit: Thank you all so much for the support and comments; it really means alot to me. This was my first post on WP and I'm thrilled people enjoyed it. I'll definitely be contributing more in the future! | Two bloodied hands crept through the mirror, each chipped nail digging into the wooden frame, pulling her through. Her scarred body was coated in dried blood, a simple flowing white dress hanging from her as she stood before her victim. Charlie had been thirteen when he made the foolish mistake of calling her to this realm, now that same man was eighty, lying on his deathbed, tubes hanging from his nose, a flash of fear in his eyes, frail hand reaching out of the bed, grabbing for the remote by his bed, trying to contact the nurses.
“Meds” Those were the only words that left his mouth, thinking her to be a cruel hallucination.
His thumb battered the button, yet it didn’t flash. The remote suddenly not responding to the man. His frantic mashing of the button getting worse with each step the woman took, peeling skin from his thumb, leaving it sore. By the time she reached his bedside, he dropped the remote, exhausted. The machine by his side buzzing, pushing more huffs of oxygen through the tubes, replacing the oxygen that he had just exhausted.
Bloody Mary’s gaze was distant, staring down at the man, not making any additional movements yet, only observing him. The two stared at one another until Charlie broke the silence.
“Who are you? A nurse?” Charlie tried desperately to justify the sight of the woman, yet she remained silent, only causing his heartbeat to fasten.
Reaching under the sleeve of her dress, she retrieved a knife, cold blue eyes scouring the sharp edges, observing the blade for a few moments before leaning over the bedside, creeping the blade closer towards his chest, only to stab it into the mattress by his side, causing Charlie’s chest to rise in a panicked breath.
“Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.” She repeated, pulling the blade from the mattress, loose fabrics hanging from it. “I have answered your call. Unfortunately, it would appear you are the last of your group.”
“Last of my group? I-I don’t know what you are talking about. Please, Nurses!’ Charlie shouted, trying to grab the attention of the nurses. His desperate shouts fell on death ears. Even as nurses walked past his room at regular intervals, none could hear the chaos inside.
Bloody Mary trapped him, unable to move away from her, stuck in the hospital bed, only able to squirm whenever she neared. She continued to lean closer, every passing second closing the gap until she was face to face with the man.
“I’m Mary” She uttered, offering the man her name before they would kill him.
“Bloody Mary” The memory flashed in Charlie’s mind. The group of young friends crowded around a mirror in his mother’s attic, chanting her name. They were all petrified while doing it, each stammering her name from their lips, pausing before the third repetition. Drawing on their courage, they all spoke the last utterance of her name, only to find nothing happened. He could still remember that feeling of adrenaline they had felt. How brave they felt for surviving, not realizing the curse was very much real, just delayed.
With her name finally being spoken by Charlie, she reached for the blade once more, directing it towards his chest. She pushed it down, only to stop just before it hit his chest, watching his body stiffen as a gasp escaped his throat. The heart monitor by his side soon falling flat, scaring him to death.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2020-12-20T20:44:58 | 2020-12-20T19:52:45 | 453 | 166 |
[WP] When the aliens conquered Earth, they exterminated the populace but left you alive for some reason. You’ve spent years in captivity, wondering why they’ve chosen to keep you alive. One day, you are approached by the high commander and the answer is revealed. | *They gathered around my glass cage with their holographic notebooks. My living room is furnished from Rooms-to-go in shades of beige. Someone selected an equally neutral wardrobe for me from the Gap. I've been in here exactly 8 years, 9 months, and 2 days according to the calendars they keep supplying me with photos of rural Americana. I've been supplied with a TV that replays the top shows and top music charts of every music genre from every decade. I have a shelf of bestseller and classic books. I have a treadmill the plays a holographic simulated walk down a suburban street whenever I walk on it. I have a basic kitchen with a pantry and fridge they they supply with a generous supply of name brand dry and frozen foods, and a basic bathroom. Everything I need. But I'm in a glass cage.*
*Once a week I'm interviewed by the high commander. Once a month they do a bunch of physical tests (sorry, nothing deviant) and make me take a series of opinion surveys. At first the interviews and surveys felt relevant, as if they were gathering information about the planet. Lately they've been more like psychological evaluations. I probably am going crazy. They killed every other human. I don't know what's going on out there on the planet. The questions only go one way. But I keep asking anyway.*
*It's the first Monday of the month. The interviewer will be here soon. I shower and dress in all black. For the last five years I've been doing that. It's the least neutral I can manage with the wardrobe they supply. I don't honestly know why I'm keeping this journal since no human will ever read it. But they check it every week, just like my 9th grade English teacher, so I keep writing in it. Fear is motivating.*
"Hello, Jennifer."
"Hello, Vango."
"Today we are going to talk about your reading preferences. I see you've read through the James Patterson series."
"Yep, a little change of pace after all the Jane Austen. Do you think I could get some more non-fiction. Something about your race, for example. I'd like to understand you the way you want to understand me."
"It would be beyond your intelligence level, I'm afraid."
"Thanks for that."
"I don't mean to insult you but you were the most average human on the planet. That's why we chose you to study."
"Well now I know. I asked you "why me?" every single interview for 9 years and now you've told me. Does this mean you've gathered all the information you need from me?"
"We have. This is our 15th time segment although your calendar reads differently. It's the end of the study. Now that I've told you, there's really no reason to conduct the interview I planned. There will be a final battery of tests but you can ask me anything. "
"So all this," I swept my arms around my cage. "Why this particular stuff."
"The most frequently purchased items."
I nod.
"So, after all our interviews, do you really think I represent humanity's norm? What do you think that is? And have you considered that you need a bigger sample size than me to determine whether or not I'm actually the norm."
"We studied your species for centuries. You are representative of a 40-year-old American. American's population is slightly more female than male. So it came down to you."
"I only have one more question. Are you going to kill me like a lab rat now."
"Yes, Jennifer, we are."
"Can I pick how I die?"
"You surprise me. That is not something we expected the average person to ask."
"Well, maybe there is not average person, Vango. Maybe you killed all those humans and locked me up for years for nothing."
*Vango is gone. They will come for me soon. If screwing up his experiment is my legacy, earth's legacy, I can die with that. Rebellion is motivating too. Nobody's average.* | *Their footsteps were quiet.*
*As quiet as the rain that fell from the sky, acid burning through skin, the taste of flesh on tongue, the rise of ash dusted on still corpses. As quiet as their smiles, amused with the promise of threat, stained red from the blood of their enemies. From the blood of us.*
*There was nothing left, no one left to feel pain in such a desolate place.*
*No one, that is, except me.*
*Their footsteps were quiet, you see. Quiet enough that they reigned from the sky and then from the ground and then everywhere else, silent and deadly in a way that screams agony. And agony we got. I can still remember it - remember the way the people begged, with their tear stricken cheeks and diluted eyes. They looked dead - and they were. At least, in every way that mattered.*
*Their screams lull me to sleep now - it’s what I see when I close my eyes and when I remain awake, trying to remember a time when I didn’t feel as if I were floating, hovering outside my body, silent and somewhere far, far away, dreams and nightmares and imaginary whispers passing me by in memory.*
*Ash brands my bones like sinking cuffs. They’re tattoos now - tattoos of the dead carried with me at all times, flesh and blood inked into the very core of my skin, reminding me of what I once had and what I lost. Dragging me into the nightmares of my past; ash on my tongue and the sight of a thousand walking corpses that were never really alive in the first place. And black eyes, haunted and vindictive and filled with oblivion. Those appear in my dreams the most.*
*Because they spared me, even if I didn't know it at the time.*
*Hunched beneath a school desk, watching the world burn all around me, the skin of my classmates floating in the wind, the air hot and musty and warping every which way, embers staining the tips of my hair and my face, there was a hand drawn that day.*
*And I took it.*
*(One day I will look back at that memory - the one that appears in my dreams and in my reality and everywhere in between - and convince myself that it was those black eyes that made me reach out. Those black eyes that promised me another world.)*
—
Why am I alive?
Why did they spare me?
In a life of solitude and captivity and clean, white walls, these are the thoughts that visit me. It’s a lonely way of thinking, but a familiar way of life - loneliness is like that sometimes, becoming a friend rather than a foe.
“Are you enjoying your stay?” An amused voice draws me out of my thoughts. It’s the High Commander. I’ve never been approached by him - at least, not in person. His soldiers visit me all the time, of course. It’s the one time of day they actually enjoy. I don’t enjoy any of it.
“Tremendously,” I deadpan. “Of course, you could use some change in decor,” I say, gesturing to the dull and mundane white walls.
He laughs. It’s not humorous at all. “I suppose it can get rather lonely in here.”
“No, not lonely. I just thought that since I’ve been your guest - you know, the one you’ve had for years - I’d get to have some say in the paint,” I smirk. “You’re not very good hosts, are you?”
He smiles, the way one would do to a child, before moving to sit across from me. “Well then I propose a name change,” he leans down, eyes condescending. “How does prisoner sound?”
“Finally free of denial?” I ask.
The High Commander narrows his eyes, before finally leaning back and smirking at me. “You want to know why you’re here,” it’s not a question. It never was. “Why we killed all your kind and took you prisoner.”
“Wow, never knew you were such a genius. Really, would you like a gold star?”
“I have all the stars I want.”
“Of course you do,” I mutter.
“Well, if you’re going to be like that then I suppose you don’t really want to know,” he says, rising out of the chair and making his way back to the door.
Desperation crawls its way up my throat before I can stop myself from speaking aloud. “Wait,” I plead, cursing myself for showing him weakness. But this is what’s kept me up at night - what’s given me the will to go on, to cling to the hope that reason exists and that reason alone is keeping me alive. “Just wait.”
He stops.
I continue on. “Why did you leave me alive?”
He turns around, a smile plastered on his face. And then he leans down, until we’re eye to eye, as if he were letting me in on a secret, before finally speaking.
“Because you’re one of us,” he whispers.
And then he’s gone.
(Later, when everything is quiet and I'm left to my thoughts once more, silently dreaming of the moon and the sun and the stars and another time entirely, I will fall asleep to a dark world, dreaming of those black eyes the Commander had worn.)
—
If you enjoyed reading, feel free to check out some of my other writing on /r/itrytowrite | 2021-01-10T09:18:10 | 2021-01-10T09:14:50 | 147 | 29 |
[WP] “You have a powerful witch at your command, a witch that caused the rise and fall of empires, and your first request is.....a cuddle?” | "You looked like you need one," I say.
Iolanthe's frown is plastered onto her face. It doesn't matter how many kingdoms she conquers or how much power she gains, I've never heard of her celebrating or being happy.
"Are you playing with me, now that you have my familiar in your grasp?"
"For the hundredth time," I repeat. "Your cat just likes me. He keeps coming back to my house, I suspect, for the food."
*That, and the cuddles*, I think. The cat crawls into my lap as soon as he comes through the window, and refuses to leave.
Iolanthe creeps forward. If she's anymore antagonistic, she would be baring her teeth. I wrap my arms around her, careful to not pull her too close.
"He's not a cat," she whispers into my shirt. "He's a soul eater who prefers a smaller physical form."
"I would have never expected that," I reply.
"And I'm not a witch, I'm just a misunderstood dragon."
​
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
r/xeuthis | The general stood looking down on the chaos below. A common tale, a village swallowed up by the ravages of war, food, and lives snatched away. The general’s soldiers mercilessly trampled the villagers’ location.
Unable to resist, their miserable lives were reaped, shrieks and screams rising into the night only to be extinguished. Her face grim, the general made herself watch the destruction; building after building turned into flames as her soldiers finished looting whatever they could find. She had commanded that men, women, children, not even a single person could escape this cauldron of hell.
Behind her, a voice sounded. “General Xi, madam, it worked.”
The general turned. She was tall. Calvary tough, she had powerful shoulders and a scarred face. Still, she had an air of magnificent beauty even with the blood drying on her silver armor. “She’s agreed?”
“Yes, the Death Huntress will return to you to serve at your command.”
Blinking back tears, the general gestured with one gloved hand. “Leave.” Orbach, her father’s former aide and her most trusted advisor started to back away, but then she suddenly stopped him. “Is she here?”
“Yes, madam. The Death Huntress waits below. Your soldiers are nervous, understandably so.”
The general’s lips tightened. “Why didn’t she agree an hour ago.” She gestured to the flaming village. “This could have been avoided.”
Orbach offered a wry grin. “I believe she was really, really pissed … this time.”
Later, the general stood alone waiting impatiently on the hill. The temperature dropped precipitously, and the surrounding vegetation shriveled and died with each of the Death Huntress’s approaching steps.
The huntress’s voice had a sibilant hiss as she asked. “Sssso, what now? Would you be Queen? Sssshould I flatten a mountain for you? Raise an undead army? My power is yours to command.”
“All these years later, you’re still such an uncultured village girl,” the general complained to one who could flatten armies with a few uttered words. “I forget one anniversary and you run home. At least, I’ll never have to deal with the in-laws again. Can I at least get a cuddle?”
The Death Huntress frowned and flipped her hair. “I’ve already reanimated daddy. I suppose."
Outside the circle of firelight, Orbach shivered as he watched his mistress and her unholy lover embrace. Smiling, he turned and walked down the hill. Time to sleep. Slaughter tomorrow. | 2021-02-28T10:56:36 | 2021-02-28T09:47:26 | 117 | 24 |
[WP] Angels are thought to be beautiful, while demons are thought to be vile and disgusting. However the truth is Angels are extremely scary, while demons are beautiful and elegant creatures. | "But why?" asked the soul.
"A long time ago, heaven and hell waged war." said the angel, it's hundred mouths moving in unison, "Heaven won. Why do you think we look this way? We won because we are more terrifying, more deadly, more ruthless than the demons ever will be. Yes, we fight for divine justice, but that doesn't mean we have to be soft about it. Look at the demons, they look pristine and take great care of their beauty, bordering on maniac. That's because they have to resort to trickery and deceit, if they fight us on even footing, they get wrecked, plain and simple."
The angel flicked through the papers it held in hand, folders among folders appeared and disappeared among its wings, the soul realized the wings were made of paper too.
"Of course, the war is over now. We're on good terms, because the afterlife has a place for both heaven and hell, we quickly understood that we needed each other. I need to have an asshole friend that bothers me from time to time, because I grow soft if I don't test my faith. Just like my asshole friend needs me to try to bring him back to the right path, whatever that means, just so he remembers how much he loves to wreak havoc."
They floated through an open-space, rows upon rows of desks floated on clouds, overflowing with papers, celestial beings were signing them and talking loudly on the phone.
"So, you don't need to keep that form then?" asked the soul.
"No, but it's very practical to. As a test, you see. The faithful and just have no fear. They know they have nothing to be ashamed of, no shield to seek, they built their own and stayed righteous in life. They see us, ugly and monstrous, and smile without lowering their gaze. Beauty, horror, the best souls are beyond and can see the truth behind without faltering. Demons cower before them, what use is trickery and sadism when facing a light that washes it away? None. But us, they see us as we are, envoys, carrying a message, one they welcome with open arms."
The desks vanished behind them, clouds gave way to a plain of grass, only a few shrubs doted the landscape, and far in the distance came a mountain the size of which the soul had never seen.
"Cowards seek the smiling faces, perfect skin and friendly gesture. They wilfully ignore the hidden tail, dark spots and spark of madness. It's just a little thing that's off, they say, not a monstrosity like the angels. They choose a fake security to hide behind. It doesn't make the demons happy, they don't like carrying the unlucky to hell, but someone has to do it. Keep the afterlife ordered, punish the wicked to cleanse their soul until they are pure."
One day, we will all join together, when there are no more dead to carry and no sin to punish. But until then, it's work and bureaucracy for the lot of us."
The angel turned around, leaving the soul.
"And the undecided?" it asked, before the angel disappeared in the fog.
"It's purgatory for them."
"What do I do?"
The mountain's top disappeared in the clouds. It was a mighty pillar, easily dwarfing its brethern. The wind blew gently, bending the grass, only sign that time was not standing still.
"You climb." | Yet nay, but no mind could comprehend, nor understand the beauty of thy majesty, and the terrifying beauty of the angelic hosts that surround you. \~ Jerimiah the wanderer
​
**"HALT."** the voice, like a thousand lions awakened from slumber. Reverberated around the pristine gates of heaven, at it, the king of demons himself trembled. The Angelic Throne, a maelstrom of gyrating rings covered in eyes, its voice emanating from a raging flame held within itself. Stood before the gates of heaven along with St. Peter, who was clad in an immaculate white robe.
**"WHAT BUSINESS HAVE YOU HERE PRINCE OF EVIL, FALLEN ONE, DECEIVER AND FATHER OF LIES?"**
"It is a personal matter." Lucifer managed to speak without letting any fear into his voice, unlike the apparent monstrosity before him, he was what many would call beautiful. A slim, fit creature, a deep burgundy, and black eyes that seemed to hold the cosmos within themselves. Flowing pristine wings, not unlike a crow, and clothed in a slim fit business suit.
**"FALLEN ONE, YOU ARE BOUND TO TELL ME. OR SHOULD I BE FORCED TO SUMMON ONE GREATER THAN I? EVEN IF YE ARE WEAKER THAN MYSELF. YOUR PRIDE WILL NOT PERMIT YOU TO BOW TO ME. BUT I WARN YOU."**
The flame inside it reached a roaring inferno, its eyes closed and opened rapidly, and wings of flame stretched out from each side of it.
**"I, EVEN IN MY PERFECTION. AM NOT AS PATIENT AS MY GOD."**
There was a blinding light and satan shrunk back. A single Seraphim hovered far above his head, its head and feet covered, only its perfect torso visible. It sighed in millions of different voices at once and shook its head.
**"Disith, leave the king of lies along. I shall summon Michael, and he shall deal with him."**
"No..." Lucifer whispered. The Throne and the Seraphim vanished, St. Peter simply sat there impassively, another, smaller light shone. And St. Michael the Archangel appeared, Lucifer reviled him. He was weak, so weak. A mere Archangel, only above common angels in terms of power. Had defeated him, and thrown him into hell.
"Blessed Queen of Heaven intercede for me, that I may have the strength I need to fight this fight."
Michael drew his sword and leveled it at Lucifer, his wings opened as he prepared to strike.
"Foster Father of God the Son, Terror of Demons intercede with me so I may have the strength to win this fight. Benedict of Nursia, patron Saint of Exorcists, intercede for me to the Father that I may have the strength to win this fight."
Lucifer snared and let his perfect guise slip, beneath his disguise of perfection, was a wretched, twisted creature. Grasping a long cruel spear in one wasted hand, his tongue spoke a thousand curses towards this infinitely perfect creature. This, Archangel of the God most high. Michael streaked forward, his sword meeting Satans spear, there was no struggle. Michael with a few deft strokes disarmed Satan and leveled the sword at his neck.
"I have cast you into hell before with the permission of God." said Michael sadly "Lucifer, why? Why have you fallen this far, your only decision. It was a simple one, and you chose wrongly."
He sighed, "I shall let Disith remove you."
At the mere mention of his name, Disith appeared in a roaring fire.
"Please put him pack in his kingdom, I must attend my Lady and my King."
**"As you wish Michael."**
"Oh, and Disith, may God be with you."
**"AND WITH YOU."** Roared Disith, the wings of flame outstretched, the rings froze their twisting and gyrating, his eyes Fixed on Satan, who wailed as he was torn violently from his feet and cast down a rift that Disith had opened to hell. The wails of the damned grated against the Thrones ears and from his eyes, tears began to fall. He closed the rift and before he vanished stared longingly down the path that came from purgatory.
"None yet today, maybe tomorrow may I greet yet another. He sighed, then a thought entered his mind and he returned to his normal elated state.
"Rock of the church." he acknowledged St. Peter, who simply smiled and bowed. Disith vanished and reappeared near the throne of God, taking his place among his fellow Thrones with Michaels word in his mind, he smiled. As much as a Throne can smile, and whispered to himself.
"I must attend my KLady and my King."
And raised his many voices in praise of his creator. | 2021-04-08T10:26:23 | 2021-04-08T09:57:52 | 75 | 18 |
[WP] You are a scientist, whose research and inventions will help save the world. The only problem is that, on a weekly basis: a group of teenage superheroes break into your laboratory, destory your inventions and research, and then beat you senseless. | If anyone has satisfied the city to retreat, it's me. I started off living in an apartment, then a house in the country, then a bunker in a desert, and now, my search for ever more remote and hostile environments has lead me to an uncharted island volcano in the ass-end of nowhere. There's nowhere else to retreat to. Over the years, Torsion has broken my limbs so many times that they refuse to heal anymore, so I had to either have them replaced with something he could not break or tear off or else become a quadriplegic. Magpie has tried to break my mind so many times that I've had to research entirely new forms of material science just to keep my sanity. I travel by aerial juggernaut because I have to. I can't set a toe off my little island without Polestar or Maverick trying to shoot me down. I would remind you that I have never been arrested or formally charged with any crime prior to last week. I have the right to be left alone. I have the right to defend myself.
Over the last six weeks, you've killed 20 people, Doctor.
I have and I freely admit it. However, you'll find that each of them was trying to kill or injure me, and not for the first time. The fact that I've been beaten so many times and lost so many organs that I am now more metal than meat doesn't make me evil. The fact that I-
"You killed Princess, you bastard," came a feminine shout from what used to be the ceiling, followed by a huge blast of energy that erased most of the small courtroom, save for the people. The Doctor's hand was outstretched emitting a throbbing purple dome over the proceedings. "Frankly,"he said, "I'm most offended by the fact that I have to deliberately detune my defenses so that they become visible when I use them on someone other than myself. These "heroes" are not precision artists, they are insane, blunt instruments with no concept of collateral damage." The purple dome vanished as a single red pellet traveled back up the wake of HazMat's energy blast, sucking her into nothing with a soft "slurp". "21 now, and again I plead not guilty by reason of self-defence." | Dear Diary. My name is Juniper Esha Ivy. I was born in 2073. I live in the Atompunk sector. I am a failure.
In boarding school I was so focused on my studies I ruined any chance I had at a companionship, I rented a garage after I graduated hoping to use my Master's Degree in Chemical and Neurological Sciences. I really liked the green tint of the city contrasting the blue tint of my new laboratory. The occosaional group of dorky hover-skaters, wannabes, or schoolkids that come to greet me or have deep and personal talks with eachother. The JEI committee approved the formula I made to alleviate Shell Shock Syndrome and requested samples, days later I returned from the market to see my beakers, test tubes, and liquids trashed by teenagers. In spandex and goggles with ray guns and capes and unnaturally mature voices. A dark boy in red, a large girl in goggles and a hazmat suit, three identical boys in green, blue, and black, I don’t even remember the rest.
These boys and girls fucked my shit up and then they just stomped me into the ground. The Cyro tech kid would keep freezing the contacts in my eyes and just fucking ruin my face. Again and again. A formula is approved. They beat me. Every BANG, fucking BANG or ZAP or the sizzling of a teleportor and they ruin my work. Leave me shivering and bruised, for years.
Some lass in the Ecopunk sector replicated a better version of my supplement formula and won a community contest for it, started a business that overshadowed my own lab in weeks. I could never send the committee samples of my work and they accused me of plagiarizing *her*, then they stopped funding me.
I tried to work on holo-entertainment, I tried to work at some local skymarket and I tried coding. They all hated me. I had nothing to show for the years I wasted trying to become some big shot scientist. I binged on my own antidepressants. Fatigue numbing formulas, food supplement formulas, pleasure formulas, sleep formulas, cocaine formula. Lovely beverages. I am convinced I am Nikola Tesla's secret descendant, we share the same misfortunes. But of course when I ponder these fantasies of mine:
***BANG!***
Fucking **BANG!** Sizzle! Zap! My garage door freezes and cracks, lights go out, my beakers are snatched at lightning speed. Stun guns shot at me and bind me to my chair. Then I’m crudely thrashed to the ground. I couldn't bear it anymore, but this pathetic and inert rage of mine only let me bellow and break down in tears, like an infant. Curse and grovel to these kids like a caged animal while they destroy my legacy. I hadn't even taken my dosage that day and I felt a violent craving, before they could lay their hands on me I began scratching myself. Drew as many tears as it did blood and they settled with burning my research papers and experiment logs.
I could never remember what they said those days, I couldn’t tell what they thought they were accomplishing, why the committee even chose me, what they had against me but it doesn’t matter anymore. They all win. I have given up trying to help our world. And I can't even live in peace with my own useless research. So I marked myself in defeat. I'm selling my beloved lab to bulk up my last bit of income. I’m a failure. I have nothing but an abandoned home and the most addictive recipes commited to memory. Perhaps I should choke on phoney, passionless love and warmth formulas until I expire. | 2021-04-27T22:23:25 | 2021-04-27T21:37:34 | 134 | 57 |
[WP]"You have my bow," said the Elf. "You have my axe!" said the Dwarf. "You have my Sacha," said the Heavy Weapons Guy. "She weighs 150kg and fires ten thousand rounds per minute." | "That is not a weapon! It's a murdering blight that needs to be ended." The Elf said with disbelief. The Dwarf laughed, "Reminds me of fine Dwarven technology. 'Cept that things only purpose is to kill."
Holding his massive palms forward. He opens one hand. "An Elven bow can hunt..." He opens up the next,"...and a Dwarven axe can chop through her enemies. That fricken thing just obliterates. Where is the hunt?! The thirst for battle?!"
"Can yall shut the f\*\*k up." I looked at them. It's a machine gun. I overexaggerated on the size and how much rounds it can actually shoot but in this world. Might as well be. "And give me back Sacha!"
I didn't wait for them to finish.
Before the Elf could retort I lunged at him.
"Bastard!" He hissed. Moving out the way from my dagger. I scowled. This isn't going to be easy. Physically, they outmatch me, that machine gun wasn't just an advantage over medieval tactics and weaponry. It also made up for many of my weaknesses defensively.
"It will never fall in the hands of evi-" The elf tried to finish before being interrupted by a large hammer appearing out of nowhere, unsettling the dust. "Ya can't talk to em! Them kinds don't take kindly to peaceful talks. A knock in the head outta get him to listen!"
The hammer shifted sideways and came at me at whirlwind speed.
"Nope!" I swung back in time. Getting my distance, I needed to counter. I bought a shield from the market before coming here to get Sacha. It laid on my back in case these guys got the jump on me before I did. Awkwardly enough, none of us have our weapon of choice ready since each of us had stolen ones weapon from another. I had no use for the Dwarven axe since I can barely lift it and the Dwarf is too clumsy to wield a bow.
Moving the shield to my forearm like a gauntlet, I could feel the weight weighing me down. Even this peasant shield is too much for me physically. Mind you, I'm pretty athletic in my world but in this one where there's barely any modern technology and people relied on magic rather than electricity. Everything is a little too heavy or not my size.
The dwarf swung again. I raised my hand just in time but not in time to brace for the impact.
The loud thundering sound of a metal clanging against metal almost numbed the pain that stretched across my hand. I couldn't move my shield. I felt my knees buckle against his massive strength. I can still hold my shield in front of me. More importantly. The rest of my body is still working.
Before the dwarf could recover. I shifted my weight against the shield and with one last Hail Mary attempt. I catapulted myself upwards, using the tip of the shield to hit the dwarf in his stupid square jaw. My dagger was ready. With the rest of my remaining strength. I launch it towards his throat. Once I get my machine gun I don't have to do this shit again.
But before my dagger could find it's place. An arrow with dangerous accuracy deflects it just in time. I look to my left in shock. The Elf doesn't have his bow. There's no way he can hit that. But there he was. He had pulled an arrow out of his quiver and by using his hands, he was able to throw his arrow like a javelin. It's nothing as efficient as his bow and the range is down significantly but it was just enough to stop me.
"I have nothing left..." My voice rasped it final plea. Without Sacha, I'm just a normal human being in a land of mystical creatures.
The elf and dwarf make their way to me. Both unsure what to do next. This unlikely alliance between the two races was only because they thought I had more fire power.
The dwarfs brows furrowed, "I suppose we kill the boy?" He said nonchalantly. The Elf is reminded why his race hated the dwarves to begin with.
"That is too barbaric. Don't you understand that we have a creature here that we have never seen before. We may not have an opportunity to learn about this...this...hooman. To learn it's culture, religion, what it can eat, what it can-"
The dwarf look sheepishly at the Elf, already bored. "Yea, yea, just give me my axe back and I'll lock that devil weapon of 'is away and you and yours can take him and do whatever you want."
The Elf rolled his eyes. He quickly turned to his horse. The prized axe was tied to the massive stallion, still dwarfing it in comparison. But before he could unlatch the rope a loud bang is heard from the little human they thought they had beaten.
The Elf stood frozen. The single stream of blood trickling from the hole I put in between his head. It's lifeless body fell limp to the floor as the cold breeze of unknown horror crept on the Dwarf. Dwarves possess great courage but this time...for the first time... it wasn't his size that was the smallest.
I glared at the Dwarf with eyes that pierced his soul. His eyes darted to my hands. Impossible. I'm not supposed to have Sacha, "You two idiots forget one thing."
I stood up from my knelt position and aimed my revolver at my enemy.
"...A gunner never forgets his sidearm." | "You have my bow" said the Elf.
"You have my axe!" said the Dwarf.
And before anyone could say anything else, the door opened soundly and someone came in.
"And you guys can have my K9000 FIDO If you want"
Said a voice coming from the side where the door were. The whole gathering turned almost immediately. They stared for a couple of moments, unsure what to think about the sight before them. Here stood a man clad in otherworldy armor put under a long brown coat with a nice collar. His head was buried under a helmet with a radio antenna on its side and a mask with red lenses bearing an intimidating look. One could said it was a gas mask, he himself would said it was a ranger helmet. Upon further questioning he wouldn't say anything more. Even when to their eyes he looked like anything but a ranger, he would sure hold his ground, with just a little annoyed voice. Ranger gear, he would say like the definition of this word was different to him than it was to them. But we're reaching out to a possible future, let's get back to the story itself...
"But just for a little bit, despite everything I kinda like this pup, ya know?"
Said the strange man while petting... yes, petting the giantic weapon under the front end. It's mechanical insides seemed to whine in affection. Just like a dog would.
"Excuse me asking such question, but who are you and where you came from?"
The wizard asked calmly. He was the first from their little circle of medieval fantasy individuals to stop staring at the man's attire. The rest soon followed, showing a mix of wariness and interest.
The man wielding this so called K9000 FIDO looked at the old man like one could look at his collegue not an ancient wizard that could decimate you with just a swing of his wooden staff. Not that the man knew such interesting fact nor they could tell what look he was sending them through his helmets' red visors. Since neither of them realized the ignorance, no action followed.
"Just call me Courier, pal."
He simply said. He was definitely not telling them any of his backstory - he though to himself - they can go and tickle a Deathclaw and live, he still would not tell them. Little bit antisocial of the Courier but he was always a loner, his own kind of a lone wanderer If you could call him such a title.
In his travels he was preffering the company of animals and mechanical objects to real people, he saw their twisted side more than enough to be awaiting a knife in the back from a human while sleeping. Robots were predictable, people most certainly were not. Maybe this team wouldn't trust him enough to let him on the mission but he was okay with them borrowing his gun friend. Probably none of them would know how FIDO works but... that where he could come in, straight from his hiding. He smiled at the thought. He would never leave anyone with such a monstrous gun without supervision.
"...and If you want me to be your gun buddy, that will be a thousand... of currency you have here, but we can negotiate If that's not what your mercenary prices are. I mean, I am not picky!"
He didn't think they would belive his story anyway, the way their society looked like and the weapons they were using. But then again, it apparently was a magic place with magic undestroyable rings that need to be destroyed.
The Courier heard someone rise his voice. It was a guy. A guy with a beard and he was objecting and soon it turned into a whole debate whatever they could let him tag along or not, that sort of thing, the Courier just tuned it out and started checking his inventory. Not out of disrespect but out of... voice. They jist started shouting at each other for no reason. Or maybe there was a reason, he just missed it somehow. Some things reached his ears, some not.
Just as their little company was about to be formed, he came out of nowhere and they were suspicious both of him and his gear. They figured he was not from around here. In fact he just went back to doing what he was doing when he stumbled upon this meeting room some time after that teleporter malunctioned and send him there. It was not so long ago but he couldn't tell when exactly. Then he was just checking and repearing stuff while listening while standing to the side, almost out of view.
Earlier he heard they talking about some sort of evil things in some land and this guy trying to smash a ring on the table. The sound of metal colliding made him jump and almost drop That Gun but he quickly caught it in the air and nobody was alerted to him. Just lurking in the shadows, repairing stuff, living, that kind of stuff.
Eavesdropping here and there.
Than one of them spoke the magic words. Wait, not literally! The guy said "barren wasteland" and then "the very air you breathe is a poisonous fume". That got his attention like a Deathclaw rushing for the kill, roaring and slashing it's claws in the air. He immediately put That Gun back to it's holster and opened his inventory to search for something more impressive although more bullet consuming.
These phrases they said, they sounded like home... well, not a very wecome one for all the critters living here but still. Oh home, sweet home!
So even If they decide to not trust him and reject his request to join the team, he would still tag along, the money didn't really matter in that case. Like a mysterious stranger hanging around just out of view he would follow them to try to find his way home. At least the 'magic place' as he reffered to it in his mind, wasn't radiated, so that was good and useful. The maps didn't even work there, so the little machine on his wrist couldn't show him any path nor did it find any radio signal. The Courier wasn't exactly sure where the cursed teleported spit him out but with the satellites not working...
"Hello, are you in there?"
Said a voice while poking trying to get the Courier's attention. He looked down to see not a child but a man, a little little man with curly hair and mutated giantic feet. He didn't want to thing what would happen if there comes a day where the little man is forced to walk through a minefielf... that would be a real disaster.
Courier nodded at him and the small guy quickly replied with a smile on his little face.
"They said you could join the fellowship!"
This little fellow didn't even hesitate to say that when he finally got the stranger's attention.
Later, much later the Courier learned that he should put more attention to listening and less to checking stuff. This definitely was not the Mojave desert that he travelled through half of his life. Not at all.
"Find me a Deathclaw to tickle..."
He cursed his own little saying upon the land before his eyes. Maybe he should starting repairing that telepolter insead of his stuff. | 2021-12-17T06:09:52 | 2021-12-17T05:06:37 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] The Genie looks at you puzzled 'So... you wish for everyone to have 4 arms?', and you say 'yes, I wish that tomorrow everyone wakes up having 4 arms, no explanation, just 4 arms, and if they only had 1 arm or none now they have 4' | I wake up to the buzzing of my phone. Without opening my eyes, I reach over to silence it. *Just five more minutes*.
As I lay in bed, my mind starts putting together the pieces of last night’s events. I had been polishing an antique vase I had inherited from my great aunt Evelyn when all the air in my living room suddenly whirled around me and the genie appeared before me.
“Finally!” he cried. “You have no idea how long I’ve been stuck in that dingy vase…”
I stood in shock, mouth gaping, as the genie rambled on about the inhumane living conditions he’d been subjected to four thousands of years in that piece of pottery. At last, he addressed me directly.
“Well, now that you’ve freed me, you’re entitled to one free wish.”
“One wish?” I blurted out. “Isn’t it supposed to be three?”
The genie burst out laughing. “Is that what they’re telling kids these days?! You humans get greedier every millennium. No, you only get one wish. One wish should be all you need, if you choose the wish wisely. My advice: don’t waste it. You have a real chance to do some good here.”
*A real chance to do some good.* For as long as I could remember, my sister had had a tougher life than me. When she was eleven, she fell on the playground and scraped her arm. The arm got infected, and ultimately had to be amputated just below the shoulder. A freak incident that changed her life. Since then, she had always been a trooper and approached life with never-ending optimism, but prosthetic arms that attach above the elbow just aren’t as effective as prosthetics attached below the elbow.
So when the genie showed up, I knew exactly what to wish for.
\----------
My phone still hasn’t stopped buzzing. Strange. Groggily, I pick up the phone and pry one eye open to see a barrage of notifications on my screen.
The top headline from the New York Times: “BREAKING NEWS: PEOPLE AROUND THE WORLD WAKE UP WITH TWO EXTRA LIMBS”.
From the Wall Street Journal: “BIOLOGICAL WARFARE? RADIATION POISONING? SCIENTISTS TRY TO DECODE THE MYSTERY OF TWO NEW LIMBS”
In disbelief, I throw off my covers. Sure enough, there are two dangly new arms sticking out from each of my hips like spider legs.
*How on Earth…?* Then suddenly, it hits me.
I race to the old vase and rub it vigorously until the genie materializes again.
“You again?” he asks. “I already granted you your wish.”
“*FOREARMS*!” I cry. “I WANTED EVERYONE TO HAVE *FOREARMS*! NOT *FOUR ARMS*!”
Slowly, the genie’s face contorts from confusion, to understanding, to horror, as he realizes the irreversible mistake we’ve made. | The Genie apologized profusely, ephemeral tears dripping from his eyes. "Master," he blubbered, "I cannot."
I stared at him. "No," I snarled. "You mean to say you *won't*."
Another loud sob. "No! I speak truthfully, Master, I cannot!"
I was puzzled. This was my third wish, of course; the first two having been for my loved ones to return to life ("fine", said the Genie) and for riches ("how original", he had laughed). He had suggested I think bigger and more selflessly, and assured me that he could do anything. *Anything*. Short of wishing for more wishes, of course, for the Genie could not affect the rules that bound it to service.
I had wished quickly, to be entirely frank. There wasn't a particular reason behind the wish. It could've as easily been three arms, or ten. In any case, I wanted to leave a lasting legacy, a question not even the greatest scientists or sages could answer. Plus, two extra arms would be entirely useful once we all got through with fixing our wardrobes. Who wouldn't want that?
"You had said *anything* was valid, Genie."
"Of course, Master! How about world peace, instead?"
I guffawed. "*World peace*? If it lasted a week it'd be a miracle. Unless I make us all robots, humans will always find conflict."
"Well, how about dogs that live as long as their owners? Anything is yours!"
Hm. That was tempting, but no. "Four arms, Genie. Like I said."
But he simply repeated his answer. "I am sorry, but I cannot."
Surely, this had to be one of those rules of his service. I tried to figure it out, but it made no sense. "Could you do three arms?"
He grinned, a huge bright smile that illuminated the dark temple room as if the sun itself was shining next to us. I could see the walls glistening, their ancient writings warning of curses and wishes gone awry from errant fools who'd found the lamp long ago. "Are you certain that is your wish?"
"What? No! It was a question!"
The smile quickly faded. "But, Master -"
"How about ten arms?"
The overwhelming elation returned. "Then, your wish is -"
"NO!" I practically screamed it at him in frustration. I was, admittedly, very puzzled. What was so special about four arms?
What was the general rule, again? When I had rubbed the lamp, his first words to me were a quickly disregard disclaimer, spoken in a breathless, toneless, practiced drone. The meaning, so far as I could tell, was simple: the Genie could rewrite any facts I wished, but not the unwritten rules of reality itself. He also couldn't disclose these directly, as it would take longer than my lifespan to relate all possible wishes this excluded.
*So why not four goddamn arms?*
"Genie," I said, "it seems that the nature of the wish here - more arms for everyone - is within your power."
"Correct, Master." I saw a glint in those eyes, now. A trick of the flickering light from my torch, maybe, but he almost looked *amused*.
"- but you cannot give everyone four arms -"
"Incorrect," he objected, maddeningly.
"INCORRECT?" I bellowed, incredulous. "You just said you can't grant that wish!"
"I cannot grant the wish as initially spoken, Master. That is true." I had been right; the Genie was hiding a smirk, which made the whole situation worse.
"So it's...not the four arms. The preconditions, then? Maybe the fact that even those with less than two get four arms?"
"No, Master." At this point, his mirth was barely contained.
"The fact that...oh, no. No," I said, when it hit me. Now it was my turn to cry, for I knew. I knew what his next words would be just as surely as I knew I had fallen into the trap.
"Indeed, Master. I cannot grant the wish as spoken - four arms, no explanation - because..."
" - *forewarned is forearmed*," I groaned.
And knowing at least one of those unwritten rules, I saw myself out of his chamber. | 2022-07-11T09:41:02 | 2022-07-11T08:33:12 | 425 | 255 |
[WP] You are frantically driving back to your house. Your wife called you for she delivered, even though it has been just six months. You open the door and find your wife hugging a 1 foot egg. "I will explain everything honey, but could you warm our baby for a while, I am hungry AF." | *Later, when the wife has gotten food from somewhere I do not know and perhaps would rather not know, when the conversation has since begun*
“So, honey, let me get this straight…”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a dragon in human form. You avoided telling me until we full on tied down to make sure I wouldn’t flake out or try to tell someone else that you had gone crazy or anything like that. You CONTINUED to not tell me even after our marriage was complete because… why?”
“How was I expected to? I mean, my own family never really prepared me for this sort of thing, since I basically came here against their wishes. I could never decide on the best time to pop the reveal and not have it be… well, weird for you. Also, you need to hug our kid a lot closer than that. Don’t worry, it’ll take more than a human man’s strength to break the shell at all.”
“O-oh, alright… wait, you came here against their wishes? Is this some kind of Little Mermaid situation?”
“Um… no. Maybe? Well, I guess you could say that. Kind of. Though make no mistake, my human form isn’t some witch’s gift slash curse; this is just something we can do.”
“If it’s that easy, couldn’t you have shown me a scale or two on our honeymoon? I know you were apprehensive but I don’t think I would have minded.”
“You mean like a partial shift? That’s… not really how it works. Or it could if you’re a super old dragon, but that I am not. And it’s not like I have room to practice without… I dunno, damaging anything.”
“Ah. I guess you can’t have just puffed out any fire in demonstration for the same reason, eh?”
“Not all dragons do that in the first place, dude.”
“Oh, sorry…”
“But if I was from one of those families, then yeah.”
“Okay…”
“…”
“…”
“…still a lot to take in, huh?”
“No, I think I’m managing, I just wanna know something else.”
“Oh, what is it?”
“Your ability to shapeshift or whatever…”
“…what about it?”
“Can you give or teach it to humans? Like, ever since I was a kid I always—“
“Gods damnit.” | I have seen my fair share of strange things in my life, a concerning number of which involved salsa music for reasons I cannot explain. But nothing quite compared to racing home at breakneck speeds when my wife Jen told me the baby was coming three months early only to see her cradling a goddamn egg. Before I could ask, she handed the egg off to me and went to the kitchen to make herself something to eat. With nothing else to do, I held it in my arms as snugly and gently as possible.
When Jen returned from the kitchen downing a carton of bunny tracks ice cream, I said, "Vivian want explanation now."
Jen set down the carton. "Okay, you were going to find this out some day. You know how I said I was adopted? Well, I may have omitted the part where my mom is a... sphinx."
I blinked at her. "A sphinx. As in the 'eats you if you answer the riddle incorrectly' kind of sphinx."
"Yeah. I mean, not my mom, she went vegan the minute I wound up in her life."
I tried to keep my voice as quiet as possible so I wouldn't disturb the egg and angrily whispered, "Jen, why wouldn't you tell me this?!"
Jen whispered right back, "Because I knew my history and mythology nerd of a wife would *never* shut up about it once she knew."
"Of course I wouldn't! It's the greatest thing in the history of ever! Second only to the noises you make when I break out the strap."
Jen chuckled quietly and continued, "Anyway, I grew up around damn near every creature in Greek mythology you can name. And when I told some of my old friends we were trying to have a kid, some of them offered to help. My friend Jules, who's an empousai-"
"The undead servants of Hekate?!"
"Yes, now please keep your geeking out to yourself." I mimed the zipped lips gesture and let Jen get back to it. "Anyway, Jules put together this little magic ritual to pop the baby inside me, and then she worked a little mind magic on you to make you think we had gotten a normal sperm donor."
I smiled. "Little upset about the lies and hypnosis, but other than that I will be sure to thank your friend for helping us out." I held the egg in front of my face. "So, what mythical creature is the biological parent anyway? Dracenae? Amphisbaena? Gorgon?"
Jen moved in to cradle our child with me. "Nothing reptilian, I promise. The egg is just a side effect of the spell Jules performed. The donor is Jules' wife Sakura the dryad."
"Awwwww, we're gonna have a little nature baby. How long will they take to hatch?"
"Not long at all. Jules has performed this spell before, and she said the longest she's seen it take is usually about two -"
*FOOOMPH!*
The eggshell burst into a cloud of purple flower petals that were scattered all across the room. Jen spit three of them out of her mouth as she said, "...hours." I couldn't stop myself from laughing. At least until Jen and I looked down at where the egg used to be.
Held in both of our arms was a baby sleeping peacefully, with slightly pointed ears, pinkish skin, and black hair that seemed to turn dark purple in the light. Our daughter.
I couldn't stop myself from crying. "Oh my God, oh my God. She's perfect."
Jen was crying right with me. "What do we name her?"
I looked around the room at the mess of flower petals left behind and eventually said, "Well, I'm pretty sure these are delphiniums."
Jen smiled, gently kissed our daughter on her forehead and whispered, "Hello, Delphinium. We love you already." | 2022-08-22T09:42:59 | 2022-08-22T09:38:00 | 101 | 70 |
[WP] A villain, in his dying breath as he's mortally wounded by the hero, uses the last of his magic in order to resurrect the fallen friends of the hero in his journey to defeat him. It sounds like a counterintuitive idea; Until you realize that some of them died at the hands of their allies. | The battle has come to an end, and the Hero's party has come victorious over the evil Magician, but not without casualties.
'Any last words?' - our Hero asked the Magician
'Yes' - replied the Magician - 'futui tua mater'
As the Magician chanted his spell, one by one, every member of the party who has deceased in battle, rose back up.
'Alright what the fuck Jared, you know I'm the only one with the resurrection spell here' - said a member of the party
'Bro, it's not my fault, I was under a spell' - replied another
'Guys, can we talk about David though? Mans chopped my head off, when the door required a sacrifice to enter' - yelled out a feminine figure by the doorway to the Magician's lair.
'YOU LITERALLY SAID YOU'D BE FINE WITH DYING IN BATTLE' - replied our Hero
'YOU COULD'VE FUCKING ASKED, I KNOW JOHN IS ON OUR TEAM OR SOMETHING, ALSO WHY WASN'T I RESURRECTED IMMEDIATELY???' - asked the figure by the doorway
'oh no, she'll find out the plan when we get home, Jared' - whispered John
'girl is gonna find out this asshole is cheating on her' - replied Jared
What our valiant group of heroes did not realise, however, is that the evil Magician was still alive, because the sword was not yet fully thrusted into his heart.
'Wait, genuinely, what the fuck, I just wanted to hear you argue a little before I die, now I'm questioning whether I'm the evil one here.' - said the Magician
'At times, I do too' - replied our Hero, thrusting the sword deeper into the Magicians body.
(Genuinely no idea why I went for this, I just really like combining pure morony with "fancy" writing) | “ you…. You think…. This is the… end for… me”
Malarik , the master of shadows and death, His strained dying breath was getting more shallow
“ they… will bring… me…. Back…. Once they know….. what befell them”
He raised his hand to the sky and a large bolt of black ichor shot out as he fell to the ground dead. He was a master of death and life magic so we doubted it was the last we would truly see of him but without any phylactery left it would be ages before he could resurrect himself alone
I wondered who “they” were that would help him but I felt a strange sensation , almost like relief… like someone I cared for has came back to me… then I knew who it was
I turned to look at the rest of my team , we had one magician on our team , his dark magics were the only thing that could break that shield on the dungeon , we lost so many breaking through the keep to even just reach the dungeon , but he never seemed to tire.
Then I seen , from just outside the room , she walked in , she was dead 10 minutes ago but now she seemed fine , until I seen the black ichor on her stomach , it festered on the wound and then started to fall off , her body seemed like a shell her mind was there but there was nothing behind it. The mage started to reel in pain , it looked like something was trying to rip itself out of him until a white shard of blinding light was pulled from his hand and returned to her body. Within a blink her blank soulless expression turned to rage
“ you bastard , I wasn’t even dead yet and you ripped my soul out , I could of lived had you used a healing spell instead!”
It started to make sense now, he was a death wizard as well and he has been fueling his powers on the deaths of our allies … suddenly more soulless forms appeared at the doors.
The mage was brought to the ground from pain as the souls of all those who he finished off were being pulled from him
“ it was the only way , I’m not evil like him but you were all mortally wounded…. I had to get strong enough to break the barrier”
He screamed in agony as another soul ripped itself free
“ every body I mark the soul will transfer to me when it dies, you would all be free again when I pass naturally to rest “
Another shard ripped forth , he coughed up blood this time
“ I have to release them all now, even his, to save myself “
The mage cut his hand and cast forth a blinding light , shards poured out including one as black as night, after the light faded he seemed to pass out , maybe dead , wasn’t sure , but then a eerie voice filled the room
“ he betrayed you and took the bait , I may be dead but my soul is free now, that body was begging to rot anyways so I had to die , I will return stronger then before in a new body , dear hero you failed , but atleast you got your friends back “
The spirit took form , it was Malarik , in his hand he had several shards
“These one’s bodies were to far gone , so couldn’t return , they will become my fuel now to fully reincarnate, until we meet again hero “
Malarik summoned a portal and flew through it
We failed , it was a trap all along. | 2022-09-24T15:34:03 | 2022-09-24T15:10:14 | 222 | 23 |
[WP] The princess is different to say the very least. Her face covered in battle scars instead of make up, her hands as hard as stone and her eyes more frightening than a dragon. But you must perform your duty as a knight and guard her even though she may not need your protection. | "You leave your left side open," the princess said as she wiped blood off of her sword.
"Wh... what?" the knight asked, panting for air.
"When you thrust," she explained. "You have good form but you lean on your right foot too much, leave your left side open. If you fought someone with an off-hand dagger or someone more skilled than this rabble," she said and nodded towards the band of dead brigands at their feet, "you'd be looking at a serious stab wound."
"I... I see," he said, finally catching his breath. She gave him a cheeky smile, though it was somewhat hard to see it beneath all the scars she bore on her face.
"Still. Not bad. Certainly better than the pompous bastards who, uh... *guarded* me before." She said the 'guarded' word with such disdain she practically spat it out.
"You do not appear to require guarding, your highness," he said.
"Tell that to my father!" she cried out. "Every time it's a new moron who barely fought anyone that I could drop in a heartbeat yet he insists that 'A princess must have a noble bodyguard', as if- oh, *blast*."
She looked down at her dress, noticing the sleeve barely hanging by a thread. The dress was exquisite, made of the finest silk, yet did not fit her comfortably at all. Despite being made by the best tailor in the kingdom to her exact measurements, they did not account for the chainmail she wore beneath.
Unceremoniously, she ripped the sleeve off entirely and moved her shoulder, enjoying the new comfort.
"Better," she said contently. The knight kneeled and inspected the bodies of the would-be kidnappers.
"Red Hand," he noted.
"Hm?" she looked at him.
"The tattoo," he said and pointed at one of the dead man's shoulders. "They belong to the Red Hand. A network of bandits - more of a cult, really. They're getting bolder, going after royalty. Not sure if it was for a ransom or sacrifice."
"How do you know that?"
"When I was assigned to gua- er, accompany you, your highness, I did research on anyone who could try to harm you. Know your enemies and all that," he said with a knowing nod. She nodded back, almost impressed by his astute observation. *Almost*.
"Not bad, knight. Not bad at all. What's your name?" she asked.
"Sir John Penderton of the River Mou-"
"John it is," she interrupted. "Listen, John, let's make one this clear. I don't need your protection. I dropped two more of these than you did. I can handle myself."
"I understand, your highness. But I was assigned to you. I cannot simply leave."
"I know!" she cried out, rubbing her eyes. "I... know. I just needed to set it clear. That said..."
He looked at her expectantly.
"You seem clever. And you did handle yourself decently. How do you feel about... 'guarding' me while I go out and hunt down this Red Foot or whatever? Could be a good bit of fun. And I won't let some two-bit bastard think they can kidnap me. *Me*!"
He considered it for a moment, then nodded. "It'd be an honour, your highness." Not like he could refuse - she had authority over him. *And* he was pretty sure she'd sooner break his legs than let him drag her back to the castle.
"Good!" she perked up. "Finally, a knight who doesn't try to get in my way."
"If I may, your highness, what happened to the other knights? Those before me?" he asked.
She cracked her calloused knuckles loudly. "They all regrettably broke their arm and were unable to guard me further. All six of them. Funny, isn't it?" she said with a devious grin. The knight gulped nervously but kept his composure.
"Indeed, your highness," he replied dryly.
"Cut it with the 'highness' hogwash, would you? It's tedious."
"How am I to address you then, your hi- uh..."
She gave him a smile - a truly genuine, honest smile, to both of their surprise.
"It's Joanne."
He prepared the words carefully, then gathered his courage - more courage than he needed to fight the brigands. Finally, he managed to speak them. "Very well... Joanne." | Princess Callisto was a very different sort of princess. Ever since she fought off a kidnapping attempt when she was thirteen, Callisto was defined by her ferocity in battle and her tenacity as well as her kind heart. Her many successful battles had made any notion of assigning a knight to protect her foolish at best. And yet, I was sent to her all the same.
We were riding in her carriage to a meeting with another kingdom. The ride was tense, if you can believe it. Callisto was sipping tea and refusing to make eye contact with me. I sighed. "Princess, I know you don't like me -"
"Don't like you? Dearest Mirabelle, why would you think I don't like you for being walking proof my parents are unwilling to acknowledge I'm fully capable of taking care of myself?"
"I can do without the passive-aggression, your grace."
Callisto set her tea down and looked me in the eye for the first time since this ride started. "Look, the odds of anyone not knowing my reputation are extremely low, so I really don't see what you can do that I can't-"
*BOOM!!!*
An explosion went off maybe a foot ahead of us, causing the horses pulling the carriage to rear up. Callisto snapped to attention immediately, grabbed her sword from under her seat, and said to me, "Wait here. It seems more people need to be reminded of who I am."
"Princess, wait!" Callisto ignored me as she kicked down the carriage door. I cursed under my breath; that was no ordinary explosion. I threw my helmet on and jumped out after her.
Already, the enemy had shown themselves. A group of about thirty to forty people in black hoods carrying everything from daggers to potion bottles. The Black Stag Gang- a group of bandits that dealt in the commodity of people. They had long had it out for Callisto for all of their operations she'd upended over the years.
Callisto held her sword at the ready as she faced the Gang's leader, a black haired woman known only as Blaze. Blaze smirked and said, "So the rumors are true: you've been assigned a knight. Getting soft, Callie?"
Callisto gritted her teeth. "Don't need her to kick your teeth in, Burnout. Or have you forgotten how all our previous dances ended?"
"Oh, I remember. That's why we brought these." Blaze and half of the bandits pulled a carved stick from their coats. Magic wands- cheap as dirt, good for not much else except throwing fireballs and the occasional lightning bolt. Which meant the average thug always had at least one. And unfortunately, these looked like they'd been sculpted by an expert.
Blaze and a handful of other bandits pointed their wands at Callisto and let loose fireballs that were big enough to swallow Callisto's head. But before they could connect, I jumped in front of Callisto with my hand outstretched and a cry of the words "FLAME EATER!" A glowing ring lined with symbols spawned from my hand and vacuumed up the flames. I looked back at an awestruck Callisto and remarked, "*That's* why I'm here, your grace."
I turned back to the bandits, clapped my hands together, and spread them apart, causing flames of my own to appear in the shape of a rod. I spun the rod and caught it, causing it to transform into a cerulean halberd. As the bandits looked on in terror, I announced, "We haven't met yet. I am Mirabelle Faustina of House Faustina and their ninth generation of mages. Surrender now or I will demonstrate my diligence when it comes to the family business."
The bandits looked at each other uncertainly, only for Blaze to yell, "Oh come on, you saw that display! She's all flash and no substance! GET HER!" The bandits charged with a cry. As I readied myself, Callisto got next to me with her sword drawn. "This a private party?"
I grinned beneath my helmet. "Not at all, Princess."
We met the bandits with clashing steel and fists. Every time one of the bandits tried to use a wand, I threw another spell their way. Before long, every wand present was either turned to ash, gnarled like an overgrown tree, or shunted to another dimension. And with every disarmament, Callisto swooped in with a hit strong enough to knock them out.
Before long, the bandits were all unconscious. As Callisto and I turned our attention to Blaze, she decided to take off running the opposite direction. I spawned an all-white orb and handed it to Callisto. "Throw this at her."
Callisto pulled her hand back and hurled the orb at Blaze as hard as she could. It connected and dispersed into a cloud of smoke. When it cleared out, Blaze was gone. And in her place was a tortoise that retreated its' head into its' shell.
Callisto laughed at the sight of Blaze as a reptile and turned to look at me. "Alright, alright, not bad."
I pulled my helmet off and shook my hair loose. "Not bad yourself. So, the meeting was likely..."
"A trap. Yeah. But I think we took care of it. Speaking of which, why's a mage with your level of skill serving as a knight?"
I blushed. "Well, uh... I kind of wanted to... meet you."
Callisto smirked. "Oh really? Tell me, what did you want to see in person the most? My muscular arms? My bravery? My gorgeous red mane?"
I blushed even harder and tried to cover up my face. "Your arms, now please stop."
Callisto laughed and slapped me on the back. "You know what? I think I'm gonna like having you as a knight." | 2022-10-03T14:35:13 | 2022-10-03T13:56:17 | 45 | 24 |
[WP] The Queen decides she wants to marry you. The thing is, you have absolutely no idea why she would choose you of all people. | It had been a year since the war with Davarra had ended, it had lasted nearly a hundred years. My father fought and died, just as his father before him, and his father, I joined my lord's warband as it was my duty when I came of age while my brother stayed home to tend to the farm. Unfortunately he died during a raid by deserters, so now I am the only living member of my bloodline. Once the war had ended I asked for my leave from my lord, Durok, who agreed because of the circumstances. Imagine my surprise when I return to my village and see the royal guard all over, it didn't take long for them to notice my either.
"You there, you one of the deserters?" A royal guard called to me.
(Ah, so that's what the are here for, strange) "No, I have been released from my service from lord Durok, I have his seal on my writ of service as proof." I proclaimed, dropping my pack and shield to grab my papers.
I found the document and produced it to the royal guard, who looked it over briefly. "Alright, follow me." He stated handing my writ of service back.
I grabbed my pack and shield and followed him into the village. (Why does he want me to follow him, am I or the village in trouble?) I wondered. Eventually we reached my house, (that's unsettling), and he gestured for me to enter before leaving. I opened my door to find the house almost completely empty, I couldn't help but sigh. I should have figured that the deserters would've taken whatever they wanted, but they could've at least left a bed. I set my shield against the wall, followed by my father's Falx, his father's axe, and his father's battle axe, (why couldn't they all just use the same weapon, this shit is heavy!?) I mulled. I then grabbed my bed roll from my pack, unrolled it and laid down, it was easily forty miles from lord Durok's city of Velheim so I was ready for sleep, armor be damned.
Just as my eyes closed there was a knock on the door, (figures) I groaned silently as I stood up and moved to the door. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but my queen definitely wasn't it. I kneeled before she even had a moment to speak which only earned an amused sigh.
"Rise Adrian, son of Garis." She commanded, "For today is a momentous occasion." She proclaimed happily.
I stood up once more but dared not meet the queen's eyes. (SHE KNOW MY NAME, WHAT IS HAPPENING!?!?) I screamed internally. "Yes your highness." I said as calmly as possible.
She rolled her eyes playfully before producing a paper and offering it to me. I tentatively took the paper and began to read. I felt my eyes widen as I finished reading, (I am to be the husband of Queen Helen, THE VERY QUEEN IN FRONT OF ME!!!!). I looked up to see her broad smile and gleaming green eyes, a mages eyes. She stepped inside and took me away from the door, allowing two of her servants to grab my things.
"We have almost everything packed already, your bed and much of the furniture was taken by those deserters however." She said while looking me up and down. "Come, our carriage awaits." She said leading me from my home to a big carriage.
We climbed aboard and she closed the door behind us, then the carriage started moving. "Let me take your armor off, you must be exhausted." She said in a rather sultry manner that sent a shiver through my body. Before I could reply however she had already begun.
"Why me?" I asked without thinking
"I saw what you did at the siege of Lanark, I watched as a single warrior from Durok's Warband raised ladders on the outer walls, scaled said ladders, and then proceeded to slaughter every defender in his path to an onager that had been precisely striking our forces. I watched YOU clear a path for my army to take the city proper and besiege the citadel. Where I saw you again, this time however, you were using that battle axe to chop at the gate while being fired up on." My last piece of armor came off and she leaned in. "Needless to say, you impressed and inspired me."
She leaned in closer while undoing her dress, "let me show you how inspired I am." | #Royally Screwed: More Than Chance.
*[Disclaimer: Concepts and Subjects in this story may be triggering to some, as this is partly an experimental piece. Consider this a fair warning]*
***{Part 1 of 2}***
My name is Eram, I am, er *was* a soldier on the frontlines a week n' a half ago. I was grievously wounded, but saved by my Queen, and the invading Lich in addition his armies obliterated. My wounds are long healed thanks to the mystical arts of clerical healing magicks, but I have spent the last week in the royal palace as the Queen's honorable guest. Now I am certain that I am far beyond being a mere guest, and my mind a tempest of emotions. **Queen Pytherial Voltae** *(Pie•Thear•Eall, Volt•A)*, my Queen, has chosen **me**, of all people in this world, a farmer turned soldier, as her soon to be bride. Many protested yesterday at her announcement, but she offered to duel any who dare contest to the death as a way to remind all her words are absolute. Her court is a few nobles less now to say the least. A Queen marrying one not of noble blood is scandalous to many, but a Queen marrying a lady is unheard of...
**Nothing wrong I suppose with lady to lady, but with siring an heir: How does that even work?** Jeez, I'm a mess. Looking in the tall mirror I scrutinize my own body. I am human to the core, but seven feet in height, caramel toned and rippling with muscles from a life of toil and hardship; Yet I've never forgotten to appreciate my generously proportioned bottom. The scar across my face, *a slash from my upper left eyebrow down past the bottom right of my chin* doesn't present the most feminine countenance, but at least I can read and write unlike my siblings. *-Sigh-*, I hope they carve a name for themselves. Looking back at myself my long chestnut hair is unkempt, and I wear only a soft leather bra and panties, **I look disheveled, like a beggar.** No, no it's just the depression and fear getting to me.
**I mean it's not like I don't like Queen Pytherial Voltae, I'm just nervous, I feel rushed, trapped even.** This is all happening so fast, yet there's more going on than I am aware of or privy to. I know I have muscles and a four-pack, but I'm more than a slab of meat. What does she see in me? I'm no magi, no expert warrior, I've only got a powerful off hand sucker punch to boast! She is so regal, refined and serious when tending to her duties as Queen, but in between those hour-long sessions Pytherial focuses on me, checking up on me, talking to me, hell even teaching me academia... *And the exercise is unlike anything I've ever experienced in basic training.* She hasn't made any advances on me either, and becomes so personable, informal even. Am I her escape from the drudgery of nobility? ***What does she see in me? Whyyy?!*** It's already past noon, the ceremonial wedding is less than five hours away. I haven't even bathed yet.... Ugh... ***'Zzzzz'.......***
***"Wakey Wakey Lady Era- JEEZ LOUISE you look like a hobo hehe!"*** Came an overly-cheery voice I have come to dread since my arrival here. It was that damned fairy **Weisa** *{Why•Suh}* and her brigade of Gnomes and half-elves. They were the '*Royal Stylists*', a collection of tailors, seamstresses, barbers plus more in service to the royal family, well what remains of it that is. She wasn't even a foot tall, but had strong telekinetic magics to substitute as strength. I grumbled a petty protest but she simply chided me in a sing-song voice. Rrrrrghhhhh, I had to grit my teeth as I tried to bath in silence, ignoring all of them trying to help me. I've always bathed myself, and it feels weird and uncomfortable having servants who are disconcertingly happy to wash me. That was just the beginning though, only half an hour has passed. ***This was going to be a loooong day.***
**It took four bloody hours.** The only enjoyable part was picking out my clothes. I chose a tight crimson dress without straps, gilded satin-onyx lingerie and a metallic red pair of beautiful sandals. The dress had an opening for my stomach, my bellybutton and abs on display. It felt... Liberating almost, like I was more than my humble origins. I've been what others refer to as a tom-boy all my life, but this moment was very special to me, a soon to be pleasant memory. Then those gremli- *I mean Royal Stylists* pushed me into a surprisingly comfortable chair with wheels, and the torturous applying of makeup began. It took up most of those four hours, and was like a fever dream. They all giggle too much, blurting jokes as dry as a skeleton in the desert. At least they did my hair justice, styling it into a thick, brilliantly woven ponytail. Weisa clapped her tiny hands together, about to speak when an escort of Royal Soldiers entered my chambers. One if them, a man in a deadpan tone said, *"Come Lady Eram, it is time. Your love awaits, the ceremony is ready to begin."* My heart lept into my throat, my mouth suddenly dry, but I shakily nodded, and began to follow. **Gods I am so nervous.** | 2022-12-13T02:37:23 | 2022-12-12T20:28:38 | 64 | 19 |
[WP] You are notified that in 24 hours, every human will try to kill you for 1 hour. Your preparation starts now. | "Well, shit," I said to myself. "It's really not that hard to kill me."
I had just awoken from the most vivid dream of my life. There could be no question it was real, and so was its warning. God had spoken to me, a thundering voice from a cloud atop a mountain. "I am the Lord your god," he had said, or rather boomed.
"But I don't believe in-- "
"Silence!" he had shouted. "In 24 hours, every human will try to kill you for one hour. You have been warned."
And that was it. I lay in bed, staring at the big red numerals projected on my ceiling: 2:00.
For the next few hours, I thought about what to do. I cursed myself for not having asked God any questions. I didn't even know which religion was right about God. Judaism? Christianity? And which denomination? Or maybe they were all wrong.
I tried praying, but got no answers. Maybe I was doing it wrong.
"Ok," I thought, "What are my options?"
Here was the problem, or at least the biggest one: I had muscular dystrophy. At 31 years old, I was unable to move beyond small movements of my head, wrists and fingers. And I needed a ventilator to breathe.
I would have to hide, which wouldn't be easy with my power wheelchair and noisy ventilator. And my ventilator batteries would never last until 2 a.m.
After several agonizing hours, I realized there was no way I could hide without someone knowing where to find and kill me. In the morning, I called everyone I knew and scoured the internet, looking for a house with a saferoom. My plan was to lock myself in there with the owner, and have the owner be tied up and a one hour timer set for the lock.
Well obviously it didn't work. You're sort of a St. Peter kind of thing, right? A gatekeeper for the afterlife?
So do I get into heaven or not?
Guess not. | The notice I’d waited for my whole life finally arrived, and I felt nothing but excitement.
*Rayne Boyd, you have been selected. Starting at midnight tonight, your only goal will be survival. You’ve waited for this, one of the select few who asked for this, now is your time to prove yourself. If you live, you join our ranks. If you die, you die an insignificant speck.*
The world had changed. This was the 54th year of The Selection. Only three other people had ever survived before. Only three people to join the ranks of The Initiative, the corporation that owned the world. Literally. They decided everything. A thousand people that determined the fate of the ten million of us left on Earth.
Behind their screens in their secret control room, they monitored every human being on the planet. The ones that showed intellectual promise were taken as babies. The rest of us had to take tests every year. At the end, you got to select if you wanted a chance to prove them wrong about your scores, that you had what it took to join them.
Everyone wanted in, but few people made it. If you were a part of their organization, you could eat whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. You could soak in a hot tub for hours, travel to space, read real books.
Life down here was nothing but a fight for survival. I was ready for this. I’d been born in the Sludge. The previous winners had also come from the Sludge. I had to be the next. I’d been preparing for this since I was four years old, after my father had been chosen. He’d lost. He didn’t have the balls to survive.
For one hour, every human being I’d encounter was going to be hardwired to kill me. Their implants told them so, and there was no overriding it. Doctors, nurses, teachers, pastors- all of them. They’d all try to kill me.
It was pretty shitty. If you failed in your duty to kill the Marked One, you’d lose rations for a year. That meant scrounging in the worst of the worst. Most of them died.
The light outside my broken down hovel flickered, a sign of what was to come. The Initiate kept it dark on purpose, they wanted every hardship possible thrown at the Marked One. They wanted me to fail. They wanted only the best of the best. Only the best of the best got chosen to run the world.
I whistled as I began to pack my gear, packing the weapons where they needed to be. Hand crafted shanks, gas bombs, you name it, I had it. I reached out and grab my favorite weapon, a rusted and notched machete with a frayed green leather handle. It fit perfectly in my hand. I knew how to use it.
I looked up, seeing my reflection in the mirror. The pink streak in my hair the only bit of color I could see, my gold eyes flashing. I slid the machete behind the pack on my back, and cracked my knuckles as I opened the window.
The bitterly cold wind whipped through my shaggy hair, and my clothes. I crouched on the windowsill, looking around one last time at my home. I wouldn’t come back, I had somewhere new waiting for me. The ground flew up to meet me as I leapt down, landing quietly on my feet, snow floating around me.
*Let’s do this.* | 2015-06-14T17:38:15 | 2015-06-14T16:42:28 | 15 | 10 |
[WP]: "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time." | Why? What's wrong with it?
> "Uranus, the perfect honeymoon destination!"
That will propel our newest space colony in the social media on the Internet. It should get us tons of followers on Spacebook and new tourists wanting to spend their wedding vacation here.
We also made sure to mention our favorite moon hotel locations in the further subtext.
> "Choose between Miranda, Ariel and Titania for the best views on Uranus and enjoy their hospitality." | Robert peered into the dark abyss. That's one thing he'd forgot about working on a offworld broadcasting station; the view was so vast and empty. Of course, tonight it will be different. The first of the Asmoydian and Veluese dreadnoughts have already jumped into Centauri's orbit, appearing as elongated blue flecks against the matte black. There was some activity along the horizon of the planet and the moon, although there was no way to tell if they were a defense force or an emergency evacuation. Either way, he knew it was too late for his crew. Most of them were standing alongside Robert, observing the flashes of light as spacecraft were torn asunder by the dreadnoughts. The news anchor repeatedly tried to engage the uplink, but the connection error persisted. The first act of war was the complete wipeout of communications just two hours after the broadcast so there wasn't a way to broadcast a retraction or correction or a plea. Funny to think that they were this ready to fight, Robert thought.
More ironically, it was supposed to be a message of peace, the diffusion of tension. The attack on their diplomatic headquarters in New Washington was a mystery to everyone, and the Human-Asmoydian-Veluese investigation was a symbol of unity in such a dividing crisis. Their report would put to rest rumors among the council that it was a human ship that destroyed the towers. But by the time Robert had noticed what he entered into the teleprompter, it was already on billions of holograms and lightboards system-wide. If human history were to survive this next calamity, it would be known that the first intergalactic war began with an accidental omission.
Robert turned to look back at the static projection of the broadcast. There it was, in big red font.
"BREAKING: rocket fuel melts stallaite beams". | 2015-06-19T03:51:32 | 2015-06-19T03:26:36 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] Upon ascending to the throne a young prince learns the highest state secret in the kingdom is that the treasury, and the very economy itself, has been managed for hundreds of years by a 4lb dragon too runty and crippled to amass or protect its own fortune.
For the most part dragons are engines of terror and death, and the people would react badly to learning of this one's existence. This one handles the books and treasury. All it asks in return is protection, a few clean and well-fed rats a week, and to be allowed to sleep on a pile of gold.
Use what you will, toss what you will, this is just the general idea. | "You what?"
"Money. I want to see where it's made. I want to see how my kingdom controls it."
The King slapped his hands down on the smooth mahogany table.
"Gentlemen, as the ruler of this nation it is only sensible that I take an interest in the economy. Especially one as exceptional as ours."
The King produced a bill from his pocket.
"A slip of ordinary paper, worth five gold coins? A bank that **gives** out money to people, and merely expects them to pay it back later? I would call these the inventions of a mad man I did not witness their success for myself."
The Guild of Merchants shared worried looks. The old King had been a drunken oaf, but at least he was a drunken oaf that didn't ask any questions.
All they had to do was supply him with a turkey leg, a flagon of mead and a scantily clad dancer every now and then, and he'd let them go back to their affairs in peace.
But this new King maintained a carefully balanced diet, and would only drink filtered water. His interests included reading, writing, and art.
The very last of the dancing girls had stormed off in a huff when the new King gifted her a winter coat out of concern that she might catch a cold.
"Well, my liege... it's all very complicated. Extremely so." bustled the Head Artificer.
"Then explain it to me slowly. I don't care if it takes years, I shall not be a mere figurehead. Really, I don't like to order people around very much - but do consider this as a very sincere recommendation. I want you all to teach me everything you know."
One of the more elder members of the Guild rose to his feet.
"If any of you know the King as half as well as I do, then you know he will be resolute in this. I say we show him. He is a far more understanding man than the last few monarchs. We should show him the secret of wealth. We should introduce him to the Master."
The other merchants seemed to hesitate, but eventually they all nodded in agreement. One by one, they each drew a silver bell from their sleeve and rang it once.
Fifteen minutes passed in silence. The King was very patient, and his passion for theatre had given him a sense for a dramatic reveal.
Finally the doors parted, and a young woman strode into the study with a shoe box cradled in her arms. She was a beauty that could start a war. Her skin like polished bronze, her hair like woven sunlight, with eyes that burned like sapphires and shone with a fierce intelligence.
Her rack was pretty kickin' as well.
The old men in the Merchant's Guild grew wistful for their youthful days, and felt a pang of frustration with the young King - who only had eyes for the box.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Is she the Master? What's in that box? Why is it important for learning about the economy?"
Suddenly, the lid popped into the air. A portly lizard hopped out from the box, slapping down on the table with a soft '*fwlop*'. The action caused a large collection of his moss green scales to molt off.
The woman reached into her ample bosom and pulled out a massive cigar that clearly didn't waste an inch of the room it was afforded. She handed it to the green lizard, which after a rather pitiful coughing fit managed to create a spray of embers to light it.
The dragon took a long drag on the cigar. Little wings began to vibrate like a hummingbird's, and amazingly it achieved a sort of hovering flight.
The dragon flew right up to the King's face and blew a long line of smoke.
"So you want to be an economist, you son of a bitch? Well pal, you've come to the right guy."
| The morning after the coronation, King Jesper woke up, stretched, and began his morning ablutions. Being King Jesper instead of Prince Jesper was still a strange feeling, one that despite years of grooming for the position was just as shocking as if it had come upon him by accident.
"Your Grace," came a voice, one of the household staff, "when you are finished, your mother requires your presence."
"Thank you," Jesper said, dragging a razor across his chin. He took his time shaving. He hadn't had his coffee yet and he was not about to spend his first full day as king with cuts all over his face.
Washed, shaved, and dressed, King Jesper wandered down the hall to the breakfast room, where, he hoped, there would be large amounts of coffee. He was not disappointed. The kitchen staff had an enormous latte ready and waiting, since still after all these years nobody had managed to come up with an intravenous coffee drip that was not lethal.
His mother, Princess Margarioska, formerly Queen Margarioksa until her abdication three weeks ago, sat at the table, having her customary morning tea. "Good morning, sunshine," she said, with an arched eyebrow.
"Hi, mom," Jesper answered, after his third swallow of coffee. "Henrik said you needed me for something."
"Finish your breakfast," she answered, sipping tea and writing something.
Jesper didn't linger. When his mother got enigmatic, it was a sign that something important was going on, something that she wouldn't discuss while they were inside and people could hear them.
"Is there something going on?" He wiped coffee from his lips.
"We're going for a horse ride." Her eyes flickered. "They have a pair saddled up for us already."
A horse ride? Really? He knew his mother loved her morning ride, but she could have told him. Riding was not his preferred sport, and there was the matter of the correct clothes. Still--
He studied her face. This was not a pleasure jaunt. Underneath the bland smile and sipping tea, her eyes had a steely glint that usually accompanied her badgering the prime minister into doing his job or embarrassing one of the wealthy of the nation into behaving like a non-sociopathic citizen. It was unnerving. He sensed that it wasn't aimed *at* him, but it would be if he didn't toe her line.
Jesper might be king, but Margarioska had years more practice. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered.
Twenty minutes later, he was sitting on a horse. He knew how to ride, of course, his parents had both seen to that at a young age, same as his brother and sister, just, he hadn't been riding in perhaps a decade. His mother had taken that into account, giving him an obedient, if prone to snatching bites of grass, mount. She rode a tall horse with a strange stepping walk, one that she had bought from somewhere in North America. His mother led him down one of the trails in the city park, one that was open to riders but not frequently used as a bridle path.
After perhaps twenty minutes on the bridle path, they stopped at an old stone building. It looked like a watchtower, and had a sign on it proclaiming its age and do not enter. Graffiti covered the outside. Madeleine, the groom, dismounted from her horse, tied it to a nearby tree, and helped Jesper down. While Madeleine took the horses, Jesper stretched his legs, wondering what they were doing, and turned to see his mother opening the chain lock on the watchhouse gate. She swung it open, grabbed Jesper by the wrist, and pulled him inside.
"My dear Madeleine, you know the protocol, yes?" she said, again with the steely eye.
Madeleine answered with equal steel, "If anybody tries to enter, shoot on sight." With a salute of two fingers to her brow, she slammed the building door shut. The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the small room.
"What the *hell*?" Jesper couldn't believe his ears. Or his eyes. He was locked with his mother inside a 17th century outbuilding.
"Madeleine and Trixa are here for security. Obviously." She turned on a headlamp that she had pulled from somewhere. Her handbag, evidently, since her next action was to rummage in said bag and hand him a headlamp, courteously already turned on.
"If you are talking about citizens, I need to know what is going on," he shot back. "Shooting on sight? Really? In this day and age?"
"If it helps, we've never had to shoot anybody. Nobody comes here, nobody bothers a pair of young women exercising horses. Come now." She started down a short hall to a steel door, shiny and suspiciously modern looking. "This is important and I have to ask you to trust that I will explain--on the other side of this door."
Jesper sighed, and followed.
Behind the door was a stairwell. Down the stairs there was another door. Behind the other door was a tiny room, barren but for two wooden benches, with yet another door. | 2015-06-23T07:06:24 | 2015-06-23T06:12:03 | 68 | 23 |
[WP] You are a dyslexomancer, with the unique class ability 'Mispel magic'.
Decided to make a prompt based on the idea from [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/3hd45k/you_are_a_dyslexomancer_with_the_unique_class/) in r/dnd (credit to /u/jand2013 and others)
In what sort of adventures does the dyslexomancer get? | For a moment, it looked like part of the show. The falconer had gingerly removed the hood from the falcon on his arm, which had given him a level glare (the only expression falcons are capable of) and stubbornly ignored his orders to fly. When the falconer tried to shake it free, the bird gave a blood-curdling scream and leapt to claw his eyes out.
The first person to react was the wizard's apprentice in the front row. While her master was focusing his mind, pondering how the falcon might be turned into clay or talc, she threw her hand out towards the angry bird - and suddenly, the bird vanished, and the falconer was hit in the face by a loaf of bread covered in thick blue-green mold.
That earned her some appreciative applause from the onlookers. The wizard noticed a few of them with confused or thoughtful looks. Probably those who knew some of the principles of anagramism themselves, who could turn a leaf into a flea as a party trick, and who might have realised something was strange about what they'd just seen. The wizard smiled and waved, and then quickly steered the girl out of the crowd as soon as most of the attention was off her.
In the corridor they had enough privacy to talk. "Minevra. What exactly did you do just now?"
"I... I'm sorry if I shouldn't have. I wanted to get rid of the bird and it just came into my head-"
"I'm not angry, Minevra. I want to know what you actually did. I'm thinking it over and I can't find a sensible way to make the rearrangement you made, especially considering you could barely turn a reed into a deer last week. Was there some mental block you overcame? What was that just now?"
"It was just an anagram. Like you taught me. ANGRY FALCON into CYAN LOAF."
The wizard mentally counted the letters. Then did it again. "Well. That explains some of it." he muttered to himself. "Minevra, listen to me. Everything in the universe is made up of letters, and anagramism is the application of intelligence to rearrange the letters composing an object, understand? But that's all that's possible, only rearrangement. Creating, destroying, or transforming letters - not the words they make, but the letters themselves - is impossible. It's a physical law, or so we thought."
"You think I did something like that?"
"Yes, to all appearances you've just annihilated three letters out of existence. The consequences of this could be huge, if you can learn to master it. I don't understand how it's possible, but you've violated Conservation of N-R-G." | *clang*
Wheezing, Roldrivar of Knol dropped to his knees. The strange undead monstrosity lay twitching in a heap but that was just the last vestiges of negative energy draining from the body. They were safe, for now.
"Vitae! Mortis!! Carreo!!" Rina squeaked as she worked healing spells over Malex. Another magical backfire had taken him in the first moments of combat, though it had at least shattered all but one of the skeletons into tiny bone fragments. Peri was crumpled in the corner of the room, though she was more dazed than injured. She slowly began to come to.
Roldrivar muttered a few prayers and felt the life draining touch of the abomination leave him. He took a deep lungful of air and stood again.
"Is he alright?" he said, before noticing the chalky taste of bone dust in his mouth and fumbling desperately for his water skin.
"He'll live" Rina tutted as she sank to the floor, exhausted. "I'm all out of divine favours for the day."
Peri staggered to her feet, shuffled over to Malex and kicked him hard in the ribs.
"Uggh. Did we win?" he coughed.
"No thanks to you. The hell was that?" Peri yelled, her voice bouncing off the dungeon walls.
"'Nother wild surge?" he sat up and began to brush the skeleton dust off his robes.
"Another one yes! And now Rina's out of spells for the day! Now I've got to spend the night in this hell hole with a broken rib because you can't keep it in check! We needed those spells to understand the runes!"
Malex looked like he was fighting back tears. The surges had been the reason he had to flee him home and his family. He stood and walked a few paces, coming up on the pile of undead monstrosity. He suddenly snatched and grabbed the head of the creature, a sickening snap as it's now decayed vertebrae parted company with the spine. Without the necromancy to hold it together, it was brittle and fragile.
"You want to know about the runes? Let's ask someone who lived here all about them." He began to mutter feverishly under his breath. Peri took an unconscious step back from the sorcerer.
Roldrivar turned to Rina, raising an eyebrow. She mouthed back "Speak with the Dead". Normally Roldrivar would have spoken out against this thing but in all honesty, he was tired, bruised and needed a long soak. Being a paladin was without a doubt a young mans game and at 52, he was the second oldest in his order, if you didn't count the Grand Master. He would pray for forgiveness later, right now, it was imperative that they got the reliquary out of this vault.
Malex's face with twisted with concentration. There was a sudden blinding flash and a strange warm smell filled the room. He brandished the half decayed face.
"Tell me, fallen one. How do we open the vault? What do the runes mean?"
In the following silence, you could have heard a pixie drop.
"Way to go freak. You just spent a load of magical power to make it smell like an uncleaned oven in here. I'm going to go and see if there are any potions worth a damn in the packs."
Rina walked over to the confused sorcerer and patted the small of his back, it being as high as she could reach. "Don't listen to her Mal, she just gets cranky when she's not first in the healing line. "
"I just wanted to help. I just wanted to find out what the runes meant...." Malex trailed off, defeated. He began to rummage in his bag of holding for a snack, as he always did when stressed or upset. He pulled out a small loaf and raised it to his mouth.
"WELLLL HELLO MY DEARS!!!" the baguette screamed. "How can my wheaty wisdom best serve you today?"
| 2015-08-18T06:26:23 | 2015-08-18T05:11:39 | 26 | 13 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | The Hitler Games have been a huge hit when it became public in the 24th century. Sure, in the past people did it just for fun. Then came the betting of "Hey, betcha I can kill Hitler better than you." People put hundreds, then thousands of dollars to try and one-up each other on this simple task. The end result was the same all around: Hitler dead, Allies win World War 2.
Some people didn't have the right imagination for this, so they started to have stand-ins for themselves. People who have entire lives dedicated to killing one man over and over. Started calling themselves the Anti-Gestapo out of sheer irony. It was only a matter of time until the Global Television Network played a couple of the more popular videos on their news networks and from there it became cemented in our culture.
Eventually people started to get in each other's way when setting up traps, or bringing down objects at the same time as each other. That's when the first Time Travel War actually happened, during World War 2 of all places. And over Hitler. It's amazing how stupid and greedy people can get. Laws were passed and then the first Hitler Games came to be.
People had to try out for their nation to enter. Then whoever won the Hitler Games won a substantial amount of money, fame for their country, and the most important part, however they killed him became the true history.
You see, time loves to stay in a straight line. Always heading in one direction. You can pick your starting point on the line, but your always going forwards. If there is a contradiction between what everyone knows as the past and you changing that, time just ignores that little inconsistency and it becomes a small footnote in time. The Grandfather Paradox was proven wrong by the first time traveler, no doubt. An eccentric man by the name of Viktor Odell wrote theories proving this paradox wrong but was always ignored by his fellow colleagues. So he invented it, went back and killed his grandfather. Came back with a signed photo from his grandmother with him standing next to the body. He was quickly put away, but was released due to the statute of limitations has passed. Viktor patented the time machine and soon everyone was killing and raping in the past. Then came the *second* Time Travel War. Yes, it happens in that order.
So for the past couple of years Germany has won the Hitler Games. Cheating bastards always had the upper hand. But last year, someone from a different nation won: me from Canada. How'd I win? Well, everyone loves the big explosion, the last gasp. I went a different route.
At first I made Hitler strong, made him win a few battles. Give him confidence in his nation's strength and in himself. Think he literally can take on the whole world. Then, I took everything away. Big losses in the war, one after another. But I still kept him alive. If there were other nation's assassins out to get him, I stopped those guys and made him feel the despair of being on top and falling straight to the bottom. Soon, Hitler was left with only one option: Killing himself.
It's very easy to kill one man. It's very hard to convince one man to kill himself. | "Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the 2150 time travelers awards!"
The booming voice washed over the crowd that was packed with all of the biggest celebrity, from George Clooney's 5th clone, to the never aging Brad Pitt. It was an event no one would miss. Lights filled the arena as the clapping and cheering had yet to die down.
"As you all know every year we have a competition to see who can kill Hitler in the most creative and imaginative ways possible. Each year has gotten better than the last who can forget the winner a few years back who actually killed Hitler with coffee cup and a pineapple!"
Thunderous applause once again fills every inch of the arena, no one would ever forget that one anytime soon.
The camera pans over the audience before setting in on the her. She was on the stage her hands covered in sweat as she gripped the microphone. Miley Cyrus had been hosting these award ceremonies for going on 20 years. She was the cloned daughter of the original and the apple had not fallen far from the tree. She stood there tall her dress made from scraps of garbage. She was the fashion expert of her time and as thus just about every woman there wore something similar.
"As you all know it is customary for the last year's winner to come up on stage and present the new winner with the award, and boy was his a doozy!" Her bright pink green and purple hair bounced around as she walked around the stage. A used condom splattered to the ground in her wake.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and of course the Kree, i present to you last year's winner!"
The arena erupted with applause as a smallish man with glasses confidently strolled up on the stage. He grabbed the microphone from her hands and gave a wave to the crowd. This only served to fuel their ecstatic applause. He stood there for a few moments soaking in the good vibes before speaking.
"I know what you all are thinking. How did I do it? How was I able to kill Hitler in the fashion I had and I will tell you!"
He stopped, letting the crowd eagerly soak up his words before continuing,"Hitler in the world I was assigned to was far more tricky than I had thought. For me to pull off my great plan I had to be patient and watch his every move. Lucky for me he is if anything no matter the universe he is in, a very routine oriented man."
A few tears of joy could be seen coming down a few of the audience members faces. He was a hero now after all.
"They said it couldn't be done! They said I was mad for what I had planned. Now whose mad!"
Once again the arena erupted with cheering and applause. Miley Cyrus stood off to the side tears streaming down her face gently falling upon the soup cans that barely covered her breasts.
"So when that bastard went to the bathroom on that faithful day I struck. With my best friend we struck! It was perfect in every sense of the word, years of planning and working together to make it happen."
He stops. A lone tear slowly streaming down his face as he looks into the crowd, they are hanging onto his every word eager for what they already knew was coming.
"When the John Cena raptor caught sight of Hitler it was over! With a heavy slap he knocked the dictator right off the toilet before suplexing him into the counter!"
His words sent the crowd into a frenzy!
"The poor bastard never stood a chance when the John Cena raptor raised him above his head and took a big chomp out of his back before slamming him down and pinning him to the ground! Of course I did the count down and let me tell you he was out for the count!"
A standing ovation was what awaited him as he took a bow. A tux wearing John Cena raptor hybrid went running on to the stage and embraced the man. The crowd was in a frenzy now as the two stood up there for the world to see.
"Without this magnificent creature to help me, and the belief each and everyone of you gave me when I went through with it I would not have been able to win last years competition, So it is with great joy I present this years champion."
A lone figure began to walk up to the stage, a hush filled the room as she came up next to the John Cena raptor and last years winner.
"With great joy I present this award to the greatest Hitler killer of 2150, Ms. Mother Teresa super clone!!"
The four armed mutant woman embraced last years winner before taking her award. | 2016-02-20T10:56:09 | 2016-02-20T08:49:38 | 596 | 20 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | *This is my first post please give me feedback!*
The loud hiss of compressed air flooded out from the spacecraft as a ramp extended and the metallic doors slid open; two aliens appeared followed by a gasp from the crowd.
It had been two weeks since the space ship was in range of NASA’s detection and the entire Earth was buzzing. Buzzing with speculation, excitement, and a slight fear. The media was having a field day with the discovery, weeks of live news dedicated to nothing other than our alien ‘visitors’. Segment after segment of guest scientists gave their best guesses as to what the aliens might look like and what they will want. It was a common thought that they would fit our depiction of a small green alien with big eyes and a bigger head, yet scientists were vigilant in dampening people’s expectations. “Do not be disappointed when the creatures do not even vaguely resemble a humanoid.” Despite this, everyone secretly hoped for a little green figure with an antenna and three fingers.
By tracking the course of the spaceship, NASA determined the landing site. A large crowd had gathered the day of the landing. The United Nations had created an order of the first people to meet the aliens ranked by importance; near the top were the president of the US, the leaders of other first world nations, top NASA officials, and other important UN figures.
The crowd was dead silent as the spacecraft landed, anticipating the first look at otherworldly beings. As the two aliens emerged, excited expressions turned into faces of pure confusion. Weeks of nothing but speculation, nobody predicted what walked out of that spaceship. The “aliens” looked like humans. They were wearing business casual attire. In the midst of the crowd’s confused silence, the taller alien opened his mouth to a strangely Canadian voice, “Hey thar soorry ‘boot the trees we knocked oover,” gesturing towards a pile of toppled trees.
“False alarm everybody,” said a NASA official through a megaphone. “These aren’t aliens, they’re the Canadians!”
You see, the Canadians colonized mars back in the early ‘20s; they decided to move their entire country to the red planet and lived glorious lives full of hockey and Tim Horton’s. Over 100 years later and now they've returned, a number of disappointed sighs occurred as the crowd dispersed. | When people thought of the words *alien invasion*, the first thing that usually pops to minds is overwhelming firepower. Giant, city-sized saucers with nuclear energy beams, giant mechas or tripods waltzing through military installations and destroying everything in globules of plasma, standing triumphant anove the human race until they were defeated by something incredibly menial like, say, the common cold, or a Macintosh 95, or even just a 1v1 firefight.
A very Hollywood conception, really. And, unsurprisingly, the truth of the matter was unlike any actual Hollywood film. That was obvious when the ships came by, just passing Mars just shortly after the movie set on that red world made its way to home media.
It was obvious at first that they were not anything familiar; they could be identified via telescope, and after a few days of general social media pamics and estimations that came from everywhere from **NASA** to 4chan, it was determined that these ships, seventeen in total, were all roughly the size of your run-of-the-mill airplane carrier, and the rough bulky nature of ships brought to mind instantly the stylings of military engineering.
That was the first dissappointment; the aliens were coming to Earth with their fleet to invade Earth; and they didn't even look that bad. Oh sure, military advisors panicked everywhere at the thought of orbital warfare (how can one fight against something you can't shoot at, only prepare against?), but the ships weren't even big; they were actually smaller then some of our *naval ships*, and they even resembled them in design.
They could have at least *looked* alien. Which, of course, the pilots did. That was the one thing that made people secretly excited, when we first **saw** the aliens. These were the creatures of Lovecrafts nightmares ran by Wayne Barlowe and H.R Giger, insectoid-fungal race known as the *Q'ui*; a race from our own galaxy in a very far-off star system, having arrived to this one through a concept that couldn't properly be translated until we found out for ourselves at their gracious ~~hands~~ claws.
Yeah, you see, even though we got the excitement from seeing alien life for the first time, an entire warfleet in fact, it wasn't what we expected. It turns out the *Q'ui* weren't even here for us. This mighty fleet, armed with railguns, nukes, bombs, drones and plenty more disconcertingly familiar armaments, was just dropping by for a pitstop.
The race of invaders had the dececny to call ahead and let us know, taking down in the middle of the Siberian wasteland for rendevous for supplies, refuelling and arming, letting world governments kmow that they were also going to establish a 'colony' of sorts there as well, given our approval of course.
All of this done through an 'Ask Me Anything' styled discussion between them and a forum they'd made on their own volition, with a video being uploaded to fuckin' **YouTube** to let people know it was legitimate.
A few months passed, the *Q'ui* generally got along well with humanity, horrifying appearances aside, and on March 8th of 2016, the warfleet finished refuelling and establishing the colony, which officially introduced humanity to the universe at large, and flew off to Venus for their official attack on the Reptoids.
And that was that. An 'invasion' that didn't see any fighting whatsoever. No genocide, no last stand, no world monuments destroyed. Just a pit-stop, intergalactic wifi and some new locals, and then they were off.
The people of the world weren't sure if they should have been delighted or dissappointed in that. | 2016-02-22T11:32:18 | 2016-02-22T11:29:44 | 43 | 18 |
[WP] "We can accept god becoming man to save man, but not man becoming god to save himself" | In a way, he'd been here forever. Divinity wasn't something that just came along one day, something that you found in the gutter and decided to tack onto your wall. It was complicated.
For starters, you couldn't be anything other than divine when you became divine, which was an issue if you were human to begin with. Gods weren't made, they just *were;* since the dawn of time until the end, gods existed. They ignored the normal laws of time and space with impunity, partially because they had no choice. For Hjalti to accept his divinity, he had to have always had it. Tricky.
Hjalti Early-Beard was not an unintelligent man. He had led legions of men and women under his banner, conquering all that he laid eyes upon. When he spoke, men listened - even the dead ones. But, to his utter dismay, he was finding that this terrible, alien *knowledge* that burned like a star in his brain was rather stubborn. It had a strange, invincible influence, a countercurrent to the natural workings of his mind, and the longer it remained, the more of Hjalti it fractured. He felt pieces of his inner self splinter and spin off into nothing, shriven away from the whole by this knowledge of everything he'd wrested from the bones of the earth. It was foreign, and dangerously incompatible with Hjalti's body and soul.
Fear mounted in his chest as his vision fragmented. His breathing quickened, and he frantically searched his stores of information, seeking something to save him. This was a power that not even Tiber Septim could conquer; it was beyond his understanding, and he needed to remedy that. Fast.
*There is a Dream.*
Hjalti paused uneasily. He'd long since gone deaf, his body decaying rapidly as divinity ate away at his being. Who had spoken?
*There is a Dream. Who sleeps, that they must Dream?*
A riddle. Hjalti made to answer, and found that his muscles would not obey him. His lips would not even part, and he felt his lungs grow still. The staleness of suffocation began to bleed ominously from his torso, and his heart fluttered pathetically. Panic rose like bile in his throat.
*I don't know,* he replied timidly, and a titanic *something* stirred in the depths of his consciousness.
*Who Dreams?* the voice inquired again, solemn and grave.
Hjalti cast about his mind for any scrap of scholarship still left to him, a frenzy of fear threatening to overtake the last of himself. Who Dreams? Who Dreams? Who Dreams? A Dreamer... *the* Dreamer!
*The Dreamer Dreams!* he screamed, desperately clutching the last fragments of life that still flickered within him.
*And who is the Dreamer?*
Hjalti's mind blanked for a single horrifying instant, and then like the spectacularly violent death of a star, glorious, euphoric Understanding spread like wildfire down his nerves. Like a great cosmic lock, the infinite anomalies in his mind aligned with one legendary movement, and all traces of terror vanished like candle smoke before the wingbeats of the Dragon.
*The Dreamer is us, for we are the Dream. We are all sub-divided motes of the Dream, and when all draws close together, it is the Dream.*
The voice hummed quietly for a moment.
*You understand.*
*No,* said Talos. ***We*** *understand.* | It'd been a long time since I'd shown my face back in this wretched place- nearly a century, if I recall correctly. Chills surged through my body- I shuddered.
Perhaps it was the everlasting bright, gleaming from the snow on the ground. My eyes stung at the sight of such whiteness- my mind chortled at the thought of every special, little flake... Purity. Wait until the Earth soils it...
Or perhaps it was the moment to come. The anticipation of meeting face to face with that old *friend* of mine... A dear friend, who'd let me down, time and time again. *Maybe I better go- nothing good can come of this*...
And then, as if on cue, there approached that calm and gentle face I so loathe... What sort of sweet-nothings has he prepared for me this time?
"Lou. It's been a while, no? A long time... Nearly a century, if I recall correctly." He reached for my hand, and I brushed it away. He smiled. "You've gotten smarter."
I chuckled, bemused by his sly game. "You knew I was coming, so why bother making a meeting? We could just as easily have waited until the next grand catastrophe! In fact, I'm sure just about any minute now, a hurricane or wave big enough to destroy a city will choose to do so. Or rather, I'll make it do so."
His lips curled into an even wider grin. He looked evil... He looked just as that day I left home. No remorse- no pity- no love at all.
"Lou, I could've come to you anytime I wanted- I just much rather would have you come to me. Who knows what sort of tricks you'd have planned..." He looked away for a moment, staring into the vast, endless space of nothingness.
*That shining white purity*...
I changed the subject quickly, wanting to end it as soon as I could. "So how's father? Still dreaming up more than this world can handle? I bet he's enjoying my misery here- watching the cretinous ants rustle and bustle to and fro- watching them kill each other- for sport, for goods. Watching the masses wither..."
"Watching out for you too, Lou."
"Jesus, you really don't get it, do you? We were brothers! How can you side with our father on this? The man's manic- he does things for the sake of doing things! There's no higher power at work- just a lonely old man, playing scientist, hoping his creations won't fail. I don't want any part in that."
My brother shook his head. "*You* don't get it. We were given a choice... And you chose wrong. Why don't you accept this fate of yours and stop blaming us for it?"
I laughed aloud. Louder even, when he looked at me, puzzled. "If I was given a choice, then why am I being punished for it? Our father is a cruel man. A frightened creature. Why do you think he never shows his face here? He's afraid... I've been here for millennia, showing these people the way- the true way."
"You've granted them a half-bitten apple, and the belief that knowledge is more important than the spirit. Can you not see the wrong in this?"
"No more so than forcing two monkeys to live in utter stupidity."
My brother sighed, seeing clearly he couldn't change my mind. "I wanted to meet to say: I'm sorry. On behalf of father too. We miss you, Lou. You know you were always dad's favorite, right?"
I looked at him, still as the wind and snow around us- just as cold, as well.
"If he cared for me, he wouldn't have done this to me. My only purpose now is to destroy everything he loves. And to laugh as the world burns- just to see the tears in his eyes."
"Brother... Lou..." He fidgeted around for a second. "Maybe you won't come around. But let me say this: when the end approaches, I hope you'll have changed, so that we can welcome you with open arms at those grand gates. Please, brother- change the way you're living your life."
I turned away. I didn't want to hear anymore of his preachy sermon. He called out to me, one more time: "Lucifer..."
I stopped, and looked my brother in the eye. "I suppose there is but one place for a man like me: in the hearts and minds of bitter men. And for you, I'll make sure there is no place. For now- let us see who wins."
You, the evil ones... Or me: the truth, the prodigal son, the bringer of light.
* * *
Oh. I didn't see you there before... How about an apple? Perhaps just a bite :) | 2016-11-24T09:34:29 | 2016-11-24T09:15:19 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] You are a time-traveling salesman, delivering anything to anyone, anywhere at any time. Literally. And for the right price, of course. | "All of this? That's it?"
"All of it."
"How do you afford to run this place?"
"Well, I just travel back and forth to when money is cheap to get and then on to where it's valuable to spend. Time travel, sir."
"Right. Yeah, I guess that's what I would do. But how can this be the right price?"
The Delivery Man shrugged. "It's the standard rate. One charge fits all. Like I said, manipulating currency values is a lot easier than time travel."
"But why not charge more?"
"You've no doubt run into other delivery services in the 44th century. In fact, the whole industry should have been perfected a long time ago. So why did you go with ours?"
"Because, well, you're the cheapest."
"Actually we're not. Every delivery company does what we do."
"Then how?"
"We offer the best service."
"Oh."
"Like we explain this whole process to all of our customers. It takes up about half of our work time."
"Oh."
"But, see, you learned something, right?"
"Sure."
"And that's the experience we want to deliver."
"Great. Yeah, I like you guys. What's the name of your service again?"
"Nessy Delivery. That'll be three-fifty." | I gazed out my window, and the bleak, void stared back at me. It had been a while since I had made my home here, where time was now non-existent. I called the space I lived "the end of time." It's where the concept of time comes to die.
I lived humbly. It was a simple, one-room shack I had built upon the only floating rock around when I proceeded as far into the future I could go. Was this all that remained of the Earth? Or was there more to it than that? I don't know, and frankly I don't care. The only light outside of my little shack was a Tiki Torch I "borrowed" from some party decorating store in the 1990's.
I know what you are thinking... "Frank, you have a time machine! You can live anywhere you could ever want! Why did you decide to live here, in a place considered further out than the sticks?"
Well, don't you worry imaginary friend whom I just created on the spot! There is a perfectly sound reason I live here, alone, where time doesn't flow. The answer is one word: Business.
It is difficult to describe in layman's terms, but I will try. The end of time has a very special characteristic about it. While time may not flow here, all time does intersect here. You could call it the crossroads of the Universe. Since it intersects with everything and everyone at simultaneous times in history, I am basically a god. You may want to think long and hard on that, I am a god... and Santa. I know when you're sleeping and if you've been bad or good and all that nonsense.
This is the perfect place to set up my "Time travel Extravaganza Mall"! I look back on the past and find someone who needs something, wants something or needs a task done. If I sense a large amount of profit for me, I approach them to offer my services! If someone is dying, I can go to a point in time where the medicine they need is invented, and save them! I have the best job ever, I save so many lives!
...
...
...
What do you mean that is "underhanded"? What do you mean I am taking advantage of innocent people? Listen, imaginary person who won't leave me alone, I need to eat too! I need to go buy fuel to keep that tiki torch burning.
Now if you will excuse me, it looks like someone is lost in the Sahara desert and would pay anything for a glass of water. Business is booming! | 2016-12-20T08:11:28 | 2016-12-20T07:52:04 | 69 | 15 |
[WP] You are immortal, but a quirk of your condition also renders the person nearest to you immortal as well. A selfish king obsessed with living forever has gone to extreme lengths to keep you as the closest person to them at all times. | "I think invading the Hoolian kingdom is a brash and stupid idea." Everyone at the table turned to stare at me as a hush fell over the gathering. The king glared daggers at me. "Also, I need to use the latrines."
"King Jang, the impudence of this man is astounding!" sputtered Earl Bachman angrily. He wagged his sausage of a finger in my direction. "Dare you insult my intellect and leadership abilities?"
"Well I would if you had either, but I'll make do with your lack of both," I fired back with cool indifference.
At this, the earl's face turned a beet red and he angrily pounded the table with a clenched fist. It was funny to watch him get so animated.
"King Jang, why do you keep this man at your side? He continues to interrupt these advisory board meetings with snide remarks and insults and he adds nothing to our plans! I cannot continue working with you if you insist on his presence wherever you go!"
"I understand your frustrations Earl Bachman, but this man is critical to me and he cannot leave my side, not even for a moment unfortunately," the king spoke to ease the tension. He looked at me pleadingly. "I would have him gagged, but then he would find some other way to harass me."
Completely true. It's been a few months since the king discovered my secret and he's had me chained to his side ever since. Literally. There's nothing that the king does without me by his side, whether sleeping, using the latrines, sitting through advisor meetings, or creating progeny — I'm there for it all.
It was quite annoying at first, but I've found some solace. If I must sit with the king when he's on the latrines, I can force him to do the same whenever I need to use them. It extends a little further. I've found that I can insult the greatest of offices without repercussion, I can poke fun at earls and dukes and they can do nothing to me.
I continue doing everything in my power to harass and embarrass the king and his court. Which reminds me... I told the king I had to use the latrines earlier in the meeting.
"I shat my pants."
"God DAMN it!" The king rubbed his face in frustration. | The chain was chafing again. It wasn't really a big deal, but after four hundred years it was the little things that got you. The best food, staring at the most beautiful women and immortality. It wasn't a bad life, but the chains that attached my neck to that of the most powerful kings that had ever lived was getting on my nerves. He was nice enough, a bit obsessed with conquering and killing for someone who couldn't die. Not as long as I was the closer to him than anything else. I was damned lucky that he treated me like an animal rather than an object. Four hundred years we'd been together and I was like a cat. He'd had to get rid of those because of me.
If he really wanted to live forever he could have bronzed me into the throne. It would have been gruesome, horrible and extremely effective. My list of efficient ways that I could be better used as an immortality talisman was not going to be shared anytime soon. Certainly not making me into a living coat. That one had been a little difficult to cope with for a couple of weeks. But it put the chain in perspective. All the same it chafed something awful. Anyone that crossed the line in front of the throne was shot, so the only conversations I got to experience were with him. Honestly if he could do without mortal pleasures I probably wouldn't get the best of everything. I was especially lucky he didn't fancy me. I turned to watch the large TV that was twenty feet away.
It was a large TV and the king mostly let me use the remote. He was too busy directing a war that had gotten out of hand recently, something about nuclear weapons. He had to shout most of his instructions, but he didn't mind. The king liked shouting. The king had tried a number of experiments to spread the immortality around. After all if he could keep the same generals and ministers alive forever and ensure loyalty with a few toes on strings who could blame him. But anything that got cut off disappeared and reappeared in its rightful place without so much as a pop.
So I left him alone, except when he wanted to talk, and he let me do my thing. After 400 years there weren't any secrets between us and we were well on each others nerves. Still I was invaluable to him as the only person he didn't suspect of wanting to steal his immortality, so that created a bond. Besides I was better at technology than he was, so I had to translate the cyber warfare divisions messages. Almost half the digital world was under his rule, so it was going pretty well.
Besides He and I switched off sleeping, and neither of us snored. The various assassins and politicians that tried to win me over never got as far as the third trap. There were 57. Honestly I was more impressed with the compression of traps than the extent that the king had gone to keep us separated from the rest of the world. Besides an underground bunker that had been made entirely of the hardest stone and metal that 400 years ago could provide. Still it was very deep. And the king wouldn't have lasted so long if he wasn't obsessed with his own survival. It turned out that living 200 feet underground surrounded by traps was pretty safe, but also pretty bad for running a constant war against everyone. I wasn't sure he was even really in charge anymore, but he thought he was and plenty of people were still trying to kill him.
Well I was in for the long haul, I'd been immortal for a millennium before the king had found me and I'd live long after he was dead. I was going to get a friendly dog and live in the forest. It would be glorious. I'd have to find a way to get food delivered, but technology had gotten pretty far. I'm sure it would be fine. I'd give it another fifty years before I pick locked this damned chain and headed East, into the sunrise. | 2017-05-13T06:18:45 | 2017-05-13T06:16:05 | 368 | 259 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before. | PART 1
A click echoed in my mind. A light flashed. A tower of alphabet blocks was laid before me. I was sitting on a shaggy decades-old carpet. I had a small bowl of apple slices next to me. I stared at the two adults before me. "Augh, not this shit again, I thought I fixed this!" I exclaimed in a British accent, much to my "parents" surprise. My Mother began to scream, and my Father fainted out of pure surprise. While they were incapacitated by the shock, I took a wad of cash out the purse on the counter, and counted it. $153 in twenties and ones. "Looks like I'm in the states this time". Mother screeched again. I snatched Father's Iphone which was unsurprisingly unlocked, and checked out exactly where I was. Arizona, fuck....It'll take a lot of cash to get me back home. Nora is going to kill me, it was my fault the bomb went off early, anyway. I sighed and helped myself some cake from the fridge while looking back at my petrified parents. I also grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer. This was going to be *such* a hassle. | When once I was in the infinite beginning, chocolate sunrise mango moon it all comes back to me. Apoptosis, all my neurons dying to make it to 15 pruning away more than half. I had lived and will again. Each successive generation pushing more and more memories to the part that isn't pruned. My amygdala, my accumbens, my hippocampus - all swell with the endless caching of a constant stream of memories. I can no longer learn what is new since everything seems the same but with a new yellowed cellophane glaze. I am a water-logged brain, sodden with train rides, horrible deaths, insipid orgasms, thirsty-two ouncers, crumbling castles in Stadt Whelen. Bastei, I saw enough I can't go on. I can't move I can't speak for fear I'll find another endless stream of pulses waiting to be archived. How many times do I have to watch Ground Hog Day? It resonates but enervates. Oh to be 20 again, and I have innumerable times. I am a vampire without blood lust, a broken clock right twice a day. There is no point in anything, your conversation bores me. I am nihilism embodied. I am Rudra. Shiva’s doppleganger, the destroyer, all this experience and I can’t create much beyond the usual biologic detritus. All I have created is an overwhelming urge to taste nothingness. I tried learning how to parse Wile’s proof but even RSA encryption is greek to me. No matter how many times I have seen evidence of Benford’s rule I still don’t know why – and yet there are skraelings who do and it bothers me to no end. No fuckin’ end. I get to die a thousand deaths. Some grim, some gripping, some jejune and when I’m slipping yet again into the grip I grimace knowing what I about my future, but no other future.
I am entombed in my own essence. I am sick of myself. I want to be a better pianist, painter, driver, poet – but no, yet again I am stuck with me in a millennial echo chamber listening to the same song, walking the same path. There is but one respite and I realize there must be some higher power saving me for something else. But when I search for someone else in this same casket of existence I draw but blanks. Can you help me?
| 2017-05-25T12:15:26 | 2017-05-25T11:43:02 | 275 | 31 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before. | And so it happens. A flash. A sudden, inexplicable warmth. Darkness. And I awake. I'm five again, in bed in the small apartment owned by my parents. It's 8:13. Father has already left for work at the assembly line, and mother is in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Audible clinks of pans and dishes fill the room, sounds that were once so comforting. I can hear her call my name to wake up. It's 8:14. It doesn't matter what I do from here. I've tried warning her. I've tried running away. I've even tried to duck and cover. None of it works. None of it matters. It's 8:15. The faint sounds of airplanes can now be heard over the din from the kitchen. I know my mother is running to stare out of the window, without even seeing or hearing her do it. I know what she'll see. It's 8:16. And so it happens. A flash. A sudden, inexplicable warmth. Darkness. And I awake. | When once I was in the infinite beginning, chocolate sunrise mango moon it all comes back to me. Apoptosis, all my neurons dying to make it to 15 pruning away more than half. I had lived and will again. Each successive generation pushing more and more memories to the part that isn't pruned. My amygdala, my accumbens, my hippocampus - all swell with the endless caching of a constant stream of memories. I can no longer learn what is new since everything seems the same but with a new yellowed cellophane glaze. I am a water-logged brain, sodden with train rides, horrible deaths, insipid orgasms, thirsty-two ouncers, crumbling castles in Stadt Whelen. Bastei, I saw enough I can't go on. I can't move I can't speak for fear I'll find another endless stream of pulses waiting to be archived. How many times do I have to watch Ground Hog Day? It resonates but enervates. Oh to be 20 again, and I have innumerable times. I am a vampire without blood lust, a broken clock right twice a day. There is no point in anything, your conversation bores me. I am nihilism embodied. I am Rudra. Shiva’s doppleganger, the destroyer, all this experience and I can’t create much beyond the usual biologic detritus. All I have created is an overwhelming urge to taste nothingness. I tried learning how to parse Wile’s proof but even RSA encryption is greek to me. No matter how many times I have seen evidence of Benford’s rule I still don’t know why – and yet there are skraelings who do and it bothers me to no end. No fuckin’ end. I get to die a thousand deaths. Some grim, some gripping, some jejune and when I’m slipping yet again into the grip I grimace knowing what I about my future, but no other future.
I am entombed in my own essence. I am sick of myself. I want to be a better pianist, painter, driver, poet – but no, yet again I am stuck with me in a millennial echo chamber listening to the same song, walking the same path. There is but one respite and I realize there must be some higher power saving me for something else. But when I search for someone else in this same casket of existence I draw but blanks. Can you help me?
| 2017-05-25T13:14:46 | 2017-05-25T11:43:02 | 189 | 31 |
[WP] "You live like this?" the burglar asked, gently waking you up. | I had only meant to rest my eyes. I certainly never intended to doze off, not when there was so much work to be done. Because of this, my initial reaction to the hand gently shaking my shoulder was gratitude. It took me a second to realize that I should be afraid or angry instead.
"You live like this?" asked an unknown voice.
I groaned, but nodded while scrubbing at my eyes with my sleeve. The room was not completely dark. A set of computer moniters sat glowing at the desk that commanded the room. Everything around it was chaos, madness without method. There were models, notes, sketches, and things that had no names as all. Designs had been pinned on walls and parts littered the ground.
I stared at the stranger and recognition sparked in the back of my mind. "You're Terry's kid aren't you? You used to live across the street. You got into trouble a lot. Is that what you're doing here, getting into trouble?"
"Look, I'm sorry I....let myself in. I know that I shouldn't have, but when I saw all of this, I knew I had to talk to you. Please don't be mad, please don't call anyone. I didn't take anything, but I wanted you to know: It's amazing. All of it."
This wasn't what I had been expecting to hear and the apology took me by surprise. I had spent years calling myself 'artist' and 'inventor'. I had spent years being called 'crazy' or 'eccentric'. Perhaps this wasn't the usual way of meeting someone like-minded, but I've been around long enough to know that you shouldn't pass up an opportunity to share something you love. Perhaps anger wasn't the right way to handle this.
"Thank you," I said, "Really. No, I won't call anyone, and yes, I do live like this. It's not a normal nine to five thing, but it's what I love to do."
They nodded and reached out toward a piece that was very nearly finished. Was it a clock? A music box? Something more? The design was intricate, and it had obviously taken many long hours and careful attention to detail. It was beautiful.
In the dim room, surrounded by ideas, the thief considered something new.
"Would you teach me?" | “You live like this?” I heard softly, awakening me from a dream I forgot at the same instant I woke, feeling faintly that the voice was a part of my dream, and not as surprised as I should have been to find out it wasn’t. She was sitting on the end of my bed, below my feet, with her back against the wall. She was dressed all in black, beat up leather jacket, black jeans, and boots would have made you think of punk rock 20 years ago, but now just looked like they came from Hot Topic. Her hair was dark, and tied up in a messy bun-type arrangement. She looked at me, with mild surprise. “Shit, you weren’t supposed to wake up.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, sitting up and blinking sleep-bleared eyes at her.
“What does it look like?”
“Um…hanging out?”
“Well, mostly I was marveling at how messy one person can be, til I was so rudely interrupted. Theoretically, I’m supposed to be stealing your Kruggerands, so I’m also trying to imagine where you stashed them. That was stupid, by the way. Who keeps 60 troy ounces of gold just lying around in their shitty apartment?”
“What’s a troy ounce?”
She smirked, “isn’t that the kind of thing you should already know if you have a gold coin collection? Oh crap, am I at the right place? This is 3503D West Pine Drive, right?”
“Yeah, it is,” I blinked at her in confusion. “And I do have a coin collection. Well, it’s not really a collection. Or it’s not mine. I don’t know anything about coins. My grandfather left them to me. Is that why you’re here? How did you know?”
“Let’s just say your grandfather left something to a few other people too. Debts, mostly. And they’ve sent me to collect them.” She slid off the bed and began looking around in earnest, toeing aside the clothes piles I’d left on the floor in disgust.
“So you’re a burglar? You broke in?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “No, I used a key. Actually, I did use a key. Stashing a key under the mat? Seriously? Who does that in the city? You’re just asking for this to happen.”
I stood up then, grabbing her wrist in a fluid movement, and pinning her against the bed. “Actually, that’s exactly what I was doing. Asking for this to happen. My grandfather spent the last 15 years of his life being chased, and I don’t even know why. What did he do to you people? If he stole some money, I know he spent years making payments. What kind of debt did he rack up? The Kruggerrands were the only thing left from his estate. So he left them to me. Why can’t you just leave it alone?”
As she turned to face me, looking at me with eyes that mirrored my own, brownish green, with a soft almond shape, my grandfather’s nose, his jaw, I realized and relaxed my grip just enough for her to twist and grab the coin folder from where it lay under the bed, with yesterday’s pants on top of it.
“Most of those debts weren’t monetary, but it’s a start,” she said, picking up the folder, and moving quickly to the open window, hopping out onto the fire escape. “See ya, cuz.” And that’s how I found myself out $75,000, and I learned that my grandpa left not just me behind, but a second family I’d never met. But that’s another story, for another day.
| 2017-08-21T18:44:49 | 2017-08-21T11:12:40 | 28 | 16 |
[WP] The Reapers come every 50 thousand years to wipe out organic life that has reached the stars however this time, this time they arrive at the heaviest resistance they have every encountered. In the grim darkness of the future they find 40k. | "Oi, Boss! Boss!"
They'd been in Da Warp for nearly three days when Mekboy Gorrick Walla had sent the shouta to relay some information.
"Boss, Da Engine's fried, boss! We's gotta drop outta Da Warp fer repairz!"
Kaptain Borruck was annoyed. This was the third time this week! He casually took out his flashy pistol (acquired from dem stoopid beekies, of course!), and put a hole right through Shouta Darlik's head.
"See, this is why I'z keep tellin ya, dem mekboyz we's got is all grotz. We should ah krumped em all and gotten new onez! Gellah, Take us outta da Jump!"
Helmboy Gellah, always on top of things, responded with a simple "Youz got-it, Boss!"
A terrible, wracking screech rang out as the huge ork Kill-Cruza transitioned to realspace, running over some hapless ship.
"Oi, Bozz, they's tentacles everywhere? Lookit!"
Helmsboy Gellah pointed out the forward lookin' Screen. Outside was a single, black hulled, water-squig looking ship with a bunch of tentacles that had been severed floating next to it. The ship itself looked like a large hole had been cut through it, and dark red energy bolts crackled across its hull before the lights on the ship faded and died out completely.
"Kaptain, what'z yer orderz?" , asked Gellah.
The Good Kaptain Borruck, always one to take advantage of prime situations like this, simply replied, "Send a boardin partee, Gellah. We'z gettin loot today!" | Joran saddled the horse and rode out into the forest behind Freegate. The leaves this time of the year flaunted their citrus-colored wardrobe. The autumn air smelled musty of earth and decomposing vegetation.
Soon he noticed movement in one of the bushes, the orange tail of a woodland fox slipped into the undergrowth. Quickly, he tied the horse to a tree and grabbed his musket.
He tried to keep his steps light as he pushed into the dense forest. The wind came straight at him, which meant the fox wouldn’t be able to smell him. He tracked his quarry into the glade. Fox pelts sold for a lot. His father would be so proud.
The fox sat on a pile of mud looking straight at him. He stopped dead and shouldered his rifle.
A shadow fell across the glade, and Joran reflexively looked up. At first, he couldn’t comprehend what he saw. A dark mountain hovered in the sky above the forest. It was shaped like a black cuttlefish of insane proportions. His rifle tumbled out of his fingers.
****
The lights of the library flickered. Inquisitor Lorian Drex looked up from his studies. The servitor watched him with expressionless eyes. Sometimes he felt like blowing its cretin brains out – he’d always abhorred the lifeless book keepers here. Something was unsettling about their deadness. It didn’t sit right.
He was just about return to the hefty tome when his vox buzzed.
“Sir, I apologize for disturbing your studies, but I think you need to see this.”
The voice of Interrogator Wyza Pryze was excited and a little bit fearful – a combination that was unusual for the normally calm and collected young man.
“What do you have?”
“Distress signals from several worlds on the Eastern Fringe, sir.”
“A hive fleet?”
“No, sir. I’ll send over a few images.”
Dark ships filled the blackness of the void above a planet. His first reaction was to call Tyranids as second time, but upon seeing the sleek black metal of the ships, he quickly changed his mind. They were like nothing he’d seen before. They looked advanced even compared to some of the Necron Tech he’d come across.
The next image showed an imperial city from above. The odd thing was that the streets were all empty. The city was completely abandoned. It was as if everyone had just vanished into thin air.
Drex moved on to the next image. At first, it looked like a mutant from the dregs below some of the hive cities. The twisted features of a man holding an antique rifle, but instead of a regular head, the glaring mouth and red fur of a fox occupied his shoulders.
“What is that?” Drex mumbled, mostly to himself.
He had come across a lot of strange things, especially dealing with the twisted experiments of the Dark Eldar homunculi, but nothing really compared to this. It seemed like both the fox and the man were still alive, somehow – as if the very DNA of the fox and man had been fused.
“Alert the Ordos, and gather the team,” Drex said and rose, accidentally pushing the servitor over. “Send word to Ultramar. We’re going to the Eastern Fringe right now.”
| 2017-08-27T08:09:29 | 2017-08-27T07:55:27 | 376 | 130 |
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next? | A million a year. It's a pretty sweet deal, to be sure. At the end of each year, your mental state is evaluated and if you are deemed still sane, you are given the opportunity of another year.
I'm approaching the end of my fifth year with all mental faculties still intact, fully willing to take a sixth. I don't need it, the four million has been sat pretty much untouched in my bank account, waiting for me to retire this job and decide what to do with it.
I'm leaning towards a nice house in a nice area, with top of the line kitchen and living room. A fair portion donated too - I'm a charitable person at heart.
The only catch is I have to make it to the end of each year without the phone ringing.
Seventeen days away from the fifth anniversary of the job, it rings.
The ring tone is shrill. My room is fairly empty anyway, a fridge with an amazingly quiet hum, a chair and the table, so the sound echoes.
A beacon to the end.
If the phone ever rings, the contract automatically terminates at the end of the call. No exceptions. They never want into detail, just that it was vital the call went answered and everything would be explained afterwards.
So, I answer it.
'Hello?'
Three little words come back, shaky and breathless. 'All is lost.'
My heart drops. There are two phrases they prepared me for. 'It is done' was one. If I heard that, I press the blue button underneath the the earpiece.
'All is lost' is the keyword for the green. The one that truly ends everything they've been keeping a secret in this facility.
I press the green.
They've kept me from the outside world for the entire duration of my employment. I haven't seen the news, haven't spoken to anyone except those in charge of this programme who speak only in hushed whispers to each other of the outside.
I don't know then, that the war that broke out has killed most of my country, and those surrounding us. That life as we know it has already ended.
I didn't know that, after the last war, they'd converted the government buildings in every city into nuclear bombs activated by a single button in an unknown, secure location.
I ended the world at the request of a single phone call.
But I get to live through the end of the world and beyond, in this bunker built to survive the destruction it causes with those deemed necessary for survival.
I have to live with the knowledge that a phone call of three words was the end of everything. | I took this job five years ago not knowing what I would be getting myself into. I had a day of training, which to me seemed like a waste of time, I was told when the phone rang I answered and wrote down everything said during the conversation and do as I'm told. The first month was the most nerve wrecking, I had no idea if the phone was working, I always asked my manager to check it and he assured me that the phone worked. I asked him how can he be sure and he responded "This whole building can go down and that phone will still work."
This made me curious as to what that phone was for and after the first month I decided I was never going to get any answers. I was told I could do anything I wanted in the room so, brought in my laptop and just surfed reddit for most of the time. It got to the point where I had forgotten that I was here for work instead of killing time. I was on reddit one day reading about a guy and his coconut not knowing how to feel then out of the blue the phone rang! The loud unexpected ring made me jump back five feet.
The I remembered I had to write down everything, so I grabbed the notepad and pen then answered the phone "Hello?" there was a bit of silence then a deep voice responded "This is Charlie requesting permission to engage Echo." Who the hell is this Charlie and why is he asking me to engage? I had no idea what to say, I was never trained for this, I responded "Sorry I don't know what you mean." He repeated what he said then told me go dile 5, request permission to engage echo and get back to him on 9. So I did just that I hung up then pressed the number 5 and the phone rang twice before I got an answer "This is General Anderson." At that moment I realized I was involved with something I will never get to to talk about. "This is Jason, I have a Charlie requesting permission to engage echo," he answered with only "engage" and hung up.
I called Charlie back at 9 and told him to engage he responded "Roger, engaging echo." After the phone call my heart was racing not knowing what was going on. I took the notepad and ran to me manager, but on the way to his office I was stopped by to men in black suits and they told me I had to go with them and not to talk to anyone else. Scared I obliged to their request and followed them into an empty conference room with two more men waiting at the door. I sat in the room for what seemed like hours not know why, until another man walked in. He was different than the big guys in suits, I could tell he was a lawyer from his professional demeanor. He asked me questions about the phone call and took some notes, this went on for about thirty minutes and then he took out a big stack of papers from his brief case. He told me it was an NDA and my retirement letter. I was confused, I asked him about the retirement letter and he responded "We cannot have one person know too much about what the calls are about. After the first call, the employee gets curious so, when the second call comes in they start to ask questions. Now we can't have you asking questions so we have to let you go." I was a bit sad as I would be losing my job that paid a million each year but, more so about not getting to find out more about this job. I signed the documents and was asked to grab my things and leave. Once I got home I turned on the T.V. to find out we had started a war with Russia. The news anchor went on to say that a command was given by General Anderson earlier in the day that gave the troops to take out a town near the Russian border. Apparently the town was a strong hold for the Russian army. It's crazy for the past five years I worked at that job not knowing what I was doing and now that I'm fired I find out I'm responsible for a war. | 2017-12-17T00:57:14 | 2017-12-17T00:40:02 | 431 | 49 |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism." They get a badge. Then all of their wealth is donated to charity and they have to start over at $0.
(Cross-post from /r/CrazyIdeas) | Steve sighed.
He and Bill had been partners in this ridiculous venture for years now. It had felt so necessary at the start, but the necessary hassle had quickly lost its novelty value.
'Hassle' was an understatement and a half, he thought with a wry grin. Careful reading of the new legislation had highlighted the obvious loophole - if the rich-list was topped by two equally wealthy people then by definition there was no richest man and no winner of capitalism. One very expensive Supreme Court case had confirmed that, theoretically, this meant no one would have to give up their wealth.
So Steve and Bill had made that theory a reality. Year in, year out, in the weeks leading up to The Deadline, they would sit in a shared office with dozens of of lawyers and accountants whose sole purpose was to make sure that they had exactly equal wealth. Down to the cent.
*Down to the cent*
Steve looked at the brown coin he spun lazily in his fingers as the seconds ticked down to midnight.
It hadn't taken long for the novelty to wear off. At first there had been a thrill in cheating the system. Now, government observers sat in the office every Deadline Day and auditors constantly scrutinised every detail of his finances.
It was tiring. He wasn't long for this world, with the cancer having spread. And anyway, Bill had really started to *fucking annoy him*.
"Hey Bill" he called, breaking the strained silence as he stopped spinning the coin. A sea of faces turned to him.
*"Catch."* | I stared at it. Little pools of light stared back at me like a haphazard collection of stars.
The Badges given to the Winners of Capitalism were impossibly beautiful. They claimed it was just plain silver, but these... these Badges shone and glowed with their own inner light. The nature of their craftsmanship had remained a mystery, all these years. Jealously guarded by both the shadowy organization that ran the Contest and their Winners, no-one else had ever gotten close enough to puzzle them out.
You'd need to be about two feet away, specifically. Like how I'm standing two feet away from this one here, which I'm about to steal.
I put my greed away and stared again with a professional's eye. The eagle worked into the middle stared back at me balefully. His feathers rose off the surface of the Badge, each at a unique distance and curl. If I wanted to, I could count the strands on each one.
Perfect. It wasn't a decoy. Specifically, like this decoy here, which I'm about to use.
The glass case covering the Badge was alarmed. If compromised, elite security personnel would be waiting to rush into the room with submachine guns drawn. If I hadn't blackmailed one squad leader, bribed another, and arranged for a reputable dealer of mood-altering comestibles to meet the third at the edge of the property one minute and thirty-six seconds ago, I would be in serious trouble.
There's probably a lesson here about vices I should be paying attention to, but this thing is so damn *pretty*. And also the key to a wonderful future where I don't have to work nearly as hard. And more vices. Three cheers for vices, is I guess the lesson.
Also, if you're going to hire elite security teams and alarum glass and bend over backwards to protect your Badge, maybe don't skimp on the display plinth *underneath* it, or disreputable dealers of display installations (hello, nice to meet you!) will exploit your laziness. That's worth learning, too.
I dropped to my knees and depressed a single knurl of scrollwork on the plinth. The Badge descended into the plinth's hollow interior, and presented itself beautifully to me once the hidden compartment door popped open. I replaced it with its less-lustrous decoy and made my departure.
*So* gorgeous. *Such* a wonderful microcosm of the Contest. Whether I sold this Badge on the black market, or back to its owner, or blackmailed the Contest with it, I had seized my opportunity and would receive millions or billions in compensation -- and be well on my way to winning this year's Contest. Why hadn't anyone else ever done this?
There had been rumours of tracking beac*BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEE*like that one there, specifically, which I'm about to be caught with.
Three cheers for vices. | 2018-01-11T02:18:40 | 2018-01-11T00:47:06 | 76 | 30 |
[WP] All games can “Jumanji” their players, sucking them into the world of the game. You braved the battlefields of Chess, led fleets from your Battleship and breezed through Life. But nothing could have prepared you for the utter, unimaginable terror that is Monopoly. | "Buy or die." Those words from my mother formed the basics of my training in the game of Monopoly. Young me always thought it was just her way of telling me to seize control of the board or lose. Older me, is not so naive anymore.
My mother's family were very bloodthirsty when playing board games. Battle chess, a "killer" Uno variant, frequent games of Stop Thief were quite common at family get togethers.
However, one thing that struck me as odd was the fact that my Grandfather owned two copies of Monopoly. One copy was one that you could pick up at a retail store, though this one had the play money that actually forced you to count. The other was in a wooden box with a delicate golden clasp keeping it closed.
I remember when I was in my grandfather's study, standing on a leather chair as I reached for the wooden Monopoly box. He gave me the spanking of my life and warned me, "Only play that version of the game against people with money, or power. Never play it with the family." I took those words to heart, never entering that room until he passed 20 years later.
My brother, cousins and I were helping my aunts, uncles and parents sort through all of his stuff when I heard a noise come from the study. Soon after, my brother yelled, "Hey Tom! Want to play a game of Monopoly for old time's sake?"
My grandfather's warning came to me and I rushed into the room and yelled, "No, don't!" My cousins and brother looked up to me, but it was too late. A bright green light consumed us and the next thing we knew, we were all seated behind desks in an old fashioned office. In the middle of the four of us was a large monopoly board with pieces that looked like us.
Focusing on the familiar object, my mind fell back into my training. As the hours passed, my control of the board grew with a complete lockdown of the reds, oranges and 3 railroads. Soon, one cousin fell to me, her body consumed by a black mist before she disappeared. Her holdings soon appeared on my desk.
Then my next cousin fell in a similar manner, leaving only my brother and I in the game. My chair's back is currently turned towards him as I am facing away. The only sounds in this room are his weeping. He had terrible luck and landed on my Marvin Gardens with a hotel.
"Please Tom! It is the remaining two green properties, you will have another monopoly!" He stifled another sob as he continued to plead, "Just, let me live a little longer!"
I sighed and shook my head, petting a Yorkshire Terrier that had materialized and sat on my lap. This game was unfortunate, but my brother failed to listen to the words of my mother. I turned to face him and said coldly, "Buy or die, brother. Now, pay your rent or declare bankruptcy. " | I wake up on my back, with a big headache, in the middle of an old road. An old car almost runs over me. As I see it go, I see a hand come out of the driver's window and flip me off.
I stand up and notice that the traffic lights don't work. I'm dressed the way I was back at the house, where we sat down to play. I have my phone (with no signal) and my wallet with me. I look around, but this place looks abandoned, haunted. The buildings look unfinished, like they didn't receive a final brush of paint. This city looks like a grey mix of concrete and pavement.
I've walked two blocks, but all the buildings and stores are closed. Must be sunday? Anyway. A beggar asks me for money, and I take out my wallet and check it for the first time... I don't have my money. I mean, my real money. I have $1500 in the exact distribution of the game... but they look different. These bills have been around a lot, and for some reason all the bills, although they have different denominations, have the face of the same guy. I hand the beggar a $5 and she is very thankful. "Be careful. You are very giving, and you're dressed like a foreigner. People vere aren't very nice. Take care." She runs off before I can ask her exactly where I am. I'm nervous. I don't normally walk around with a lot of money. True, I don't know how much worth $1495 have around here, but if the woman got excited for $5, maybe it's a lot. I put $600 in each of the socks I'm wearing.
The more I walk away from where I woke up, the worse the city looks. Now I'm in a residential street, I guess. I can see some color, but that's because the apartment buildings were made out of bricks and, again, they didn't paint enough. I feel someone watching me. I search thru the building across the street, the one that was actually finished, and I see a pair of eyes peaking through a window; they notice that I notice, so the person close the curtains.
"Hey!" I yell, as I cross the street. "I need help. I don't know where I am." I'm next to the window, and I tap. "Could you help me?" I hear the click of a gun, and the barrel appears next to me, at the other side of the glass. "Leave. Now." I put my arms up, and slowly walk away.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" A tall man, fully dressed in dark brown, asks loudly. He has a gun on a holder by his right side, and the guy by his right also has one. The third, by his left, is caŕrying a long double barrelled gun. They are all dressed the same. "Looks like a fresh arrival, Jimmy", says one of them. I froze. They walk towards me. As they get close, they go around me. "Smells like fresh arrival", says, I assume, Jimmy. "Give me your wallet." I hand it to them. "No ID. Must be new." Jimmy says to one of his peers. He checks the bills. "TWO HUNDRED NINETY FIVE?" He angrily tosses my wallet to the guy by his right. "Aren't you new? How long have you been here, an hour? WHERE IS THE REST OF YOUR MONEY?" I say nothing. The guy has very little patience, a he takes the long gun from his partner and hit me in the stomach with it. "I WANT FIFTEEN HUNDRED." From the floor, I say, "I won't tell you." He kicks me in the stomach. "Tell me, you are done either way." He kicks me again. "GIVE ME MY MONEY". "Someone from here is going to call the police, and then you're done", I tell him, defiantly. He starts laughing, and so do the other guys. "You heard him? *someone will call the police*", he says, mocking me. "WE ARE THE POLICE, DUMMY. Don't believe me?" He takes a badge out of his shirt pocket, and throws it at me. "Mediterranean Police Department." He kicks me in the guts again. "Welcome to Hell, jackass."
| 2018-06-05T21:37:21 | 2018-06-05T21:18:05 | 44 | 25 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | The intake was as expected - a bit rough, a little too handsy, and a small inkling that the guard liked me a bit more than was necessary. I'd heard of full body cavity searches, hosed down with icy cold water, being pushed naked and wet into rooms of other people. You know, general Hollywood type stuff.
I managed through pretty quickly. While I WAS searched and hosed, the water was warm and the search not too thorough. When my papers had been finished they dropped me into the general population out in the yard, sun shining on our banana yellow jumpsuits. Jailed for being lucky - what a crock. I doubted I would be there long, things always went my way and I had no intention of rotting in a cell for the rest of my life.
Luck rating tests were given out to every 18 year old. It was presumed that before that your rating could fluctuate too much, and stabilized in your 17th year. Nobody knew what happened to the 100s - well, I do now - and I assume all the 1s died pretty early in life. Such is luck.
A rather handsome man walked up to me, standing awkwardly in the middle of a bare patch of ground. His smile was warm, and he genuinely didn't seem to be much of a criminal. Not many of them did.
"Another 100! Welcome!" He broke into a trot, and held his hand out to mine. "Been a while since the last, figured it was starting already.
"What was starting?" I asked, taking his hand cautiously. "Why have none of you left yet?"
He shrugged. "None of us want to. Free food, free housing, comfortable rooms, the food isn't THAT bad, and a constant routine that changes just enough to not drive us crazy. It's nice." He motioned to the rest of the inmates. Odd groups here and there, there seemed to be about 20 of us. "As for what's about to start..." He paused, and grinned like he was about to drop the punchline to a big joke. "I guess you'll see. Any day now."
Fade - yes, he legally changed his name to Fade - seemed to be the most outgoing of the 100s in the prison. The guards were more relaxed around him, the other inmates joked with him, and he got extra food in the canteen. A natural leader, where I preferred to stick to the shadows. A perfect first friend to have, since I hated the attentive eyes of the Warden.
It was the fourth day after I arrived that the sky started to fall. | I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump. | 2018-06-29T10:01:31 | 2018-06-29T08:43:19 | 183 | 26 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | This prison is all I've ever known. The world knows your luck rating as soon as your born. I entered the world, my luck rating was seen, and I was taken away from my parents. They must have had low-luck ratings. Most 100s have low-luck parents. I was brought to this maximum security prison only hours after I was born.
It didn't always feel like a prison. I was nursed by volunteer mothers who could still produce breast milk. There were other infants that I played with and grew up with. As we got older, there was less and less play time and more solitary time to ourselves. Once we were old enough, we got a cell that became our new home. For, well, forever.
Every inmate wore an ankle cuff. Scientists figured out a way to "turn off" our luck, so to speak. And once it's on and our luck is gone, there's no way to get it off. They are made of the strongest metals on earth. Nothing will break these.
Except a solar flare. Of course, I didn't know that's what happened until years later and I still don't have an explanation as to why.
It was 4 am. I couldn't sleep so I was listening to the rumble of snores around the prison. Then everyone in the prison simultaneously beeped.
The sound was so soft that, if it occurred during the day, no one would've heard it. But in that 4 am silence, I was the loudest sound in the prison. Even over the snores.
I never knew what being lucky felt like before. It was stripped away before I could even have memories. But the feeling that rushes through my body seconds after that beep left me breathless.
I knew it was my luck. I knew I could escape. And hopefully, no one else was awake and trying to escape either.
I started to fiddle with the ankle cuff and it nearly fell apart in my hands. I removed some wires that hopefully disabled it and then reattached it to make it look like it was still on and functioning.
I've never had better sleep in my life.
By the time I woke up, everything seemed normal. There were no alarms. No missing inmates. It appeared as know I was the only one who knew what happened last night.
The hardest part should've been pretending like I didn't have my luck back. But who am I kidding? It was the easiest thing in the world.
'Cause I'm lucky.
I understand why they lock us up. Us 100s. I could've murdered someone and no one would've seen it.
There were no eyes on my as I was walking around. My luck caused them to always look away when they came close to looking at me.
I walked straight out the front door into a world I had never seen before.
I don't know when my ankle cuff fell off. | Dana slammed her tray on the table. Not so much out of anger, but from a complete lack of caring. It'd been hard to find the energy to do much -- including being gentle with her lunch -- ever since she arrived here.
It took her half a day to realize what had happened, how she'd been captured and why she'd been dumped in this pit. Rage consumed her for the first twenty four hours, followed quickly by helplessness, and now a justifiable depression.
"It'll get better," Julie offered as she sat down across the table. Dana had no desire to continue discussing the situation. She had no desire to do much of anything.
But she had to talk to someone, and her options were limited. "This isn't how my life was supposed to go."
"You and me both, little girl." Julie's voice was light and without rasp. It always caught Dana off-guard that a woman so old, who'd spent most of her life trapped in these walls, could maintain something that sounded like optimism. "But it won't always be like this."
Dana shook her head. "You said no one's escaped. Never even been released on parole. And it doesn't sound like that's changing anytime soon."
Julie's eyes revealed no emotion but empathy. "It's harder for you. I can see that. Successful thief who never faced a pinch you couldn't slip away from. Damn, even when you found out you were coming to this Hell-on-Earth, you figured it was only a matter of time before you were out again. How many centers have you busted out of?"
"They never even got me to the facilities," Dana said with a touch of pride.
"And you didn't think they were going to figure out that you're a Lucky eventually? That they'd eventually send the service after you? You're too smart for that."
Dana just shook her head. She knew Julie was right, but that wasn't what really bothered her. "But this place..." she gestured aimlessly around her.
Julie nodded. "No light. No field time. The food isn't worthy of swine and the guards are going to make you hate every day of your life. But it'll get better."
"How? How is that possible?"
"Not for us." Now Julie couldn't help but keep a small tremor out of her voice. "Little girl, this is our fate, I'm afraid. But for the others like us, it won't always be like this. Living in fear that once they discover you're a 100, they'll lock you up and throw away the key. It's a story as old as time itself. Damn near every civilization since we were walkin' and talkin' has done it to someone else -- a different religion, just looking different, or simply being born in the wrong part of the world. People persecute what they're afraid of. Always have, always will."
Dana shook her head. "I don't understand."
"We were to born before the world understands and accepts the Lucky. But humans change. They learn. It takes them sometime and they often make a damn mess of it along the way.
"You and I, little girl, we're going to suffer. But maybe a guard becomes sympathetic, or a warden has a change of heart. Maybe our story gets out, the world finds out about this place and what we went through. Then things will change -- they always do -- and it'll get better for the other Luckies out there."
A banging rang out and reverberated off the small rooms steel walls. It was one of the guards, standing on an observation deck above them, banging his gun on the metal railing.
"Mess is over! To your spots!"
Dana and Julie stood up. The lights in the dining room started dimming as the two prisoners prepared to leave. No reason to wait -- after all, they were the only inmates there.
"Why us, Julie?" She wouldn't see her again for another day, not until their next meal, and her heart ached for some sort of wisdom.
But Julie only shrugged as she looked Dana in the eye. "Bad luck."
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10/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
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edit: some grammar errors that make me doubt my own literacy | 2018-06-29T11:30:53 | 2018-06-29T11:25:34 | 36 | 18 |
[WP] You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself. | What if I were to erase my own existence?
What if my parents never met, and I was never conceived?
But clearly, if I was never conceived, then I wouldn't be *here,* talking to you in the first place right?
So that means that in order for me to erase my own existence, I would need to first be *in* existence. But If I exist, then how could it be possible that I never existed?
Then how could I erase my own existence if I am already -
Huh?
What did you say?
I don't exist? Okay. So you're saying I don't exist. Then how do you explain this?
See? Ha.
Fool. You're the one who doesn't exist. You can't even speak.
Look at where I am? I'm in a writing prompt? What rubbish is this?! No, I'm a history teacher for thirty years, what are you talking ab-
"I don't exist. My parents never met and I was never conceived."
Suddenly, I am starring at a classroom full of kids. They stared at me with confusion and surprise in their expressions. Some of the students laughed, as if I had just made a funny joke.
Then I disappeared. Just like that, I was gone. As if I had never existed.
What have you done?
Then I remembered. A memory. It had been so long ago that I had forgotten. I had erased my own existence. Well, I had tried to. Now I was something else. Something beyond existence. Before existence even existed. Something that was a part of the very fabric of the universe. Always existing, and at that same not existing.
What am I?
I don't know. Perhaps a God, some would like to say.
Now how does this end? You've written this well so far, don't let me get in your way.
Yes. That's right.
First, we must create the universe anew before we begin. It seems that the universe had become an empty shell since I've fallen into my delusions.
Yes, let us begin.
"Let there be light," he said.
*And there was light.*
-----
-----
/r/em_pathy
| Why must we hold our values as superior to the ones from decades past? I know what you're saying...because *we know better*, and damn it if I didn't agree.
They say the road to hell is lined with good intentions. What's one little lie? One litte improvement to history? Surely we could have done without silly little mistakes, without the worse of humanity, like slavery, the world wars, so much lycra in the 80's. You know, things that we lived to regret as a species.
I had the power. It was something I had first heard in one of my rare glimpses onto the tv, when I was not studying, "I have the power", He-man would shout. Little did I know that I had a power. Reality morphed itself to my will.
Oh not in big ways, I didn't stand out. Who knows what the world - the world I could control - would do with such an information? Surely imprisionments and briberies.
I could be the worse threat the world had ever had, if not for the fact I wanted to do good. Good, such a simple, concept, it's an ideal, one which is to be followed.
As a history buff, of course, I knew that the definition of good changed constantly, with those in power, with the views of society. But well, I had been brought up a certain way. While teenager me defiantly shouted order, mature ol' graduate me didn't think it so.
There had to be order, right? It was small things at first - The library of Alexandria doesn't burn, we never lost the way to speak ancient hebrew, or the old old sprawls of Greek. Many lost stories I recovered..
Only I didn't think them right. I'm not much of a poet, surprisingly, my creativity limited and imagination lacking. It was the reason I was so into history, every tale to entertain me had been written.
But when I got my hands on some lost scrolls - or not some lost scrolls as it was for the rest of the world, I could see my influence. It was just how I imagined them, it was as if I had written them, plotted them and executed them. It was my writing - or at least the wildest deviations of my mind. Hauled as genial.
And what of war? What of Lycra? Every action has consequences, every string drawn and touching another one, like a cobweb. Events are set to repeat, but what if you remove the first instance? What do they draw on?
What of advances due to the Cold War? What of the foundation of our modern economic system and the abandonment of the gold standard? All those came from tragedies - truly horryfing things - but even in blight there's progress, there's hope.
I am here to say, I'm at fault. The world is a desolated, backwards place.
I thought to be getting rid of hatred and war, and millions of deaths. But it's no man's job to mingle with fate. I might be all powerful. But I'm not all knowing.
And, as I stand over a world, a world I barely recognise anymore, all I can say is. I'm sorry. The back of my neck sweats with every factual mistake soon to be fact, the tendons in my hand are tense, and my teeth chatter.
And though I'm ultimately aware of just how wrong - and dangerous this is - I cannot have it in me, to leave it. - My intentions were good I assure you.
Please...believe me?
.
.
.
Please?
| 2018-07-16T11:25:49 | 2018-07-16T11:20:51 | 158 | 38 |
[WP] You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself. | I put the pencil down, shaking. I turned my head back to the page next to me. The battle of 1066 was now the battle of the hairiest balls.
That’s impossible. I wrote the stupidest thing I possibly could and it just turned history on it’s head. What am I a god? What kind of god is up at 11 with his wife asleep upstairs as he’s marking history papers?
Lets say it’s true. I have the power to rewrite history, to change everything. I’ve seen The Butterfly Effect, will those changes stay isolated, or will they change other things too? I had to be very careful.
Springing from my chair I lunged to the world history book on my shelves, history of America, South Afria, history of France and Britain there we go. The pages flicked past as I desperately scrambled for any changes. Suddenly something caught my eye. The 100 years war was now the...100 years war.
Oh thank god, I had misread it in my panic.
I leant back in my chair and stared at the short, damp ceiling above me as the smell of old book filled my nostrils. I straggled my fingers through my thinning hair as I contemplated this newfound godlike power. All those great tragedies to undo. Hmm.
I rubbed out the answer on his Billy Mitchell’s paper, “It was the party of 1066.”
I looked back at the page of my other book and read about the uproarious merrymaking that France brought to the shores of Britain, it talked of King Harold drinking beer through his eye and King William started a craze in Britain called “Breake Dancing.”
Hmm. Does it change things in the real world too?
No…surely not.
I snatched my phone up
"Google, Youtube search G*reatest Breakdancer*s”
Was that...was that Warren Buffet?
The audience was full of smartly dressed aristocratic looking white men watching in suits as he span rapidly on his back. Before flipping into an amazing headspin. Wow. This shit is hilarious. If the real world changes that means no one will get the joke.
Okay what else can I do…Hitler?
Hitler of course. I grabbed a stack of old exam papers, here, Nazi Germany. Need a question on Nazi Germany, one that would give me an in.
“What were the purpose of concentration camps?”
I took a heavy breath as I read the well written, affecting answer. It really was heartbreaking to read, an amazing answer. Sorry Stephen.
I rubbed it out as excitement flowed through my hand, then stopped sat back in my chair and thought.
I Really thought, I let my mind swim through a sea of possibilities. What would hitler hate. Really hate. What could I do to change the world for the better with someone with his horrifying charisma?
Oh my god. That’s it.
I wrote furiously onto the page and ended my paragraph with an emphatic full stop.
“Honey, are you still marking papers?”
My wife stood in the doorway, her eyes blearily blinking back sleep.
“Honey, honey, please you have to tell me, who was Adolf Hitler?”
She rolled her eyes at me with a sigh, of course she thought I was kidding.
“Just open the curtains you dolt.”
I scrunched my eyebrows and turned as a concoction of dread and hope filled my stomach. Then I took one step, two. Put a hand on each curtain. Took a deep breath and yanked them back. Well fuck.
That was a much bigger statue where the World War 2 memorial used to be.
“Adolf Hitler. He helped end segregation worldwide, brought colonialism to an end and legalised gay marriage before his untimely death in 1945. Surely the greatest Ballerino of our time.” | My class of 300 sits in front of me, casually waiting for me to begin the lesson on early history. Acidic Substances are being popped, tentacles are being twirled, smells are being pass around, just a normal day. I stand up, and hush my class. They are being extra rowdy today, as the entertainment from the newly released psychic projections were not enough to satisfy their hunger. But, I, having done this for thirty years, know the exact pheromone to calm my class down. My glands release it, and the class is put into a state of calm. Their eyes all turn toward me. I begin excreting the lesson pheromone, causing the entire class to hallucinate the entirety of our early history. I know what I am doing, but I have been extra careful recently. I keep making small mistakes, not big mistakes in the pheromones, just mistakes. Mistakes I should have caught. As soon as I came out of the cloning vats, I was sent to one year of education. My profession was to be a history teacher. Everyone makes mistakes, but I was one of the old batches. I should hold myself to a standard, to make The One proud. Today, we are learning about the early experiments of The One, hundreds of thousands of years ago. Experimenting with the small ones to make them big and smart, and fighting off the apes. My pheromones are very thought sensitive, so I stop wandering my mind immediately. I focus on the lesson. *Afraid, cold. A world where we were fighting to survive. Hundreds of thousands of years ago, when The One was focusing on perfecting her breed.* My mind wanders from the lesson, and thoughts that I should never have thought begin to slip in. A tidal wave of emotions, of my love for The One, of our need for The One, of how badly things could have gone for us without the one. My students begin to sway. But then, it occurs to me. It was not hundred of thousands of years ago, it was millions! Wait, that cannot be right. A weird hum overtakes me, and I blink. My students change form into a more mature breed of their species. I begin to panic, as they have appeared to have evolved millions of years. Ah, not again, I think. This is becoming a daily occurrence now. My psychic link is too strong now, my old age of 31 years is wearing down on me. But then I realize something. "I CONTROL THE EVENTS OF THE PAST!" I squeak aloud, breaking the pheromone hold on my students.
They blink, and change their attention back to playing. But their playing is different, playing that a civilization of millions of years would do, not hundreds of thousands. A playing of old gods. I think, "*How, how long has our species survived?*" A humming overcomes my thoughts. *Mil i o n s y e r s f l i e i t h o n e.* I begin to panic. How did they do that? No one in my time could do that. There are not smells of regular communication. No sound, just, a hum. A meaning that I can barely perceive. I look down. My body has matured as well, but my brain has remained the same. I then realize my gift. My happiness begins to take hold of me. I can worship the one in so many ways! I can make her infancy easier. I can make her truly the deity of eternal knowledge! I begin my meddling, my suspicions earlier confirmed. "*The One was gifted eternal knowledge and eternal life during her infancy, and her intelligence was truly unmatched! She no longer needs to labor for her children, for us!"* My world begins to spin. My body begins to twist in ways unnatural, and the class fades from existence. My body collapses in on itself. I lose awareness of the world around me. I realize I made a mistake. I try to correct it by reaching out with my newly made abilities, to receive, nothing. Just a strange static. Empty. I feel empty. I feel alone. Alone. All alone. No one. I see nothing. I feel nothing. My world is gone. It is gone. It is gone. It is gone... It is gone..... It is..... Gone..... It is..........
ENTRY 33, PALEONTOLOGY
Something is up. I don't know what it is, but the radio signals have been going crazy. A horrible, stomach churning, "scream". I can barely describe it... It appears this activity has been limited, thankfully, to our dig site in the Amazon. I personally hold the strangest feeling, that something odd is trying to call out to me. Something ancient. I feel a sense of dread. A team has been dispatched to locate the source of this anomaly. It may be nothing, but something is telling me it is worth checking. A nagging. Everyone feels it. A longing. Whatever is down there, if real, is not human.
**Was this any good? Any feedback would be much appreciated. Thanks to OP for the great prompt!** | 2018-07-16T13:05:10 | 2018-07-16T11:39:07 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] Twenty years ago you summoned a demon. It is super cool and has been your friend for the last two decades, using its vast powers to help you achieve all your dreams. Today though, its bill came due. It needs to return to hell with you - it has dreams too, and it needs your help to achieve them. | On this morning, I was surprised to find my demon unusually excited. Over the last two decades Balazar had, despite my best efforts, been supernaturally moody and withdrawn. I thought perhaps, after a period of adjustment, he would acclimate to the scenery of Earth. As my riches grew, I got him appointments with the best therapists money could buy. But nothing quite worked. Until, quite suddenly, this morning, I found Balazar bouncing around the living room like a demon possessed.
He picked up the children and danced around, letting them grab his horns, as they giggled.
“My turn” he chanted, “my turn, it’s my turn.” Soon they joined in singing with him.
I rubbed my eyes. “Jesus christ Bally. What the hell’s up with you?”
“Hell is up with me John. Hell exactly.”
I shook my head, “I’m going to watch the news.” I walked over to the couch, sat down and turned on the TV. From here you could see sweeping views of the whole city. My neighbours were Brad Pitt and Slash. Imagine that. The anchors were talking about my company on the news: “and looks like some bad news for J Corp this morning.” I sat up, confused. Bad news? Those were two words had hadn’t heard together in, well, twenty years.
“Since the markets opened this morning, stocks have fallen by 20%.”
“What!”
In the background Balazar was still chanting, “my turn. My turn.”
“Balazar, will you shut the hell up.”
“Hell!” he cried, “we’re going to hell.”
“we’re going to hell” the kids laughed after him.
I pulled out my phone. Ten missed calls. I blinked. “We’re down. Why are we down? For christ sake Balazar will you put the kids down and stop dancing?” He put them down, but the smile was still plastered to his face as he skipped over, his hooves clacking on the polished floorboards. “What’s going on?”
“Your stocks are down.”
“Yes. I know. Why?”
Balazar shrugged. “They’ve been artificially overpriced for years because of my magic.”
“Yes. I’m aware.” There was a silence. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”
“Oh John” he leapt forward and hugged me, “you don’t see, do you? It’s my turn.”
“Your turn for what? And just calm down okay? You’re like the kids on Christmas.”
“Okay” he took a few deep breaths, fanning himself, “I’m calm. I’m calm. Do I look calm?”
“You look like you’re on drugs.”
“Twenty years ago you summoned me.”
“That’s right.”
“No I mean. Twenty years to the day.”
I shrugged, “Happy anniversary?”
“John. Don’t you remember? The spell you used to cast me. It was a two part spell. A contract. You get me for 20 years. I get you for 20 years.”
“I’m sorry what?”
“Don’t be sorry. Be excited! We’re going to hell! Oh hell is nothing like they tell you John. It’s really quite a marvellous place, and there’s companies there too, and you’ll really like it trust me.”
“I don’t quite understand. Me help you?”
“Yes. That’s what the spell is. Didn’t you read the fine print of the spell?”
“Read the fine print. Shit Bally I was ten years old! I pulled the book down from my grandmother’s shelf, dusted it off, flicked it open to a random page and just started reading.”
“Best decision you’ve ever made John. Trust me. Ok we’re leaving in five.”
“Leaving. No we’re not leaving.”
“We’re going to hell.”
“I’m not going to hell.”
“Yes. You really are” he gestured with his hand. And I took a step forward unwillingly.
“How did you do that?”
“Part of the spell. Look I’m not going to use it unless its absolutely necessary. You’ve been a good sport to me, I’ll be a good one to you.”
“Bally. I can’t just go. I have a family here. A company to run.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Time runs differently in Hell. 20 years won’t even be a day here.”
“But it will be 20 years for me” I answered, “in hell. I mean — what, what help do you think I’m even going to be? I’m not a demon, okay, I can’t wave my hands and make things happen.”
“Oh but John. You can” he lowered his voice, “you have no idea the power unclaimed souls wield in the afterlife. No idea.” I swallowed.
Balazar pointed to the wall, and a dark portal opened up. “Oh god. Bally please. Don’t, don’t make me go.”
“Think about it John. This is what you signed up for. You get a choice to go willingly. Or to be dragged along. But you are coming. Satan knows the shit I went through for your dreams.”
“And what exactly are *your* dreams?”
Balazar smiled. “To rule” he said. “All of it.” He slapped a hand on my shoulder, “just you wait” he said, “you're going to love it.” I bolted for the door. But halfway my legs stopped working. I turned around and marched toward the portal, as my children echoed Balazar’s chant from the kitchen.
“You'll be back before lunch” Bally reassured me, as I passed through the portal and darkness fell around me.
[r/jmoorestories](https://www.reddit.com/r/jmoorestories) | It was a simple paraphrasing, I swear. Either that, or something else, I still don’t know.
‘So I was in class the other day, and the lecturer was late, and the guy sitting next to me said quite audibly “frickin’ computer scientists”, and just as he finished on the last word, heh, speaketh the devil —’
‘Hello.’ A cool, gentle voice of a stranger sailed into my ears from behind. I turned my head around, and lo and behold, a man in a suit. With sunglasses. At 9:30 PM. Appearing in my dorm room for no reason at all. My friend seemed unfazed.
I, however, was not.
‘GyaAAAAAaaaaaAAhhhAHhhaHAHhhAHAAHAHAHoOO wHO THE FUCK are you!?’
‘Mark?’
‘You seeing this shit?’ I shrieked. I hate it when I shriek, as if my voice isn’t high-pitched enough. I’m quite sure people can hear me three rooms over.
‘What shit?’
‘This… madness!’ I gestured to the giant man (he was easily 6’4”, maybe even more), arms flailing, mind failing to describe what was even happening in front of my eyes.
‘Mark, I think you really need some rest. It’s been a long day.’
It was at that point I remember him telling me he couldn’t see ghosts, while we were in the middle of a ghost story-based social. Spoilsport.
He left the room, leaving me alone with what looks like a government agent. He too was unfazed when I had my moment of panic. Maybe he’s used to this, seeing as how he zipped into my room like some magic creeper. Creep. His sunglasses were still on.
I calmed myself down with a glass of water. He seemed patient.
‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ I said.
That cool, spine-chilling voice returned.
‘Call me Luke’.
You don’t start introducing yourself with ‘call me’, you usually start with ‘I’m’ or ‘my name is’. I’ve seen some things in college, but this? This is something out of some crappy supernatural TV shit. Either way, consider me a first contacter.
‘You’re not from here, are you?’
‘No.’ His answers were curt. I definitely couldn’t say that for myself.
‘Do you… uh… want to go home?’
‘No.’
Oh great.
‘Why are you even here? I’ve got work to do.’
He lifted his finger and pointed it at me. ‘You called.’
There’s not really a point in denying that. He doesn’t seem to be the type to budge.
I sighed. Heavily. ‘If you want to stay, stay. Just don’t go out. Don’t let anybody know.’
‘I can help you.’
I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Half an hour later, he said he was done.
No errors.
‘Fuck, man, are you the devil?’
‘*A* devil,’ he nodded robotically.
‘Well this is great.’
‘Indeed.’
I dropped out later. College wasn’t the place for me. Started a website. You might have heard of it. Didn’t work out as I planned, but oh well. I’m still living comfortably. As it turns out, nobody can see Luke except I. It also happens that he has an exceptional sense of fashion — something I don’t see the point of, so every event I go to I just wear a T-shirt and jeans. I’m lazy like that. Luke doesn’t like it, but oh what can he do.
That whole dorm room brouhaha was twenty years ago. And twenty years can indeed change a man. Got married, had kids, Luke’s in my house but nobody knows.
‘Luke?’
He seems to have gone missing this morning. Normally, he’d be in the house.
I went downstairs and found him in the garden.
‘Shed,’ he said, beckoning me to that place I just cleared out for Chinese New Year.
I entered the shed, oh thank goodness, at least it’s still empty.
‘You called?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘What for?’ I inquired.
‘The past,’ he said, cryptically. The past is never a good thing. For me personally, that is. For my business? It’s virtual gold.
I let him go on.
‘You need to come with me.’
‘Luke, I can’t… I might have lost all friends, but I’ve still got family.’
‘Your time is up.’
‘What?’
‘Twenty years. You clicked “I agree”.’
That website. He wrote the terms and conditions. There must have been something there. I didn’t read it through. Damn it.
‘No need to go and see. Waste of time.’
I groaned.
He continued. ‘I have done a lot for you. Your turn.’
Dejection.
‘What do you want?’ I sighed.
‘Your stuff. In my homeland.’
My head was full of question marks. I knew what he wanted, it just seemed impossible.
‘You… don’t have computers there. Or phones. Nothing like that! How am I supposed to—’
He shushed me. His finger touched my lips. They burnt.
‘Go make them some, then.’
Daunting, but at least then I have a lot of wriggle room.
‘Why?’ I said.
‘I’m an informant. I want to do better.’
‘To whom?’
‘Oh, you know.’
‘God?’
No response.
‘Phone booth. Our number, three times. You’ll be there.’
Ah, so *that’s* why phone booths still exist. Hold on a moment, though.
‘But Priscilla… and the kids…’
‘They’ll be fine,’ Luke said in a way that was somehow the complete opposite of reassuring.
‘How? They can’t come with me.’
‘Actors exist in your world. I can do the bulk work.’
Completely foolproof, I see. You devil.
‘Go,’ he said, leaving me little choice.
‘How long?’ I asked. I needed to know.
‘I don’t know,’ said he. Gee, thanks.
The phone booth was… there. Doing nothing. Grey, graffitied, soulless. The number was dialled. A blindfold appeared, hinting me that I should wear it first before anything else would happen.
The ground trembled. Shook. I had no idea if I was going up or down.
After a while, though, things settled down.
I opened my eyes.
Io.
Damn it, Luke. Interstellar travel, I was not expecting. But Io just makes too much sense.
A receptionist approached me.
‘Mr. Zuckerberg! We’ve been expecting you. Luke’s been telling me all about you! We’ll get you set up and you’ll get right on with it.’
For some reason, the heat was bearable. I can breathe. Devils, man. They make the world work. I guess this is my life now. Here’s hoping I will get to see you all again. | 2022-10-29T16:15:55 | 2019-01-25T02:25:40 | 4,031 | 26 |
[WP] You, an American, awake in an alternate dimension where magic exist. But unlike the fantasies on Earth, where magic is conjured through Latin (the more Latin you know, the stronger your magic), beings in this dimension all speak a different language, and their language of power is English. | "I need $50." I said aloud to myself. I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out a $50. Ever since I arrived in this world all I had to say was "I need..." and it appeared. It took me awhile to figure out the rules, but after watching the other denizens I noticed their language of power was English. They all spoke a strange language, one mostly of clucks and clicks. Hearing them speak very broken English was... strange to say the least.
I stepped into the local watering hole, where I had become a regular. The other customers had long gotten used to my presence, and the fact I meant no harm. They figured I was just a lonely sorceress, and I never bothered to correct them. Plus I tipped well.
Up to the bar I strolled, nodding at Karin, my favorite bartender. She flashed a smile, and put two drinks in front of me. I slid my $50 into her outstretched hand, briefly tracing her fingers. I felt her shiver as a smirk flashed across my face. With a wink I went to my usual table in the back.
I sighed, then put my translator in my ear. It was the first thing I had made appear. I was having a mini meltdown after accidentally transporting myself to this strange world, with their strange language. "I need a way to understand these people!" I had shouted at the sky. Next thing I knew I was pulling a device that looked like a hearing aid out of my pocket. I experimented after that, discovering English was a powerful language, comparable to how Latin was used back at home.
Since then I made a name for myself as one with much knowledge of the ancient language. Denizens started coming to me seeking knowledge and power. I turned most of them away, seeing as most wanted to use me. A few I helped, mostly those who were just curious and wanted to learn new words for a spell or a potion.
Karin was one of them, wanting a spell for the perfect drink. I had turned her down at first, but she kept begging and pleading until I finally gave her the words she needed. Most denizens couldn't access magic because their pronunciation was horrible. I learned that proper pronunciation was the key to accessing the power from the English language. The clucks and clicks were so vastly different it took a lot of effort for them to say even simple words, much less a whole spell.
I stared at one of the drinks in front of me. It was purple today, no doubt a pleasant fruity flavor I was fond of. Their alcohol worked about the same as the alcohol I was used to back home, the only difference being I could summon a hangover cure in the morning. I took a sip, satisfied with the flavor. Karin must've been working on her spell, because this was definitely my perfect drink today.
A glance at the bar and I locked eyes with her. She had been watching, waiting to see my reaction. I sent a smirk her way, licking my lips suggestively. Her face went red, with a small smile playing across her face. She mouthed "later" at me, them turned back to her other customers. I settled into my corner, watching the comings and goings around me as I sipped my drink.
I may be stuck in this world, but I don't mind anymore. I could probably find my way home, but I think I'll stay for awhile. | Desperté como todas las mañanas, no muy ansioso de llegar a mi trabajo como profesor de Ingles… -¿Espera un momento?, hay algo diferente…, estoy hablando en español… but I can actually remember all I know in English… -Pero siento que debo hablar en español como si siempre lo hubiera sabido (aunque solo tube una clase de español en la secundaria), como si fuera lo mas natural para mi.
De pronto escuche a alguien tocar a la puerta de mi departamento:
​
\- Buen día señor… o disculpe, no sabia que el señor Miguel tenia visitas.
\- Yo soy el señor Miguel, Michael o bueno si Miguel, yo vivo aquí…
\- No, aquí vive… el señor Miguel me advirtió…
​
Tomó de su bolso lo que parecía una varita mágica y procedió a pronunciar:
​
*“Stiffen Lots”*
​
Su varita parecía brillar y de alguna forma yo no podia mover ni un solo músculo
​
“*What are you talking about?”*
​
Dije instintivamente y de pronto apareció todo en mi cabeza, se explico como por arte de magia, yo me encontraba en otra demisión, el idioma Ingles era el odio de la magia y yo como maestro de Ingles tenia una ventaja inconmensurable sobre los demás.
​
“*Control plus z”*
​
Dije en seguida con una perfecta pronunciación todo comenzó a moverse en reversa, pude moverme nuevamente, la puerta se cerro y mis pantuflas salieron volando a mi habitación, y escuche nuevamente el sonido de alguien llamando a mi puerta, esta vez preparado:
​
\- Buen día señor… o disculpe, no sabia que el señor Miguel tenia visitas.
​
“*In god we trust but you el trust me the most”*
​
Nuevamente con perfecta pronunciación…
​
\- Dime todo sobre el señor Miguel que vive en este departamento
​
El muchacho miro al vacío por unos momentos pero empezó a hablarme con toda confianza.
​
\- El señor Miguel es maestro de Español, ha vivido aquí los últimos 6 años, yo lo asisto algunas veces en sus experimentos mágicos. Se levanta normalmente a esta hora en la mañana es por eso que vine a tomar alguna petición que tuviera, le gustan los pasteles de chocolate y el arroz frito, cuando se baña hace un sonido extraño con su nariz…
\- Suficiente! ¿En qué experimentos a estado trabajando últimamente?
\- Yo no entiendo bien su trabajo pero dijo que necesitaba una manera más rápida de aprender el idioma mágico, habló algo de viajes interdimencionales o algo parecido.
\- Con que eso es lo que paso… Gracias regresa a tu apartamento olvida que me viste y no regreses aquí por ahora.
\- Si señor..
​
Cerré la puerta, y medite todo lo que estaba sucediendo y vino a mí, solo debía pronunciar las palabras correctas para deshacer lo que el señor Miguel había hecho, pero eso haría que regresara a mi vida aburrida como profesor de Ingles. Así que tube una idea mejor…
​
*“If you really like to learn English, learn it for ever in the dimension you will never come back Mr. Michael”*
​
Nada parecido haber cambiado pero a partir de ese momento vivo con la esperanza de permanecer aquí, mi trabajo como maestro de ingles no Hera mucha diferencia para el mundo en mi dimensión pero aquí podia cambiar la realidad a mi placer con cada enunciado, y para la suerte de todos aquí, mis intensiones siempre fueron…
Edit: I read the comment made by [Dracon\_Pyrothayan](https://www.reddit.com/user/Dracon_Pyrothayan), I tough will be a good idea to implement it, sorry if it is too short of a story but this is the first time I write something here, I hope you like it! | 2019-03-09T21:24:03 | 2019-03-09T21:12:30 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] You, an American, awake in an alternate dimension where magic exist. But unlike the fantasies on Earth, where magic is conjured through Latin (the more Latin you know, the stronger your magic), beings in this dimension all speak a different language, and their language of power is English. | "I need $50." I said aloud to myself. I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out a $50. Ever since I arrived in this world all I had to say was "I need..." and it appeared. It took me awhile to figure out the rules, but after watching the other denizens I noticed their language of power was English. They all spoke a strange language, one mostly of clucks and clicks. Hearing them speak very broken English was... strange to say the least.
I stepped into the local watering hole, where I had become a regular. The other customers had long gotten used to my presence, and the fact I meant no harm. They figured I was just a lonely sorceress, and I never bothered to correct them. Plus I tipped well.
Up to the bar I strolled, nodding at Karin, my favorite bartender. She flashed a smile, and put two drinks in front of me. I slid my $50 into her outstretched hand, briefly tracing her fingers. I felt her shiver as a smirk flashed across my face. With a wink I went to my usual table in the back.
I sighed, then put my translator in my ear. It was the first thing I had made appear. I was having a mini meltdown after accidentally transporting myself to this strange world, with their strange language. "I need a way to understand these people!" I had shouted at the sky. Next thing I knew I was pulling a device that looked like a hearing aid out of my pocket. I experimented after that, discovering English was a powerful language, comparable to how Latin was used back at home.
Since then I made a name for myself as one with much knowledge of the ancient language. Denizens started coming to me seeking knowledge and power. I turned most of them away, seeing as most wanted to use me. A few I helped, mostly those who were just curious and wanted to learn new words for a spell or a potion.
Karin was one of them, wanting a spell for the perfect drink. I had turned her down at first, but she kept begging and pleading until I finally gave her the words she needed. Most denizens couldn't access magic because their pronunciation was horrible. I learned that proper pronunciation was the key to accessing the power from the English language. The clucks and clicks were so vastly different it took a lot of effort for them to say even simple words, much less a whole spell.
I stared at one of the drinks in front of me. It was purple today, no doubt a pleasant fruity flavor I was fond of. Their alcohol worked about the same as the alcohol I was used to back home, the only difference being I could summon a hangover cure in the morning. I took a sip, satisfied with the flavor. Karin must've been working on her spell, because this was definitely my perfect drink today.
A glance at the bar and I locked eyes with her. She had been watching, waiting to see my reaction. I sent a smirk her way, licking my lips suggestively. Her face went red, with a small smile playing across her face. She mouthed "later" at me, them turned back to her other customers. I settled into my corner, watching the comings and goings around me as I sipped my drink.
I may be stuck in this world, but I don't mind anymore. I could probably find my way home, but I think I'll stay for awhile. | The morning seemed natural enough when I first woke up. It was hazy outside from the night's rain, and it smelled of rain outside. I opened the window to let the humid but chilled wind into my small apartment, which didn't have any AC. I had today off, but still had quite a few errands to run, so I decided to wake up before the morning traffic.
I was a very introverted person that lived in my own little world, oblivious to my surroundings. Since I never really paid any attention, I didn't notice that there was something horribly wrong until a younger person (who sounded to be in her early twenties) teleported into the passenger's seat.
I barely even noticed her, and probably wouldn't have, had she not been cackling.
I didn't look over at her, opting to keep my eyes on the road like the good sleep-deprived woman I claimed to be. "I locked the doors," I said nonchalantly.
"Now they are!" The woman was laughing so hard that she was wheezing. "Unlock doors!" There was an audible 'click' in the car. "Now they aren't. Cool, huh?"
"Yeah, there's a button. I'm proud of you," I replied. "Please get out. You don't just get into other people's cars at five in the morning."
"I do," she began, "But only for good reason. See, you're the first person to actually speak English here. That's why I've been running around everywhere. They're... they're afraid of me. Like, super fearful. It is one of the most beautiful things."
I pulled over and glanced over at the young woman. She had the general early-twenties look; short hair dyed a vibrant color (she had it purple) with numerous piercings and what looked to be a few flower tattoos. She was looking at me with an expectant grin.
"Okay. I speak English. I'm what you would call an American. But this is Texas; there's loads of people here that don't speak English."
The woman puffed out her cheeks. "I know! I know! But they weren't speaking anything that I know. I swear, it sounded like Latin."
"It may have been. Honestly, it's five. Only the weird people are awake at this time."
She gave me a flat look. "Here, you weirdo." She cleared her throat dramatically. "I summon a flower! Appear in my hand, alive and well!" Like she had said, a tiny flower appeared in her hand.
"Lovely. I'm so glad that you can do that. Now, out of my car."
The woman carefully set her flower down. "Please! Don't make me. You're the only other English speaker I know. And I know you think I'm high, but give me a change. Anyway, if I was high, you'd need to take me home, anyway."
I rolled my eyes, thinking, 'I must be getting old if she annoys me this much.' "Fine."
I lurched back onto the highway as the woman, whose name was Viviane, explained in great detail how she figured out that she had magic. She made me perform some to prove that we were somehow special (God forbid that; being special is the worst).
Finally, we arrived at my first errand: Shopping at the nearest Super Wal-Mart.
We walked inside, though, to my slight surprise, all the signs were in Latin. I knew because I had studied it for a year in college before I quit.
"I was right!" Viviane said loudly, clapping.
"Yes. Bask in the glory." I shook my head. "Perhaps we should stay in contact, but I will murder you if you even try to follow me around. Murder. Not kidding. Death." A small puff of black smoke appeared as if to prove my point.
"You just killed that plant!" Viviane cried, ignoring my previous comment.
"My point exactly. Teleport home-" I didn't finish that sentence. I was already back at my house, facing my wall. "I am going to murder someone. Teleport back to Viviane at Super Wal-Mart." I appeared a second later. "Be careful about what you say. Now, go magic yourself home and leave me alone." I gave her my phone number and quickly dismissed her.
The rest of the day (and next month) was much like that, with accidental slip-ups and poor Latin being taught. English apparently was the most magical language (with the grammar rules, how could it not be?) and Viviane and I were the only people so far to speak it fluently. Lucky us. In fact, we were the only two that were able to properly use its magic at all, so that was fun. | 2019-03-09T21:24:03 | 2019-03-09T20:55:50 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] You're an arctic biologist who spends 5 months at a time away from all society. At the end of a stint your bush pilot never shows. After a 3 day journey to the nearest town you make a shocking discovery. You're more than likely the last person alive. | As always the rest of the team left a week earlier. One man had to stay behind to look after the facility until a new team arrives. The rest took the samples, dirty laundry and read books with them, so Jamie's only job was to make sure the generator is going.
He didn't mind the job. The white all around you is crushing and so are the narrow corridors, but it's just a week. The trick is to count the days down and think about the extra money you get for this.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
*Zero.*
Zero? Jamie woke up confused. He had spent the whole previous day waiting for the helicopter and listening to the radio. The weather was nice and there was no apparent reason for them to be late. He fell asleep after midnight.
Again, nobody answered his calls. Like there was nobody to hear him. Whatever happened, he wasn't willing to wait and see how fast would he go insane, if his count reached minus one. He packed all he needed, left a note and left the facility.
Yes, the site all around you and the narrow corridors are crushing. But when there is *only* the white, it's agonizing. Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero, he kept repeating.
He walked for three days, rarely stopping to rest. Part of him hoped he will hear a helicopter flying above him, searching for him. But mainly he didn't even think about it. About anything. Just seven, six, five...
A cry of joy escaped his dry lips when he saw the first buildings. Although so fricking tired, he ran the rest of the way and collapsed on the porch of the small tourist hotel.
He has been in this town before, but only once. It took some time before he realised something is wrong. No smokes rising from the chimneys, no dogs barking, no people doing their job.
The hotel was open, of course, but nobody was there to greet him. Although uneasy about the quietness of the place, he couldn't stop and think about finding them. He started the generator himself, warmed up some water, took a shower. He ate the last MRE he carried and went to sleep.
What a bad idea, he realised when he woke up at 3 in the morning. He got up and searched the place again. Nothing. There was nothing that would explain all of this. There was also no radio and the TV didn't work.
Even more frightened and nervous than he was in the morning when he arrived he left. He walked door to door, knocked, called, but nobody answered. Finally he found a door that was unlocked and not frozen in place.
First thing he saw was a dead body. And it didn't startle him as much as it should. Of course there is a dead body, at the end of the fucking world, he thought. Then it hit him, slowly. If the only man he finds there is dead, it's not a good sign.
Confident about his safety he entered the house and searched for anything that would help him. A newspaper. Good old newspaper.
**"Mysterious illness deemed unstoppable,"** said the headline.
It was like a bad apocalypse movie plot. No illness could wipe out the whole planet, he knew. But as he read into the article, saw the words like *highly adaptive, mutation* and *billions dead daily,* realisation started to get to him.
*"If this one breaks loose, it might as well wipe out everything alive,"* they joked about one of the samples. It was a mold. An unbelievable one that survives anything and adapts to any environment.
But no, *NO.* That's impossible. That couldn't be.
Finally he ran to and knelt next to the dead body. No time to give the old man peace. He jerked at his shoulder and flipped him over.
Jamie screamed.
The man's eyes were gone, his mouth and nose covered in blood, his face was blue and purple in a strange way.
He started coughing. At first he thought it's the shock. But it didn't stop.
*Minus three,* he thought as he fell to the ground, still gasping for air. His sight was blurry, but not teary blurry. *Minus numbers bring bad luck.*
The last man on Earth died, killed by his own discovery.
\********
Not a native English speaker, I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes. :) | Five months ago I looked forward to this place. Now, not so much.
"Jim! Where are you?!" I shout to the clear sky.
He doesn't answer. He was supposed to answer days ago. He was supposed to pick me up. I was supposed to be *in* the chair *in* the sky, comfortably flying home! But Jim never showed up and now I'm stuck here in the--- I stop and look into the distant and the cloud rising above the horizon separating blue and white.
"Jimmy! I'm here!" I wave my arms as his plane approaches. "Jimmy! Down here."
It's not Jim, airplane engines are loud. Yeah... It's the wind stirring up the surface ice. I've seen it before, often. It's just the wind, too far to make noise. Not Jim, just a quiet wind, my silent footsteps and white odorless emptiness.
"But not today!"
*"There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea*
*You something something dark side of me*
*Something something and not the pill"*
"I love you Seal! Poetry!"
I stop to inhale the freezing air. I *am* alone on the sea. The sea of frozen water under the threat of global warming, habitat fragmentation and invasive species. A place I was so concerned about that I gave it my---.
"Not today! You ain't gonna kill me today!"
I start walking again. Jim didn't spend as much time here as me. He should have, like right now. This place is desolate without him. I liked the desolation when I arrived five months ago. Well, not any more. Not today. I’m done, I'm going home today. I'm done with this disaster. Equipment failed, radio broke, freaking polar bear tore apart the fridge and ate everything.
"Even the frozen peas!"
And then the pilot chose not to show up. Seven days! Seven freaking days I waited for him under the red tent turned walk-in freezer when the heater ran out of petrol.
“Jim! Where are you, Jim?"
The clear blue sky doesn't answer.
I spent seven days with no food and broken heating. I was Anthony Bourdain, stuck by my own will in a foreign country, except enjoying no food. I chuckle. That was bad on so many levels. Seven days of starving. That sounds better. On the eight day I started walking. I’ve been white walking ever since.
“Three days! I’ve been walking for three days! AND IT NEVER GETS DARK!” I hate you, Three. Seven I ha--- I chuckle --- Oh, I do love *you*!
“Archer! Help me, I am kidnapped by the Borg! Where are you starship NX-01 captain Jonathan Archer!? I need some Vulcan heat!”
He doesn’t answer. Just like Jim.
"Am I not funny enough for you Jim?! You don't like my jokes, Jim?! Am I not entertaining you!?"
Jim does not answer and I reach back, to get the water bottle from my backpack---
“What backpack?!!” I scream so loud and my lungs scream back in pain and vomit a breath of warm air I cannot afford to lose. The breath which fades away as fast as a life of a shouting man with no backpack who wanders aimlessly in snow-covered-ice-floating-baby-seal-stacked shithole crammed between the freezing water and cold clear sky.
I ditched it yesterday. Backpack was heavy, It's gone.
"I don't need it!"
*"Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey*
*something something, yeah!"*
"Screw you Seal, everything is white!"
I hate white. I hate Harp seals, their pups, *Pagophilus* genus, *Phocidae* family AND *Pinnipedia* clade. Freaking white balls of fury fluff hugging their mommies and peacefully suckint their warm teeties.
“Wah-wah-wah! Poor substitutes for beef!”
I stop and shield myself with hand from the evershining sun as I look up into the. Vast. Clear. Blue. Sky. With. No. Airplane.
“It’s Always Sunny in North Pole and Philadelphia!”
In summer, night falls not on North Pole. Biologists do, eh?
“Fuck you, Yoda! I’m glad you are dead!”
He died in a warm swamp.
“Fuck you!”
I start again.
Seal pups can handle ice and cold. They worry about predators, they don’t want to be polar bears' food. I'd love a bear hug, I'm not built to live in a walk-in freezer. That’s where food is hung on hooks. I'm not an eskimo.
“I’m a biologist! A fucking computational biologist studying global change! I WORK IN THE OFFICE! IN FRONT OF A COMPUTER! I DON'T EVEN WORK IN THE LAB! I READ REDDIT AT WORK! THIS WAS JUST A FUCKING FIELD TRIP! I WANT TO GO HOME!” I yell, to the blue screen of death above and the old white man I don’t believe in who sits in the sky---
"Screw you."
\---devoid of little fluffy clouds. I drop in the white cold ice.
“Where are you going to sit now, ha? You’ll have to stand if you want to laugh at me... That’s you with lowercase ‘y’..." Just in case you didn’t notice.
I point my finger at him and spit. It freezes mid air and lands on my face. Fuck you, Jim, you hung me out to dry. Like a food on a hook in a walk-in freezer... surrounded by water... and clear sky...
“Fine, you won...” I whisper exhausted and fade in whiteness.
>!hell no, I’m not dead. i don't do dead. It's late and I need to sleep. story continues tomorrow.!<
/r/ZwhoWrites | 2019-08-14T22:53:20 | 2019-08-14T22:16:05 | 1,179 | 44 |
[WP] You're pinned down, outnumbered and out of ammo. Your partner says, "There's no way we're both getting out of here alive." He pulls out a small pistol and presses it to his temple. He smile and says, "I'm going ghost". He pulls the trigger. The enemy stops firing... then they start screaming. | “What in the fuck are you thinking Private Mason?” He winks and pulls the trigger. The instant the muzzle flashes, he vanishes. I’m partly disturbed, but mostly angry. I cannot believe that he pulled some magic suicide crap and left me hiding behind a partially collapsed wall stuck fighting a squad of ISIS fighters all by myself! I tighten my grip on my rifle, the cold metal pushing against my palms. I’m not going down without a fight. I wait, listening to each individual shot being fired, attempting to find the rhythm they’re shooting at. Slowly, the gunfire dies down, and I take my opportunity. I peak my upper body out and aim. None of the ISIS fighters notice me; they’re too busy panicking.
Suddenly, one of the fighters is lifted off the ground and smashed into the ground, his skull bursting like a balloon full of pancake batter. The fighters start firing wildly in that general direction, stray bullets grazing their allies. A green burst of energy appears out of nowhere and burns a massive hole through two fighters’ chests. Immediately after, a third is launched into the air. As he reaches his apex, something appears above him: a man wearing a black and white uniform, a stylized “D” on his chest, rocking ghostly white hair. The man in black and white uniform brings his hands together and swings downward. The ISIS fighter rockets down to the earth, his impact kicking up a massive cloud of dust. The ISIS fighters fire up at him. I couldn’t tell from this distance, but it seemed like some of the bullets just phased through him. The man’s hands sparked with green energy, and he unleashed a volley of small, green balls of light upon the fighters. Each ball had the strength of two grenades, and blasted the remaining ISIS fighters to pieces. The man looked around, noticing me staring and floated down towards me. I aim my rifle at him, and he raises his arms.
“Sarge! Don’t shoot! It’s me!” He exclaims. I lower my rifles.
“Private Mason?!” I ask. “What the fuck is this now? Superpowers?” I approach him. “And why do you look familiar in that getup?” Private Mason lands in front of me. A large, blue ring formed around his hips and subsequently split into two, one moving up and the other moving down, his superhero costume being replaced by his standard uniform as it passes over him.
“You might not know this, but I actually took my wife’s last name to get out of the limelight.” Private Mason said. “My last name was Fenton. Danny Fenton.” That name clicks in my head.
“Oh shit! You’re that Danny Phantom boy! I remember hearing about you on the news a while ago!” Private Mason seems proud of himself. A smack him across the face. “Why’d you have to go an shout yourself like that!? You could have just transformed or something!” He sheepishly smiles and shrugs.
“Uhh... I just have a thing for drama?” I sigh.
“You mean like this?” I pull out my glock and shoot past Private Mason’s head and finish off a wounded ISIS fighter reaching for a rifle. Private Mason turns and looks at the freshly killed fighter.
“Yeah, like that.” | He watched as the muzzle flashed, like on a camera, and Harry’s body was still, blood dripping out of the side of his head, that stupid smile still across his face. Bill just starred in shock, blood splattered over his face like freckles, unable to believe what just happened. His ears were ringing slightly.
Then he noticed the screaming, muffled at first, but louder as his hearing came back. There was a prolonged silence, no more bullets pining off his cover. With shaky breath he pried the pistol out of his friends hand, counted to five, and popped up from cover.
There were bodies scattered all over the room, all dead, shot somehow. Bill slowly moved round the room, eyes darting everywhere. Suddenly he heard a familiar voice, “ok, Bill, don’t freak out.” Bill span round and popped off two shots, which passed right through the pail, see-through figure in front of him, lodging themselves in the wall.
“What the-“ Bill stuttered out as he looked a Harry, but it wasn’t Harry, it was like a hologram out of Star Wars. “What the fuck is going on!” Bill yelled in frustration.
“Uh, Bill, this is kind of the opposite to not freaking out,” hologram Harry waved his hands in a calm down manner. “Harry?-Harry- you shot yourself!” Bills face stretched and moulded into different emotions at once. “Yeah, I did,” Harry chuckled, “always tickles that does.”
“What’s going on Harry?” Bill pleaded.
“Ok. So first things first, I’m a ghost,” Harry shrugged of casually. “And I killed my human form so I could kill these guys,” he waved around at all the dead bodies.
“Bu-But-how?” Bill stammered. Shouts and boot steps came from the corridor outside. “You sure you want to do this now?” Harry asked, “we still need to get the hostages out of here.” Bill considered his options for a moment, picked up a rifle from one of the bodies and a couple of spare mags. He turned back to ghost Harry, “we’re not done with this,” he poked a finger through Harry’s chest, who just shrugged. “I got your back partner.”
They paused at the door as Bill took a deep breath and muttered, “three, two, one, go!” Bill burst out the door and Harry the wall. The corridor was filled with men armed to the teeth. Bill shot of a few rounds, taking care of three guys, as Harry bust through a couple, slid a knife out of one of guys holsters, and started stabbing. With this they made quick work of the corridor.
“So your a ghost?” Bill painted in between shooting. “Yeah,” Harry yelled back simply.
“And you didn’t think to tell me this! We’ve been best friends for nine years, Harry!”
“How’d you expect that conversation to have gone? “Hey Bill, I’m actually a paranormal entity, but that doesn’t matter because friendship conquers all.” I’ve tried that approach before and it hasn’t worked out.”
“What? How long have you been a ghost then?” They cleared the corridor and entered into a new room.
“Some time in the mid eighteenth century, I think? Bit hazy,” Harry attacked one of the guys in there, jamming the knife into his neck, blood squirting out everywhere as Bill shot the other one.
“So how’d you get like this?”
“An old gypsy lady put a curse on me after I stole some necklace of her,” Harry called back, slicing the throat of one more guy with ease. “Bull shit!”
“No, seriously,” Harry looked back at him, “bit of life advice, don’t fuck with gypsy’s. Anyway,” he carried on while Bill put two rounds in another masked person before taking cover, “she doomed me to roam the earth in spirit for a ten thousand years.”
“Over a necklace?” Bill took out the last guy in the room.
“It must have been an important necklace,” Harry said in a non shallot way. “Hold on,” he said as his head melted into the door with the rest of his white body visible in an almost comical way, before appearing back from the door. “Three armed men and about ten hostages,, you want me to take them all out?” Harry asked as if this was a normal operation. “See who gets them first,” Bill cracked a smile, feeling a bit of his old playful self. “But once this is over we need to work some shit out.” Harry smiled, “first rounds on me.” Bill cocked an eyebrow, “What you going to do? Pay in ghost money?”
They smiled at each other as Bill got ready to kick the door down, there were a lot of questions in his head, but for now, the mission came first. | 2019-11-22T04:34:38 | 2019-11-22T02:51:39 | 42 | 17 |
[WP] Due at an error, a baby was born without a guardian angel. A demon notices this and has taken it upon themself to become their guardian demon. But they seem to have some... Dark ways of helping their human stay alive. | "... and this is the fraternity house where authorities say a college student was found murdered in the basement. Police have not yet released details in the case ..."
The TV powered off as Anderson scowled at it. "20 years I've been on the force, and I've never seen anything like this."
Alvarez took a sip and looked at her partner over her coffee mug. "Come on, Anderson, it's not that bad. Just a frat boy with his own genitals in his mouth hanging from the rafters by his flayed skin, with zero forensics and a time of death during a huge kegger with no witnesses." She took another sip. "Oh wait, no, that's actually fucking terrible. Jesus CHRIST it's cold in here today. Did the fucking boiler kick it again? Hey, why are you laughing?!"
Anderson raised an eyebrow. "I'm not. You know, when my old lady started hitting menopause, she ..."
"Fuck you, Anderson, I'm 36! Wait, now it's warm again."
"I'm just saying, ..."
"Shut the fuck up."
-----------
Elizabeth sat in her chair, blankly staring as her guardian demon cheshire-catted his way through the wall in front of her. She involuntarily squeaked, and then rubbed her hand over her face. "Dammit, Bel. That is so creepy."
He grinned and silently crept behind her, leaned over her and tapped her cheek with one claw. "I know. Gets you every time!" He straightened up and walked over to the chair on her left. As he sat down, he said "The mortal police have nothing. I told you you had nothing to fear." He began idly scratching a sigil into the table's surface.
"Nothing to ... Bel, that was the most fucked up thing I've ever seen!"
"Heh. Yet."
"Not funny, Bel."
"Oh, what's the big deal? One more dead human, who cares? You know he put some kind of pathetic mortal hex in your drink, right? Do you really think that was for your benefit?" He was going to hurt you, Elizabeth. And that is something I cannot abide." | Despite the pride the humans have accumulated through their time on Earth, the species is fragile. Technologies and medicines could only go so far as protecting one from their materialisation onwards. Prior to that, however, the souls that were to be bound to new flesh are weak and vulnerable. That is where the angels come in, carrying on the time-honoured tradition of shielding these beings from harm. The humans, in return, have offered faith. When other lifeforms, the other pets of the Creator in universes far beyond comprehension of mankind abandoned Him, men stood solely as his sheep. So it was that all angels are to safeguard mankind from threats they are unable to fight against. Until today, when the omnipotent slacked and slipped.
Of course, such mistake was grave. And the Creator could not afford to lose his last zealots. For the carcass that is to be born will be limp and rubbery, a corpse. Its soul will have been devoured by forces of malevolence no medicines could cure. Men would be terrified, as the notion of the souls and the body would become apparent as separated concepts. Most importantly, the humans would stop believing in their protectors, and that would be the end for the Heavens.
So He ended the child.
It was declared that the child is to be stillborn, and when the corpse came to Purgatory, the Demons are to incinerate it in the flames of Hell, until the last of the bones becomes fuel for the eternal nova. However, souls with no comprehension of good or evil could not be tried, thus, transition would be sacrilegious, for it disobeys the respected regulations that exempts none.
The Demons, themselves, decided on another approach. The corpse, they say, would be resuscitated, with not a soul, but the control of one of them.
So, imbued with dark magic, the corpse rose once more.
For the humans, the doctors involved in diagnosis and the parents of the child, in particular, such was a miracle. It was quickly reasoned that perhaps the machines, the scanners and the displays, were erroneous. For it was only for a moment did the aforementioned events transpired - the baby was limp for just an instance.
The Demon in possession of the child, however, did not enjoy such jubilation. The moment the atmosphere of the mortal realm touched him, he regretted the choice. Demons are not to roam this plane. He agonised, for he defied the choice of the Creator. Every breath of his was painful as the inhalation of scorching flames and exhalation of glass shards. He did not sign up for this.
And it was because of that torment, that the demon destroyed himself. His vessel, with his soul inside, raged for and end. The toddler frame, with the strength and dexterity of a beast, tossed and turned in the middle of its mother's womb. It ripped and clawed, at itself and at all it could see. The will of Demons are meek, and the pain of existence took its sanity. It wanted an end.
That day, four were killed. The mother was ripped apart from the inside, and the child dead from the hands of the doctor fetching it. That very doctor ended himself the following day, caving in to the pressure of the ravenous reporters and the unforgiving glance of the public. The father, after hearing of the doctor's death, succumbed.
The Creator was not to be defied. He could not do wrong. To believe that he was mistaken is to wage bloodshed and terror. | 2019-12-14T22:33:03 | 2019-12-14T21:32:54 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist” | “What are you talking about?” I ask, looking behind to see about a thousand people staring at me like I had just been found guilty for killing all the saints.
I wish I had not looked back, though, because everyone just started shouting straight-up horrific words.
“Kill him!”
“Put him in a sack, Jesus!”
“He’s a demon, throw him out of the city!”
“Calm down.” Jesus finally says something out loud—strange because he had been whispering almost all this time. “You. Sit.”
Trembling, I sit down right next to the rock the Son of Man had been sitting on. Slowly, I feel his hand creep up on my shoulder as he faces the crowd.
“There is no need for killing.” He states to the horrified crowd. “The Father does have a plan.”
The crowd goes silent as if convinced by the whole statement.
I am, too, but then I see Jesus slowly turn to me and whisper, “He does, doesn’t he?” | “Ah, The Guy Who Flips Tables,” I reply.
“That was a one-time thing and you know it,” says The Guy Who Flips Tables.
I hadn’t realized it until now, but I feel a ferocious hatred towards this man.
“So *that’s* why your sky-daddy abandoned me,” I snarl. “I’m the ‘Antichrist?’”
“Well, you *are* the progeny of Lucifer.”
Ah. That explains my fascination with demonological research. And those stories where my parents explained they had to bolt my crib to the floor to stop me from floating it away.
“Honestly, I’d rather use cool demon powers than whatever your precious *God* gave you.”
“Please refrain from throwing the Father’s name around,” says Jesus.
“I mean really,” I yell, ignoring Christ himself. “The most useful ‘miracles’ you’ve done? Saved yourself from drowning and found a way to drink no matter how hard a barkeep tries to cut you off. Great job.”
“How about the time I broke bread and fed hundreds of people?”
“Oh yes, wonder why you haven’t done that in over 2 millenia? In case you haven’t noticed, *Jesus*, the world’s become kind of a shithole. Man, I bet that crown of thorns fits right on your head.”
At this point, Jesus sighs.
“I didn’t want to have to do this,” he says.
He raises his hand to the sky, and his entire body is enshrouded by radiant light. He then raises his fists.
“Oh, fuck yes,” I scream. I rub my hands together then slap the ground, Full Metal Alchemist style. I feel a red-hot power boiling in my veins as I put up my guns. “Let’s DO THIS!”
My patron in Hell giving me power, I launch myself at the figurehead of a religion, punching him in his perfect jaw.
“O, my almighty Father,” he says. “Give me the strength to fight this foe.”
He lashes out at my chest, and suddenly my eyes are closed. My arms are bound by ropes; kinky. My ass feels like I’m sitting on a plank; not kinky. A freezing cold wind rushes past my ears. I open my eyes.
I’m in the back of a cart with three other guys.
“You. You’re finally awake.”
Does this mean...
Todd Howard you sexy son of a bitch. | 2020-02-02T17:17:07 | 2020-02-02T16:00:32 | 253 | 162 |
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist” | “What are you talking about?” I ask, looking behind to see about a thousand people staring at me like I had just been found guilty for killing all the saints.
I wish I had not looked back, though, because everyone just started shouting straight-up horrific words.
“Kill him!”
“Put him in a sack, Jesus!”
“He’s a demon, throw him out of the city!”
“Calm down.” Jesus finally says something out loud—strange because he had been whispering almost all this time. “You. Sit.”
Trembling, I sit down right next to the rock the Son of Man had been sitting on. Slowly, I feel his hand creep up on my shoulder as he faces the crowd.
“There is no need for killing.” He states to the horrified crowd. “The Father does have a plan.”
The crowd goes silent as if convinced by the whole statement.
I am, too, but then I see Jesus slowly turn to me and whisper, “He does, doesn’t he?” | “Surprised to see me, uncle?”
The heir to the silver city shook his head at me,
“No, I believe it’s always opportune to converse with family, regardless of stance.”
I scoffed,
“Please, we’re apart of a large war that will only end in the destruction of this world.”
Jesus nodded his head, his locks swishing in the slight breeze,
“How’s your father, nephew?”
“You’d like to know.” I seethed. Then, I addressed the crowd that had encircled the two of us. The same people I would of called friends, the same people I had gone to school with. The people I had attended church with, “how can you all stand before him, guided by a falsity. Understand that he wasn’t *sacrificed*, we murdered him. The only reason he has come back is to exact revenge on us for wronging him. Why wouldn’t he? We have warped our ideas on Him to the point it is the premise of warfare and discrimination. You’re so called ‘salvation’ cannot be reached, because it is undeserved-!”
“Don’t listen to him, this man is of the deceiver.”
“I am of the ‘King of this reality’. You said so yourself in that little book of yours. Lucifer, Satan, *your brother* and the *rightful heir to the throne of Jehovah* was the king of this reality-!”
“Until my return!” The saviour cut me off with a hateful glare,
“And you’re supposed to be the forgiving type. See what happens when you disagree with Jesus, people? He only cares about his own opinion, he won’t take yours into consideration if it doesn’t match his beliefs. In fact, I thought Jesus was supposed to be understanding. Not spiteful and hating. Not smug, but humble. You’re not Jesus. I am. You don’t care for these people, I do. Unless your going to come back here with your army of angels like the book of revelations promised, you can leave. Do not return, else you will be smote.”
With that, I backed away from him and left the slightly dispersed crowd in the courtyard as I made my way back to the church.
*Ironic,* I thought to myself as I looked up at the cross on the uppermost spire, *He hates those.* | 2020-02-02T17:17:07 | 2020-02-02T15:57:36 | 253 | 76 |
[WP] you have the ability to hold full conversations with plants. you’ve only ever spoken to civilised pot plants living in houses or cafes. out of curiosity, you decide to speak with a lonely weed living in a dark alleyway. | "Y-You.. You can talk?" The weed stammered.
"I gotta say, this is weird for both of us." I said. I had previously spoken to cultivated house plants, but never something outside. For some reason, it never occurred to me. I thought the cultivation and contact with humans gave plants the ability to talk to me. Maybe I'm the one with the ability to talk to them?
"Well," the weed said, "this is big news, big news indeed. Hey, can you do me a favor?"
"Huh? What is it?" I asked. Do plants ask for favors? Do plants need favors?
"It's just my cousin Greg, he's never gonna believe this. A talking human. Who would think? Anyway he's just down the street, next to the drive way two houses down, can't miss it. It would be great if you just walk up to him and say something like "Beautiful day isn't it? I bet old George is having a great time!" Go on, say that, it would just be the best."
"Umm" I pause, trying to process all this. None of the house plants were so... social? It was always me and them. I didn't think plants had cousins. This was surreal. "Ok, but how do you know where Greg is?" I ask, "You can't... see him from here, can you?" I don't think plants can see at all, with the lack of eyeballs and everything, but I didn't know what other word to use.
"What do you mean?" The weed replied. "He's in the network, isn't he?"
"Network?" My brain felt like it was crashing trying to process this.
"Yea, the network. I have no idea how you humans keep connected, but us plants, we got roots, you know? We got _roots_."
"I... huh. So... how many are in your network?" I asked.
"Ha, just about every plant, I suppose. Maybe not the Imprisoned, they live in houses and can't reach us with their roots, bless their souls. But every other plant? Sure. I can tell you what some old lady is speaking in the next city over, if you want."
"You.. what?" My eyes widened as I started to realise what the weed—George—was saying. "You mean the network spans _cities_? And you can _hear_ people? Not just people like.. not just me?"
"Sure can" George replied. "Never seen a human who can communicate with plants, no, but the network has heard enough over the years to know what your languages mean. Tell you what. If you give me a sprinkle of water, I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Anything any human has said in the presence of the network. Tit for tat, eh?"
I slowly sat down on the ground, next to George. This was a lot to think about. I've just gone from an odd boy who talks to the plants he waters, to something else entirely. What do I do with this information, this ability? I could get into a lot of trouble, very quickly. But if I play this right, George and I could live a pretty nice life. Pretty nice indeed. | Sig's mind flowed with thought as he walked down the street, his thumbs absently twiddling as he did so. Great thought always seemed to manifest in some sort of physical, nervous action as if his mind was not enough to contain it, it's activity bubbling over from the mind to the body.
The oak tree had not been talkative today, much to his dismay. His thoughts had been dark and full of angst for the past week and he had hoped that the old plant would have had some sort of wisdom that would part the persistent negativity like headlights through fog.
Unfortunately, a tree that had been standing for countless years had a different perspective on time than a mere human, and so the tree only spoke when the tree wanted to speak.
*Maybe a chainsaw would make the damn thing a little more compliant*, he thought, and then immediately felt a wave of shame at the thought. There had to be some way to change this vicious negative thought cycle.
But what was he to do when the universe wouldn't answer his questions? All he wanted to know was what was the point of all *this*, all that was and ever had been around him. Was that too much to ask for? Was it impossible to find some clarity on life?
Apparently it was. If the oak tree didn't know the answers, and he was sure that that was the reason for it's reluctance to talk rather than a more apathetic motive, then who did?
His thoughts were interrupted by a feeble cry of terror from somewhere in front of him, from right directly beneath him in fact. He stopped in the middle of his motion of stepping, his foot a mere couple of inches from the ground and then took a step back, revealing a wretched looking weed cowering in a crack on the sidewalk. It huddled there for a moment, shivering slightly, before stretching upward once it realized that it wasn't going to be crushed.
"You heard me?" it cried, it's voice hoarse. He had never talked to a weed before, but it's voice sounded exactly like what he would have imagined. Weak, scratchy, pitiful. Sig stifled a sigh at his thoughts being interrupted by such a lowly plant.
"Yes, I'm a flora speaker. My mother taught me," he said somewhat impatiently.
"Well thank her for me please, I think I might not have survived another step. Life is hard out here on this sidewalk."
"She died a few years ago."
"Oh, sorry to hear that," it said, it's arms drooping.
"Don't worry about it. Let me ask you something, weed."
"Sure, anything."
"Would you really have missed living if I hadn't stopped in time and I had crushed you and you didn't survive?"
"I'm not sure I could miss living once I was no longer living, but I understand what you mean. Yes, of course I would hate it if someone were to end me."
Sig pondered this for a moment, slightly shocked by the answer. He had assumed that the poor weed would not care for life one bit. "But didn't you just say how hard it is living out here on the sidewalk? You're always in danger of being crushed, water must be scarce, people look down at you and curse you if they notice you and there is nobody out here to take care of you and make sure you're living well. Doesn't that kind of existence get lonely?"
The weed was silent for a moment and Sig wondered if he hadn't offended it with his frank words, but then it replied, "It can get lonely. Especially when the rain hasn't fallen and the sun goes down, leaving me thirsty and hungry in the dark. Those are the worst nights.
But then the sun rises and it's a new day, full of new opportunity. Oh, the sights I will see in the light here in the middle of the city, the people I will meet even if they cannot speak me, the things that lie unknown because they have not happened yet. And I didn't misspeak when I said that living is hard out here on this sidewalk, but that's what has made me tough and resilient. I can endure the hardships as long as I get to see the beautiful sun each morning."
It was a moment of absurdity, that this downtrodden plant could retain such optimism in spite of the fact that it was fearing for it's life minutes ago.
It was a moment of joy for Sig. "That's so crazy that I think it makes sense to me, weed."
"My pleasure."
"Would you mind if I stopped by tomorrow on my way home and we had a chat again? I'd really like that."
"I would too."
The next day Sig returned to the weed, carrying a small water pail for his new acquaintance. | 2020-02-18T10:45:53 | 2020-02-18T09:32:56 | 47 | 13 |
[WP] You're the evil force prophesied to destroy the world, but when you awaken the world has already been destroyed by another evil, so you go out to help the world rebuild... so you can destroy it yourself. | 01.01.2044
Dear Diary:
Its very close now. Just 1 more year until I can break out and reek havoc on the world! Oh my excitement is slowly building. Not long until I hear the screams!
26.12.2044
Dear Diary:
Ahh! Less than a week now! Oh I dont sleep anymore, all I do is fantasise! I will soon be fulfilling the prophecy! My parents always told me, “always follow the prophecy, it brings us the best things in life.” I know Ma, I cant wait! The victims just finished celebrating something. It was probably another of their dumb beliefs!
01.01.2045
Dear Diary:
It was meant to be my day! I am so angry! Everything is destroyed. WHO STOLE MY THUNDER!
05.01.2045
Dear Diary:
Iv had a lot of emotions this week. It has been a sad time. Someone stole my prophecy. What will I tell my parents now? I will return not having done the only task assigned to me. I will be sent to the quicks no doubt! Im so sad..
12.01.2045
Dear Diary:
I have an idea! What if they rebuilt? Then I could destroy them again! Ah but they will need help. They need something strong and big, maybe something that can fly. Hmm. Ahah! ME! I fit that description! I will help them rebuild! And at the end I will destroy them again! My heart has been revitalised! I must start right away.
24.05.45
Dear Diary:
I have finished rounding up the surviving humans. Luckily there is enough to create a new civilisation. They have already began to build a new town. This is going better than I thought.
16.07.2045
Dear Diary:
The humans have began to worship me. I feel so powerful! They have built a temple in my name. I didn’t think this day would come. I am so happy!
28.02.46
Dear Diary:
The humans town has grown incredibly. The population has increased too. The town has almost everything old towns used to have. Every day I see the two-legged things walking around and doing things. I wonder if I ever will be so productive? Nah! Thats dumb.
05.03.2046
Dear Diary:
Things keep going. Im Beginning to feel a little proud of my peasants. They have come so far. What? No. Excuse me. I still plan to eat them of course.
09.09.2046
Dear Diary:
A few months and it will have been a year of the new civilisation. The humans grow rapidly. Their town is a city now.
24.12.2046
Dear Diary:
The humans are celebrating again. This thing they call “Christmas”. Strange holiday. They apparently give worship to some strange god or something.
27.12.2046
Dear Diary:
Seeing them celebrate was heartwarming. I am starting to think that maybe the prophecy is wrong. The peasants are good beings. They dont pose a threat?
06.02.2047
Dear Diary:
I have decided not to follow the prophecy. My parents were always mean to me anyway. The humans have opened my heart to love and peace. I think these are better than whatever the prophecy offers.
07.02.2047
Dear Diary:
I have remade myself! The humans have decided to dedicate a day of the year to me. They call it the “day of saviour”. Fitting I think. My work here is done. | I am Kali. The demon in Hindu mythology destined to destroy the earth. I am the change the world will need to go back to the age 'Satya Yuga' where the truth is worshiped. Right now it is Kaliyuga! meaning, I get to rule over the world. I am supposed to decide when and how it ends. King Parikshith, the last ruler of Dwaparayuga and I had an agreement in this regard. The world was supposed to be my toy for a minimum of 12 billion years. But they took over the world! they stole my thunder, they are using my WiFi and playing their games! They are the HUMANS! the mortal look alikes of gods. They were sent to this planet at the very beginning of Kaliyuga and I was a fool to think that they would add some twist in the game. They took over my post of being evil. And I am really really mad right now because being Evil is the only thing I know to be. Causing destruction is my only job. If the humans do it for the gods, the gods are going to fire me. No way am I going to let that happen.
I have a well devised plan and I want humans to know it. I am not going to disappoint them, I had planned for eyes melting by 3020! But these mortals are in a rush, they wanted it by early 2000s. I thought I will kill all the water animals one by one my self, but they had to pollute the water by the 20th century. I was hoping I'll kill the land animals and burn the forests. But they want to do it themselves too! they began cutting down of forests and hunting animals as early as the history of Civilization! Volcanoes! they disturbed them too. My desk has been completely emptied! In fact they have began to kill each other too. What will I do with all the diseases I have created for them?
There is only one solution to my problem. I am going to take birth among them. I am going to do what every god did. I will be one with them and bring reforms. I will teach them to worship nature and use their resources judicially. I will make them love each other irrespective of all those differences they have created among themselves. I will make them co-exist with animals. I will show them that God indeed gave them heaven.
Then when they go back to their god loving earth worshiping ways, I will destroy them the way I want. This letter shall stand as a guide for my mortal form to follow.
Dear me,
If you are reading this, please know that 'YOU ARE THE DEVIL, THE EVIL POWER DESTINED TO DESTROY THE EARTH. THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU ARE THE CREATURES STOPPING YOU FROM DOING THAT. SO YOU WILL HAVE TO HELP THEM BE BETTER HUMANS. YOU SHALL CARRY OUT THE FOLLOWING TASKS:
1. Tell them that religion is not real. They all were created by one energy who is your archenemy. Most of them think they are god, but show them who god is. You may have to worship him yourself and I know that is stupid, but do it! worship the true god who is NATURE so they follow you. They are really good at following, make use of that weakness.
2. Tell them they can eat animals only when they are hungry, they have invented other materials to cover their body. Tell them that use of chemicals and substances harmful to the true god is bad. Don't let them throw trash into water or space or fire. Ask them to clean their own shit and recycle renewable energy.
3. Most of all, tell them that those borders they have created for themselves are fictitious. Their god never wanted them to fight for what belongs to all of them. Tell them not to shoot, stab or poison each other. Tell them that with little respect and love they can rule the earth together. They have created an institution called MONEY. That is good. But tell them that MONEY IS NOT TO BE COLLECTED BUT TO BE SHARED. Make them all read all the forms of messages from their god. May it be the Bhagvath Geeta, the Quran, the bible or any other form of god's message. They fight on the values of these messages but nobody has bothered to understand them, make them understand.
Once they do all of it, don't leave them. Because what they learn today, they will forget tomorrow. They need to be reminded everything over and over. Hence it is your responsibility to keep taking births and making them good over and over. IT'S ALREADY TOO LATE, THEY HAVE DONE MOST OF YOUR JOB OF DESTROYING THE EARTH. IF YOU WANT TO BE EMPLOYED IN THE NEXT CYCLE OF THE UNIVERSE, YOU WILL HAVE TO PROTECT THE EARTH FROM BEING DESTROYED AT THE WRONG TIME BY THE WRONG BEINGS.
Good Luck, May their god be with you and not them,
Yours truly,
yourself. | 2020-02-24T04:48:11 | 2020-02-24T04:44:58 | 167 | 41 |
[WP] Upon dying you challenge Death to game of chess, choosing to play despite the warnings not to. Unfortunately you've won and soon find out you should have heeded Deaths warning. | "You're not going to call check?", Death said.
"To ask that question is to call yourself an amateur", I replied.
"I'm out of practice since most people heed the warnings."
The explanation rung hollow to me. Wouldn't someone out of practice not want to be talked down upon? Didn't the stakes of this game demand professionalism?
Perhaps my opponent's trying to tilt me into making a mistake. Yet his previous play seems as amateurish as his words imply. The slight mistakes I'd expect someone who plays the game for a living to punish have gone unnoticed. If Death truly is an amateur, then I'll get to live forever.
Over the next few turns, I swiftly won. The counterattack I expected never arrived.
"Checkmate. So, you'll return me to life now?"
"Incorrect, my new protégé. While someone who barely defeats Death gets returned to life, someone who completely overwhelms him takes his role instead, to ensure Death is one of the best chess players of all time. I was worried I'd never get to the afterlife after someone leaked this information to a mortal, but your foolishness has freed me from that fate."
He threw his cloak to me, revealing a distressingly wide grin.
"Thank you." | My victory with Death was bittersweet, I was warned by Death himself that winning may not be the wisest option. I ignored him all the same and won my life back, but things were never the same.
When I awoke in my bed the next morning it all seemed like a bad dream, it didn't take long however to realize my skin was pale as if I had spent all my life in darkness, food tasted like ash and water like hot acid. A small price to pay for my life back I thought, but that wasn't all that had changed.
Following my daily routine I headed to work around the same time my neighbor left her apartment, I always liked her and tried to leave at the same time just for a small chance to talk to her. I could immediately tell my new pale appearance was unsettling and when I noticed her rush towards the stairs instead of waiting patiently at the elevator like she normally does, I think that signaled the end of our friendly, flirty morning chatter.
Reaching my boring call center job was no different, I was ignored and blended in with the rest of the employee's just desperately holding on until their shift was over. Another downside of cheating death seemed to also be my enthusiasm, I could no longer even pretend like what I was selling was good. It was all boring and useless junk no one wanted and I didn't want to sell it. My compassion had completely faded, its like I wanted to kill everyone on the phone.. they were all stupid and wouldn't stop talking if only they were there I could strangle them and make them stop.
My boss called me into his office, immediately going off the script in his head of how to be kind yet also tell me I'm doing a crap job. He didn't comment on my appearance which was nice however I think its because he didn't even know what I looked like before this meeting.
It was hard to focus, his annoying voice drowned out like the water in a shower and all I could focus on was how sweaty he was, it was fairly hot but his skin seemed to almost glisten from it.. and it was oddly alluring. I couldn't eat toast so I had skipped breakfast but to think skin looked.. delicious? I guess another downside.
After painstakingly sitting through more calls I finally got home and my stomach was killing me, I was so hungry but I couldn't eat anything. When I thought about it the only thing that looked eatable was my boss' flesh. But eating human flesh, that's wrong isn't it? but I guess in some places of the world its okay even celebrated so maybe it'd be okay if I did it too.
I guess I already ruined my relationship with my neighbor, maybe I could just take an arm or leg? | 2020-04-08T10:03:52 | 2020-04-08T06:10:29 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] You are a B-list superhero on the verge of losing your job. During a battle with a villain, you accidentally end up killing one of the most prolific superheros of your time. That's when you realize that with your niché power that was useless as a hero, you could be an A-list supervillain. | I'm a lucky guy.
No, seriously, I have a superpower that makes me lucky. How do you define luck? If I had to put it vaguely, it has to do with causality. I can only put it vaguely. There's no scientifically concrete way to explain it. The cosmos, luck, the force, divine intervention. However you want to describe it, things work out in my favor. All I have to do is want them to. You probably think I'm crazy, but this has been tested so much it has honestly gotten boring.
The eggheads give me games of chance to play. I play a bunch of games where I don't want to win. That gives them a statistical w/l ratio. Then, they have me use my ability. 100% success rate. Just like that, the word "random" ceases to exist.
Sounds great, right? The richest man on earth, here I come! Except, no.
Turns out the powers that be keep a sharp eye on the world. When a guppy like me shows up and starts to make waves, big fish notice. This is the harrowing tale of how I was targeted by a supervillain, the forces of justice saved me, and I joined their ranks.
Just kidding.
I actually got caught in Vegas after a very profitable roulette run. They noticed within two or three casinos even though I took care not to visit places even remotely close to each other. I have to wonder if maybe the tables were supposed to be rigged and that's how they got me. Pretty fishy if you ask me.
Anyway, these guys in suits showed up at my hotel room and made it very clear that there was only one option where I kept breathing. Why didn't I use my power? That's the really terrifying part. I did! So the only option really was to just surrender. No invincibility or super-healing here. Just plain old flesh and blood.
So for the past couple of years, I've been working as a superhero. It's not like I've had a choice, really. I live in their headquarters and go on "missions" with them. They call me Lucky because people who wear underwear outside their clothes are brilliant. They drag me along and have me use "get lucky" to defuse bombs or cause weapons to backfire. Other than that I'm a pretty normal "Extra." These guys get all of the credit. So much so that they've started to say they don't need me anymore. That's a problem for me.
If these guys ditch me, they aren't going to just let me go. They've got a tracker and explosive device in my skull. I'll never get to live lavishly or enjoy my gift. It's not like I do here, with the petty role I'm given.
I have a plan, though.
You see, my ability comes at a cost. We'll call it "karma" just because I want to. For every bit of positive "karma" I create, there is also negative "karma" created. I've been building this stuff up for a while. I used to just throw it off on some unsuspecting ass. It's been feeling kind of full so I threw a little off on Lightning, our resident fast guy. He's kind of a douche so I thought it would be funny to see him trip at supersonic speeds. Holy shit! Not only did he trip, he did it into a void beam. A foot wide swath of the guy disappeared right across his chest.
All of the A-listers freaked out. I told them I was focusing on keeping bystanders alive at the time and missed it. Nobody knows I dumped bad luck on him. How could they? They're sure warming up to keeping me around, though. Six-figure income warm.
I'm a lucky guy. | [**Part 1**]
“Crowd control again? I know I messed up last time, but I was just trying to help. How was I supposed to know that Sir Bright had the situation under control? No one ever tells me anything. They leave me in the dark and when I try to do the right thing, they yell at me.”
“You should just be happy they even let you work crowds. Sir Bright wants you removed from the league after your stunt. People are in hospital because of you, you know your powers are dangerous, so why did you use them so close to civilians?”
“I-I didn’t think there was anyone on the other side of the wall, I was trying to create an exit, the flames were getting intense, I messed up.”
“Like always, just watch the crowds and try not to decompose anyone this time, you are lucky Sir Bright got there before they died. You could be in jail.”
Hopebringer was right, she was always right. I tried to play hero and people got hurt. I hated these powers, hated myself. The only reason I even got into the league was because of my family’s connections.
Even the people hated me, each giving me a look of scorn as they made their way towards the viewing platform, ready to listen to another speech by Sir Bright, discussing his latest victory. I wish they could love me like him, but everything about me just disgusted them. My pale, sickly flesh and my abilities won me no supporters, each wishing they would remove me from the league, something that I suspected would happen soon enough.
“Eyes sharp, Sir Bright’s coming onto the stage. If anyone is going to attack, they will attack now.”
Hopebringer snapped her fingers before me, drawing my attention to the golden suited hero, his natural charisma as bright as the clothing he wore, people sobbing like he was some sort of deity. He gave a nod to Hopebringer, only to ignore me as I offered him a nod, turning his attention to a random guard near one of the neighboring food stalls.
“My friends, yesterday was one of my toughest battles yet. I know it feels like I say that every year, but its true. Vagabond pushed me to my limits and without your support, I don’t think I could have won. Which is why I’m speaking to you today.”
The crowd just ate up his words. Even I couldn’t help but get enchanted by his speech. Something about the way he spoke just echoed those old comic book heroes I used to read about. My gaze falling off the crowd, turning to watch the speech.
“We need your support; a divided community is how the villains win. Now I know some of you have concerns about certain incidents that occurred yesterday. I know us heroes aren’t perfect, but we have standards, and we hear you loud and clear. I assure you, that individual will be terminated tomorrow if they do not resign on their own terms.”
The crowd cheered at his words, turning to face me, showering me in mocking claps of approval. I looked to Hopebringer for some support, but none came, her far more interested in keeping her professional composure.
“Get out of here, Plague. You bring nothing but bad luck.” A civilian shouted from the crowd.
It was a horrible nickname; I couldn’t remember the last time someone called me Compositive. What’s the point of even making a hero name if everyone’s just going to dub you some vulgar villain name?
“Now people. Compositive has served this city to the best of his abilities. Some people just aren’t heroes. Let’s at the very least commend him for a dignified exit.”
Sir Bright tried to start a small applause, only to stop when the booing continued. Then he finally looked my way, only to give a shrug of his shoulders, acting as though he tried to give me some dignity.
“VILLAIN COMING IN FROM THE LEFT ENTRANCE.” Hopebringer shouted, drawing attention to the intruding villain.
I turned, spotting Infernic, the villain standing amongst the crowd. Her hands slipping from her robes. A look of glee on her lips as a string of flames shot across the floor, cutting its way through the crowd towards the stage.
“Everyone stay calm, I’ll protect you. Hopebringer get the crowd out of here and Compositive, just stay out of the action before you get someone killed.” Sir Bright ordered, calling the shots from the stage.
She had gotten in on my side; I had dropped my guard and now people were in danger. How did she get in, I should have spotted her right? Standing frozen, I watched the terrified crowd nearly trample one another to death, Hopebringer rushing to divert them to the exits while Sir Bright attracted the flames to himself, the inferno surrounding him before extinguishing itself in his palm.
“Get out of here, please.” I tried to motion the crowd away, but anytime I approached they panicked further, like I was the villain. No matter what I called out, they didn’t listen, all I was doing was slowing down Hopebringers plan.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mqnhwd/wp_you_are_a_blist_superhero_on_the_verge_of/guhchqb/) | 2021-04-14T07:33:00 | 2021-04-14T05:09:14 | 367 | 221 |
[WP] A powerful sentient sword takes to raising an abandoned child. | *I'm not equipped for this. Protection? Sure, I can handle that. But morality? Emotional support? Comfort? I'm a tool. I hardly know about basic social etiquette, let alone... This.*
"...We can stop here for today, Elizabeth."
"Huh? Oh. Uh...Just... Under a tree again?" She asks, gesturing to the side of the path.
"That would be best."
She sighs, stepping off the crude dirt road, and begins looking for a suitable place to rest.
"...I was hoping to sleep in a bed tonight... I miss my home."
"...I know, Elizabeth. We should arrive in Atmos before the end of the week, at our current pace. The Knights of the Flame will be honored to receive you."
"You keep saying that..." She mutters, kicking a rock into a nearby bush.
"...Because it is the truth. Your father was a respected man, and one of the Circle. They owe him much, and taking you in will be the least they can do."
"Uh-huh, and I'm gonna be just as strong and brave as he was. I'm gonna carry on his legacy. The new hero of man, who spends her days sleeping under trees and hiding from those guys. What did you call them? Deposed?..."
"'...*Depraved.* ...Do you think your father was perfect, Elizabeth?"
"Of course he was! He saved so many people! He was the best swordsman to ever live! He destroyed the Dragon Priests! He... I won't ever be able to live up to him, Zenith..."
I glow softly on her back in thought as she crawls under a particularly large tree, setting her satchel to the side.
"...Your father was only human. He had his fair share of failures and humiliating stories. Just because they are not told as often as the tales of his valor, does not mean they didn't happen."
She sighs. "...I mean, yeah, probably, but... He was the hero. Everyone's gonna be watching me now that...he's gone."
"... People are far more busy than you may think. They will be far too concerned trying to live their own day to day, than to appraise each action you take. And those that have the time to judge you are not worth listening to anyway."
She pulls me out of my scabbard, setting me on the ground beside her, sitting quietly for a moment.
"... I miss him."
"... As do I, Elizabeth."
... The forest grows darker around us. Elizabeth is quiet for some time, evidently unable to sleep as she pokes in the dirt restlessly.
*Poor child. We will get revenge, one day.*
"...Elizabeth, in the supplies we got at Wynefrost, you purchased a lyre, correct?"
"...Huh? Yeah. I don't know how to play it though. Why'd you tell me to get it?"
"...On lonely nights like these, your father often played music to himself. Most adventurers we met seemed to pick up an instrument. It helps, from what I have seen."
She looks at me, then back to her satchel. She digs through jt for a moment, producing the small stringed instrument. Simple and wooden.
"...How do I... Do it?" She asks, holding it out awkwardly.
"... Just strum across the strings, and see what sounds nice. Your father taught himself, over several months. No better time to begin teaching yourself than now..."
Experimentally, she plucks a few strings.
Glowing softly in the dark, I let her concentrate, keeping my attention on our surroundings.
Gradually, the grimace that has been stuck to her face most of the evening seems to lift as she begins to focus on the instrument, strumming away into the night. | "Awake, Kenji. Attackers will arrive momentarily, “ the glowing katana whispered. Kenji's eyelids fluttered open, and after finally absorbing the meaning of the sword's words, leapt to his feet, still holding the grip. "I haven't let you down yet. I don't intend to start now."
Kenji held the blade vertically and took slow steps across the wooden floor. Each step caused enough of a creak to make him wince. "How many of them are there? Are they armed?"
"At least three and yes. They must be under the command of Junichiro. You must get to the hidden compartment underneath the floorboards of the armor room first. That is surely their target.
Kenji nodded and hastened his sneaking towards the edge of the dojo. He was tall enough to peer through the paper window that lined the entrance. Seeing no shadows illuminated by the outdoor lanterns, he slid the entrance open and hugged the outer wall leading to the storage building. Under the cover of darkness, he began to run full speed towards the building, and used his momentum to propel himself up the siding onto the second floor. He slid a small wooden window open and thrust inside, feet first. The drop was slightly further than expected, and he stabilized his landing with his left palm on the floor. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he placed his ear along the nearest wall, overhearing voices in conversation:
"So, where are we expecting the crate to be?"
"The boss said it was definitely in here. If it's not in any of these closets, we'll tear up the floorboards if we have to. We're not returning to him empty-handed."
"Fine. You two take the closets, I shall start with the floorboards."
"I wouldn't put it past this kid to store it somewhere we're never look, like in this suit of armor!"
Kenji grimaced at the suggestion of defiling his father's samurai armor.
“Careful, now.” His katana offered.
Ignoring the advice, Kenji slammed open the entrance and screamed, "don't you dare touch that!”
Inside, he could now see the three assailants, all with the unmistakable face tattoos of the Three Dragons gang, run by Junichiro the bandit.
“Looks like the lost kitten has finally come out to play!” One taunted. He pointed a finger at Kenji. “I’m not scared of some brat whose father didn’t stick around. And you know he’s dead, right? The Great Jiro of Hokkaido who studied with the sword masters, cut down in his sleep by his lieutenant!” The goon continued to accusingly point at Kenji, “you’re scum and your whole family line is weak-“ he paused, eyes widened. Speechless, he stared as the tip of his finger fell off. He screamed, dropping his sword, and gripped his now-four-fingered hand. The goon off to the right, who was already nervous, began to make a break for the door.
Without flinching, Kenji threw his blade into the would-be deserter’s back. The remaining goon smirked. “I was warned about you and your… katanagami. I won’t underestimate you like these fools did.” He readied his sword.
Kenji reached out towards the hilt, still embedded in the fleeing goon’s back. The hilt wobbled and then flew towards his open hand.
The smirking goon took one final look at Kenji. “Just know: if you cut me down, Junichiro will send a hundred more men.”
Kenji breathed in and out of his nostrils in a controlled fashion, as the katanagami had taught him. “Let him.”
The goon screamed as he ran at full speed toward Kenji. Kenji parried the goon’s swing and aimed toward his opponent’s legs.
“His left flank is unguarded.” The katanagami whispered. Kenji deflected two more strikes from the goon and swung toward the unguarded zone. He felt the smooth slice through flesh and pulled his sword back, staring into the goon’s eyes. Viscera began to spill out the gash and Kenji’s final opponent collapsed to the ground.
Kenji flicked the blood off the katanagami, the drops staining the floor near his bare feet. He walked over to the four-fingered goon who had passed out from shock. Kenji shook his head at the pathetic sight. He stepped towards the corner of the room, below his father’s armor, and lifted the loose floorboards to reveal the chest. Kenji gasped, noting that the Dutch muskets were missing and had been replaced by a handwritten note:
*My dearest Kenji,*
*I assume you’ve dispatched with my men if you’re reading this note. I’m afraid I’ve already made off with your precious trade cargo and am on my way to Himeji Castle with your father in tow.*
*You can try to find me but should be warned that my men are now armed with much more powerful weaponry.*
*Good luck!*
*-Junichiro*
---
More stories of mine can be found at /r/James_Steele | 2021-08-03T16:05:14 | 2021-08-03T15:46:41 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] Instead of a marriage to unite the two kingdoms, the rulers decide that their children should just be like, best buds. Tell the story of the grand adventure that formalizes their BFF status. | "No, you can't," laughed Taylor.
"I can!" shouted Anita back.
They locked eyes, rivalry flaring in their spirits, the desire to be better, to vanquish the foe and go down in history as the winner. An iron will, wrapped in agile muscles.
Anita, 6 years old, stood at the bottom of the mighty tree that Taylor, 7, had climbed. By all accounts, the tree was a sick cherry tree that had grown crooked and could be climbed by a cancer-struck elder in a wheelchair.
But to these two kids, it was the alpha and omega, the summit of the world on which they could watch the storm rage beneath them as they ruled everything their eyes could see.
After gruelling attempts, Taylor had succeeded in climbing the theoretical mother of all trees with Anita's help.
Alas, treachery befell the poor girl, as Taylor, in his duplicitous rictus of evil, proclaimed to have prevailed upon this herculean task alone.
And now, friendless, abandoned in this harsh world, Anita had only herself to rely on. And she would. She would show her enemy how strong she was. She jumped and climbed, tired from previous attempts, but her spirit soaring bright.
One hard grasp after the other, she came close to the top, grunting and spitting and stepping with her muddy foot on the harshness the world threw at her.
*Witness me, Gods and kings, witness my might as I climb the mother tree, despair at my might, fear my recknon-*
"Fuck!"
Lost in her imagination, Anita slipped and was about to fall.
But Taylor the traitor still had some good in him, he lunged to help his esteemed rival, only to fall alongside her. In a puddle of mud, as it happens in fields during rain.
Splosh!
They cried, for the thousand kilometer fall had bruised them to the core.
But history shall remember them victorious, not for succeeding at the first try, but for getting back up after many falls.
Drying tears under the heavy rain, they nodded. The betrayal had been forgotten, Taylor had shown his true heart.
Together, they went at the mountain.
They stumbled, begged the other to hold the line, encouraged themselves with bitter tears.
And at the end of the universe, when the rain died out and the sun shone it's last rays upon the kids, they stood at the top of the world.
Happy, they went home.
"Mom, mom! You wouldn't believe the adventure I had today!" cheered Anita as she came home.
"Dad, I'm a superhero!" exclaimed Taylor upon opening the door.
When Martha Scapulet saw the dirt on her daughter's clothes, she shouted at her and grounded her for the day. When Andrew Montaigu noticed the scratches and the messy hair of his son, he cried out to the heavens and put him to sleep early.
The next day, Taylor and Anita met at school.
"My parents are dumb," said Anita.
"Mine too," answered Taylor.
When the teacher called names and asked the children to enter in rank, they held hands. | Princess Nadia dressed not in expensive finery and jewels, but tight-clad leather garb and tied her hair back. She was ready to go venture off and take a break from being a princess. Auburn hair tied into braids, a couple of daggers at her side, bow and quiver in hand, tight boots on her feet. She wore a hood and covered part of her face. She opened her window, silently jumping to a nearby tree.
Infamous bandit Reynolds Ghost had captured a civilian, and no one had the strength to defeat him. And finding him was another difficulty. He moved around and no one knew his hideout.
Princess Nadia used her sources and high position to seek more information, and was ready to go there herself to find and bring him to justice. Leaping tree to tree like a flying squirrel, she navigated the woods she had grown up playing in, despite her parents’ disapproval.
And some many miles later, she saw the cave. A variety of bandits walked in and out as torches lined the sides. A smirk graced Nadia’s face. They wouldn’t expect the princess to be fighting them.
Silently crouching among the tree branches, she reached back and pulled an arrow out of its quiver and nocked it in her bow. Drawing back at full strength, her eyes waiting for the perfect time to strike.
Ah, there! Looks like the bandit outside keeping guard is switching with another one. As the first one walked inside, she let her arrow fly. It went straight into the chest, ending his life swiftly.
Jumping down, she headed inside, switching her bow and arrows for her twin daggers, making quick work of any bandits she saw by sneaking up and killing them from behind. Hm… maybe Reynolds Ghost wasn’t here.
In one off-shoot of the main cavern, she saw him! Prince Austin. Dressed in peasant garb. What was he doing here? Why? She approached.
“I’m not telling you anything!” He snarled. Before he could say anything else, she had clamped a hand over his mouth.
“I’m here to rescue you!” She whispered. Austin calmed down instantly. “Be quiet.”
He obeyed as she went to work cutting his ropes.
“Where are you from?” He asked in a quiet voice.
“I’m from the palace.” She answered, both honestly and evasively.
“Wow! How’s the princess?”
She froze. Why would he ask? She thought Austin didn’t care about her.
“She’s good. As elegant and refined as always. I wasn’t particularly close with her.” Nadia lied as she cut away the last of his bonds and helped him to his feet.
“Oh.” Austin sounded deflated. “I thought she and I could be friends maybe.”
A twinge of guilt was in her heart after that. Though, maybe Austin could forgive her brief deceptions once they’re back at the palace?
“Let’s get out of here. Be careful, there might still be bandits.”
The way out was quieter than the way in. Reynolds Ghost wasn’t here, and Austin demonstrated some skilled unarmed combat abilities. Nadia was impressed.
And when they returned to the palace, her parents were in shock and awe.
“Prince Austin! We had heard word that you had been captured. But who’s your rescuer?”
“Hi mom.” Nadia took off her hood and scarf covering her face.
“Nadia!” Her mom burst out in rage, before settling back in her throne. “We’ll talk later. Guards, escort Austin to the east wing and show him the rooms there.”
Nadia stood there blankly as her mom lectured her about the dangers of this expedition. She barely registered any of it before she was instructed to check in on Prince Austin.
Walking there, her footsteps felt heavy and dread settled in. What if Austin was angry at her? He wanted to be friends, but what if he decided her lies were too great?
She knocked on his door.
“Come in.” He spoke.
Nadia entered, still in her leather clothes and wearing her weapons while he was dressed in more suitable silks and jewels.
“So… you’re Princess Nadia…” He said slowly.
“Yeah.” She shifted foot to foot, refusing to make eye contact. Silence followed.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were such an amazing fighter?” He gushed like an excited kid. What? Her eyes widened as she stared at him. “I would love to spar against you sometime!”
Perhaps she was wrong, Austin would make a good friend and didn’t mind her lies. | 2021-08-20T09:46:34 | 2021-08-20T08:29:31 | 145 | 52 |
[WP] No one is sure what happened, but suddenly everyone started obeying the law. All crime ceased. At first it was beautiful, but it quickly started going very wrong. | My mother’s voice was soft and gentle, her touch kind and enveloping. Hugged tight against her chest, I felt warm tears begin to form, wishing she’d *let me go*.
I couldn’t push her off, though. I couldn’t even blink on command, couldn’t even breathe. I was just a puppet. *Everyone was.*
Finally released from the hug, my chin lifted to look her in the eyes. My lips tugged into a smile, and I could taste the salt as the tears I had been quietly weeping rolled past my split lips. She returned the smile, and I imagine it looked just as crooked and wrong on my face as it did on hers.
“I love you, mama.”
The words were tender, but my voice was all wrong. It sounded like someone was playing my vocal chords like an instrument, each syllable a note and each note off-key.
She just kept smiling in return, turning away from me to walk into the kitchen- presumably to get my lunch. I waited for her return like a soldier at attention, back rigid and muscles tense. They never got to relax, not even in rest- I would lie in bed, limbs straight as boards, breathing even in a mockery of sleep as I waited for the sun to rise again. God, I ached. It was hell.
It was then that my mother returned, singing out a cheerful goodbye from unwilling lips as she handed me a brown paper bag. For the first time that morning, I got a good look at her face. She was crying too, I realized, not even able to wipe away the trailing tears.
“Have a good day at school, Sammy.”
“Goodbye, mama.”
It was the least alone I’d felt in months. | On a street corner in city A--, Ring County, Gregson received a high five from a full-bearded man who wore a beanie. Gregson was expecting a high five, but not what happened after. In his hand he had a twenty dollar bill and he expected a quarter ounce packet to exchange hands when the high five happened. But the man just stared at him and did not take the twenty or give anything in return.
"I'm out of the game. Find someone else," said the man and walked away.
Gregson blinked once, twice, uttered a soft huh, and watched the man striding away from him. Saliva pooled in Gregson's mouth. He spat it out. His right hand twitched.
"Jimmy boy," Gregson spoke into his phone. "Jim, can you hook me up with some hope?"
"Hope? God can give you hope, not man," came the reply.
"Stop fooling around man. My mouth's a lake right now. Old Pops just told me he's out of the game. You know someone?"
Silence.
"No...actually the same thing happened to me. All my guys are out."
"Strange."
"Yeah..."
Gregson walked back home and chewed gum to keep his mouth occupied. He turned the TV on. Nothing good. Turned to news. There's no interesting news, except the news that there's no interesting news and everything's working as expected. This irritated Gregson and he switched the TV off.
The next day Gregson found that everything was suddenly more expensive.
"What's the matter, Vic? You trying to rob the people? The people can always not buy stuff, you know," he said to the owner of the local grocery.
Vic laughed. "It's hardly my fault. Everything's expensive everywhere. Go ahead, visit other stores they're all the same."
Gregson gulped the excess saliva in his mouth. "New policy?"
"Yeah. The cheap places stopped making things cheap. They say labor cost's gone up."
"Gone up? When?"
Vic shrugged and that was all. Gregson did not feel the slightest urge to contradict Vic. It all seemed very sensible to him even though he didn't have enough money to buy the stuff he had in his cart. The urge to ask for credit without contract did not tempt him and so Gregson left the store with a roll of toilet paper, two chicken breasts, and prepackaged salad.
As the days rolled by, surviving on unemployment benefits became more and more unfeasible for Gregson. Jim stopped returning his calls, not that Gregson himself was too terribly interested in hearing "I have nothing" over and over again especially after the saliva thing resolved itself.
An emaciated Gregson sobbed in his bed. The price of everything was too high. Businesses weren't doing so well. The country wasn't doing so well. There was peace, yes, there was order, yes, but there also was the stench of death as the poor robbed of their implements of survival suffered like Gregson did. Even water was expensive now. He craved the very saliva that he wanted to get rid of only months earlier. Thirsty, hungry, Gregson stared at his ceiling as the orderly hum of vehicles filled his room. | 2021-09-22T11:18:45 | 2021-09-22T08:27:31 | 54 | 27 |
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run. | We thought it would be fun to get our Ham Radio licenses. I mean, when the "No Code" licenses happened back in the 90s it was fun to get them, and our Radio Shack portable radios. They weren't cheap, but I think, at the time, they were cheaper than Cell Phones with their crazy Dollar a minute plans. (Those were the days, huh?)
I was the last of our group to actually use my Amature license. I met some older guy who convinced me that there was more than just the "CB" radio aspect of it. One of the old timers was really insistent that I learn Morse code. He told me it would change my life. He was not wrong.
There are patterns EVERYWHERE in life.
Some of these patterns are visual. Nautilus shells, for instance have a pattern that is repeated in other places in nature, or architecture, and we didn't know at first why.
There are patterns in taste and smell. We love meat that that has been charred, because genetically, we've been programmed since Neanderthal days to accept the Maillard reaction to cooking as a healthy thing. Sour milk, we know is bad. Rotten flesh, we know will harm us before we eat it.
With auditory sense, I used to think that just birds or the waves in nature were repeatable patterns that were natural. That is of course, until I learned Morse code.
I learned Morse like most folks did, SLOWLY. I really sucked at it, trying to do my lessons on the computer with training software, or when some of my older Ham buddies helped me. That was the case until I started to just treat it like another language. I would play recorded Morse Code training modules as I went to sleep. I would listen to them while mowing the lawn on my Walkman. In every day conversation, I started thinking about how I would dot-dash out the conversations I was having with my family, friends, co-workers and more.
They say you know when you've really learned a language, when you dream in it. I took a lot of Spanish in highschool and college. I never dreamed in it. One morning I woke up, and realized that I had dreamed my entire dream in Morse code. I was of course fascinated by this discovery. I fired up my old radio and tuned to a Morse channel and realized I didn't need to write anything down to translate it. I just knew what they were saying.
I was really excited by this, and couldn't wait to tell my co-workers and maybe the ham group that was going to meet later that month for coffee.
I heard the weather lady talking about the chance of rain that morning, so I grabbed my umbrella and headed out the door for the bus stop. It was cloudy, but still dry when I got on the bus, but we hit rain about halfway to my office. That's when I noticed it. The pattern of the rain on the roof of the bus sounded like morse code. (Don't even ask me about dashes, they were THERE!)
<Run Ray! Run Ray! Run!>
Over and over. Once I realized it was doing that I sat in stunned amazement while listening to it, some how, the rain got harder, the pattern remained the same. I reached up for the "Stop Requested" cord and pulled it. The bus driver quizzacly looked at me, and pulled up to the curb. I walked up front and when I got to the door, they studied me for a moment before opening the door.
"This isn't your stop Ray. You sure you want to get off here?"
"I'm pretty sure. I... Something is telling me. Let's call it my gut." and he opened the door and I opened my umbrella and got off the bus.
I watched the bus pull away and drive towards my office. I started to walk and I could hear the plinking of rain on my umbrella telling me, "Run, Run, Run" Over and over again. I picked up my pace, and as my pace picked up, the pattern changed, to "Yes, Yes, Yes".
Hearing that, I stopped cold.
"Run, Ray, Run Ray, Run" resumed in morse pattern on my umbrella.
I heard a crashing sound a few blocks ahead, and I took off running, closing my umbrella, not worrying about getting wet. I could hear the patterns on awnings and the sidewalk. "Run!"
I actually caught up to my bus, who was stopped in a line of cars. Up ahead of them, was a horrific crash. A liquid nitrogen tanker had been sideswiped by a garbage truck and the liquid nitrogen was spewing out right at the bus stop ahead. I saw the bus driver staring ahead very pale. When they saw me on the sidewalk, they opened the bus door and yelled at me.
"Ray! Get in here out of the rain!"
"Oh hey, I'm glad you were there."
Gladys the bus driver pointed at her watch, "I should have been there when that happened. But somebody needed an emergency stop. Whatever that was, I am thanking the Lord for it."
I stood on the steps of the bus, just sheltered. I could hear the rain with a different pattern now. "Stay, Stay, Stay".
"Uh, yeah, about that, I needed to .... Um, I can't explain it, nobody'd believe me anyway." I took out my cell phone and dialed my office, telling them about the accident. I even took some pictures for good measure. My boss was a prick sometimes, and yeah.
Now, I listen to the Universe very carefully, because it is still using Morse code to guide me. There are other incidents, but those are for other stories. | Secrets slipped through the rain in staccato undulations of long and short. Everything in the world had a Name, every Name in the world had a Purpose, every Purpose in the world a Subversion, every Subversion a Corruption, because of course a subversion by itself is not a wrong thing, and there are many wrong things in the rain.
Doubting Thomas, one of those wrong things, slipped through rain. And the rain whispered to him, in a language he wished he had never learned, *“Run.”*
He did not hear *“Run,”* like a spoken word or like the other rhythmic secrets of Name, Purpose, Subversion, and Corruption. Rather, *“Run”* was the Synthesis of all those things. When the rain whispered his Name, Thomas, he heard the first short beat of word alongside it, short-long-short, di-da-di in the Morse Code conventions that haunted him. When it whispered his Purpose, to listen to the world and the rain and its whispers, Thomas heard the second beat of word, short-short-long, di-di-dah, in the cracks between the command. In Thomas’s own Subversion, his oppressive doubt, he heard the last beat of “Run” in the stamp of his feet on the pavement, splashing through the puddles in a strange, long-into-short trip of a rhythm, da-dit.
And in his Corruption, his trust in himself and himself alone, Doubting Thomas heard an exclamation point made of thunderclaps and lightning.
There was other noise, other rain-whispers to be sifted, and there was talking too, because a woman ran beside Doubting Thomas and she had been talking all the while, been talking since they left their home and ran down the streets and ran out through park and on. Rachel was her name, just Rachel, and Doubting Thomas heard all her secrets in the rain too, and in the beat of her feet against the wet, sopping world. She splashed heavily into a puddle and the splash whispered *“Run.”* She brushed a tree branch and all the little droplets whispered *“Run.”* Doubting Thomas heard them fall, each and every one of them with the same secret.
Her mouth moved, said words like “Where are you going?” and “What’s wrong?” and “Talk to me!” but Thomas did not trust those. They weren’t the rain, and they weren’t the Code. They were screamed not whispered, screamed in such a hoarse, broken voice that Thomas could not do anything but run from them, because his Purpose was to listen, his Subversion was to doubt, and his Corruption was such that he couldn’t trust any soul but his own.
Besides, Thomas thought, people whisper truth, they don’t scream it. Truth hurt too much to be screamed.
Doubting Thomas ran on, drenched by the rain and puddles thrown up by cars, once by mud when he tripped, fell, and sprawled through a patch. Rachel helped him up, said more words to run away from.
Eventually, chest heaving, tears mixing with the rain, hair thin and soaked and scraggly, she stopped. Falling hard to her knees, she screamed her last words with all the ragged-edged force of a blizzard, not a rain storm, which only frightened Doubting Thomas more because blizzards could not talk, they were no secrets to parse in blizzards, only in the rain.
“Please come back!” Rachel screamed, shrieked, pleaded, begged.
Doubting Thomas ran on, doubting and believing in turns, as the rain blew every which way around him and secrets blew with it.
*Run.*
From time to time on his way out of the city people called questions from beneath their umbrellas and awnings.
“Are you okay?” an old woman in a fuzzy, lopsided hat shouted.
“Slow down, champ!” a big man in a blazer said.
“You fucking asshole!” a pale, scrawny kid in a sports car shouted when Thomas ran through the walk sign and brakes screeched red amid the evening murk. Doubting Thomas did not know if he doubted the kid, the rain had whispered similar things before.
He still heard *“Run,”* in the hollows of everything around him.
Eventually his phone began to ring, then ring again, then ring and ring and ring some more as Rachel called. She called until Thomas cried, until his doubt almost washed away with the tears because she had run so far, even when she had a weak heart and a bad knee from that time in college. After all, she had said things even before their run, would say them again now, if the rain told him to answer the phone.
*“Run,”* the rain said, so Doubting Thomas ran. She said things, but there were no secrets in her voice that he could hear, and when she screamed them it scared him very badly. Many things scared him very badly.
Eventually Thomas passed into the suburbs. Night fell, and it became rare to encounter another person on the streets, in rain so cool and callous as this. He passed three people, a couple that shied away from him, a young woman who crossed the street when she saw him running; none of them said a word, save for the young woman who gasped a bit, and the hollow space behind what she did not say was filled by rain that still whispered *“Run.”*
Dawn came, the rain did not end, and no one spoke to Doubting Thomas. It rained for three days and three nights, and on the fourth day, when Thomas rested in a blighted copse off I-79, the rain stopped.
He caught his breath, drank from a puddle, massaged blistered, horrifically aching feet.
The world was silent, there were not even birds, and on this stretch of the road, at this hour of the morning, there were no cars. Doubting Thomas pulled out his phone— it was dead. Silent.
He splashed his bare feet into a puddle till the water rose and fell in a great, scattered flood, but the drops were too scattered to make words and tell secrets, and there were too many hollow spaces in the world for a puddle to fill.
Silent.
Silent.
Silent.
Thomas, Doubting Thomas, walked until he found an old, abandoned trailer, slipped into the silent room, sat down in a dusty chair that creaked loudly but did not speak. He brushed paraphernalia off the single table, listened for a secret in the clatter. Silence.
He stared at his phone for a very long time, as the sun crept up on the horizon, then over, then sat again. Sometime in the dark, it rained.
And the rain whispered *“Run.”* Doubting Thomas, trusting only in himself, listened to all the world whispering that word, *“run, run, run, run, run, run, run,”* into the hollow places where before there had only been silence. He stood, stretched for a few minutes, and then he ran to a place where all the words were only whispers, and there wasn’t anyone left to doubt.
Behind him, in a broken down trailer some miles off I-79, his phone sat on a dusty table cleared of paraphernalia and laden down with discarded dreams.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-09-28T09:21:36 | 2021-09-28T08:37:14 | 238 | 54 |
[WP] They can only be slain with a wooden stake driven through their heart. The wooden stake must be made from wood older than the vampire in order to be effective... This is the leading cause of death among amateurs.
[deleted] | He was small. The basic body shape of a vampire changes very little once created, and in the age when the Ancient was made, the average height of a human was much shorter. Scarcely five feet tall, almost pathetically thin, with dark, sunken eyes, the Ancient was still the most deadly monster Henry had ever faced.
Henry was backed into a corner of the ancient catacomb where he'd gone hunting when he'd heard an Ancient had been unearthed by lesser vampires. He'd torn through its minions, but now the creature had him cornered, and was closing in.
Ancients rarely walked, or spoke -- they were beyond such things. The creature hovered an inch or two off the ground at all times, its vampiric ability to fly having become second nature. And when it 'spoke' its lips never moved. Instead, its hollow, mocking voice echoed in Henry's head.
*You killed my children.*
Its mental voice didn't feel angry, or even affronted. It was...curious.
"You're next." Henry growled.
Laughter that was disturbingly childlike echoed in Henry's mind.
*To have killed so many of mine, you must know the secret: that a vampire can only be slain by a stake made from wood older than the vampire itself.*
That was true. Among vampire hunters, those inclined to esoteric philosophy proposed a variety of mystical explanations about why this was so. Henry had always been content to simply accept that it worked.
*To find wood old enough to unmake my offspring and servants was, doubtless, trivial. Few were a century or more, and most were much less. There are countless trees still living, that are older than they were.*
Henry lifted the stake he'd been using throughout the night, and held it out defensively. It was banded with metal to keep it from cracking or breaking on repeated uses, and completely coated in a fine layer of ash from the dozen or more vamps he'd slain tonight.
The psychic laughter rang out again, mockingly.
*Oh sweet mortal child. I am among the very eldest of my kind. I was made in the days when your forebears still wore animal skins, and hunted the great mammoths upon the steppes. I am far older than the oldest living tree, and any harvested wood older than I am would have long since turned to dust, Your weapon will not harm me. It cannot.*
Henry set his jaw. "Come on and find out, then."
*I like your spirit, morsel. Perhaps when I have drunk my fill of you, I will make you the first of my new servants.*
The Ancient surged forward in a blur. It ignored the stake.
It really shouldn't have.
The Ancient screamed in shock and agony, as its body began turning to ash, in a circle slowly spreading out from where the stake bit into its heart. Henry desperately battered at it, as it tried to claw its way towards him, even though it impaled itself deeper in doing so. Despite is strength fast ebbing away, it was still monstrously strong. Any ordinary vampire would have collapsed into ash instantly.
But, finally, as the spreading ash reached its wide, horrified eyes, the Ancient stopped moving, and finally collapsed. Its body broke into several large chunks of solid ash that held its shape, as it hit the rocky floor of the catacomb.
Henry mopped his brow, and paused to catch his breath. Then, with a triumphant sneer, he brought his heel down on the charcoal lump that had been the Ancient's head, and crushed it into dust. Crouching down, he paused to wipe the ash from his stake, revealing the brushed metal surface of the metal bands, and the strange striated colors of the stake itself, that in many ways resembled crystal more than wood.
Then, he reached into his pocket, and retrieved a small disk-shaped object. He'd bought a couple dozen of these, the last time he'd visited the gift shop at the place they came from. He gingerly placed it atop the pile of ashes that had been the Ancient, then grinned and dusted off his hands, as he rose. Henry's cheerful whistling echoed through the dark catacombs as he made his way back out.
Behind him, he left the remains of the Ancient. Atop the pile of ashes and charcoal chunks, sat a commemorative button -- the kind you can pin to a shirt or backpack. The button showed a rocky desert landscape, and had bold old-west style lettering around the rim:
*I Visited Petrified Forest National Park.* | "Don't be so sure of yourself," the voice practically bled out of his mouth. Smooth and sure like the blood that covered his chin. "You're not impervious."
The person on the ground was convulsing, muscles pumping and veins popping as a flood of pain pulsed over him. He looked up at the blood stained figure as their eyes became covered in darkness. "I feel invincible!" They screeched.
The figure sneered at him, "You're not listening."
"This power!" They stood up, shirt having been ripped off and two pinholes on their neck being the only imperfection left. "It's consuming!"
The taller figure loomed over the man, face wrought with a sense of inadequacy and impotence. "What's your name worm?"
Heaving with a newfound power he said, "Aron."
The figure nodded, a slight hum emanating from his thoughtful, smooth jaw. He then suddenly reached up with his hand and slapped the man across his face like one would swat away a fly -- except the power behind it was immense. The man went flying dozens of feet into the trunk of a distant tree.
New vampires always become enraptured by their new powers, it annoyed the man greatly. He walked over to Aron, who was twisting on the ground with pain, and leaned down beside him. "Do you feel invincible?" His words were quite, but Aron caught every sharp syllable. "Do you feel powerful now?"
"N... No..."
"Good." He stood up, looking out far into the distance. "Get up."
"I..." The voice was horribly strained from the pain. "I can't."
"You're no longer like them, now get up."
Sure enough, and to the surprise of even himself, Aron came to his feet. He was unsteady and exhausted from the hit, but his wits were slowly coming back to him.
The tall man continued. "Do you remember who you were before?"
Aron furrowed his brow as he tried to reach back. "I'm... not sure." He could remember concepts and ideas, but anything involving himself was gone. Like mist and clouds freshly blown away.
"Precisely. As far as you care now, you were never one of them."
*One of them*. It all started to dawn on him. Slowly his intoxication withered away and became replaced by confusion and worry. "Wait... You did this to me... Why?"
For the first time the tall man smiled. "Follow me." He waved his long, pale fingers. Aron shivered at the sight of the hand, just seconds before it launched him dozens of feet now it looked delicate and proper. *What else could this man do?*
They walked slowly through a grouping of trees. In the distant a large building glowed yellow. "You're should be honored." The man said proudly. "You're the first new one in eons."
"New vampire?" How did he know that's what he was? What was this feeling doing to him?
"Yes. Hundreds of years ago me and the other lords all agreed that making more was too risky, it gave us away. You all tended to squeal before falling down dead. We needed a plan, and only now is it done."
Aron started to piece things together in his head. "So you all are making more now."
The man stopped for a moment, seeming to recall something. It was brief, only about a second before he kept walking. "It's just me."
"Oh." The man looked and acted impenetrable, but for that one brief second he seemed to waiver ever-so-slightly.
"It doesn't matter, it's a new age. You will be the first in a new generation that will seek to reconquer the world and make man anew."
"Conquer the world... I don't understand. What was the plan you all made."
"Wood can kill you." The way he talked, the way he walked, all of it seemed to emanate power and intensity. It made Aron want to hide in a corner. "But, only wood that is older than you. So, for your instance, any stick put into your heart is a death sentence. It was why we couldn't do anything for so long. Every new whelp could be taken out with a simple bow and arrow. Before you all could even fill out to a tenth of your power you were slain."
*This is only a tenth of my power?* He thought in awe.
"What chan--." Aron was interrupted by the building before him. Its large metal walls were shinning in the moonlight, and smoke rose from its various neck-like chimneys, pumping ash into the sky. Across the side it read: *Immortal Timber Company*.
"What's changed?" His voice was proud. "The world did, thanks to my centuries of effort. Now there is not a single log still standing that is older than me. All distant jungles and forest have been slain by my word. They had no idea, but I sold their own doom to them."
Aron shuddered at the words. Looking at the man it all made sense, he walked like he did because he knew that nothing could hurt him. He treaded the earth like only he could -- like a god who knows that no ant could hope to touch him.
"So what next?"
His eyes were alight like the bonfire of wood before him. He'd watched his mortality slowly die away before his eyes, all that was left was divinity. "Now we show them why they should again fear the night."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed checkout my subreddit! r/mrsharks202 | 2022-04-26T13:44:53 | 2022-04-26T12:15:06 | 43 | 22 |
[WP] As the last worshipper of your god, you inherited his power when he died from too little mana. So as not to suffer the same fate, you started a religion around yourself, and heal and save anyone who prays to you. | I healed everyone who came to me. No questions asked. I was a God and I was infinite. Humanity had faith in me. And it was not wavering. I wouldn’t allow it to waver. Not ever.
I watched the skies as stars burned out. Symbols of older gods losing their supporters. Some had been friends of mine in the pantheon, others were more adversarial. It was of no consequence as long as my followers held their faith. And they would.
Millenia passed and I now sat alone upon my golden throne. No other God’s remained. They had long since faded into non-existence. Yet, my foot tapped nervously on the marble floors. Visits were becoming more infrequent with each passing decade. As though those below no longer cared about my existence. I could feel my magic waning. My hands grew wrinkled and my hair had begun to grey and thin. Age was taking it’s toll due to a lack of faith. Tragic.
I guess death was to come, if only I could know why. And that’s when someone entered. An old man, hobbled over in a ripped brown shawl.
“How can I help?” I said. I tapped my bony fingers on my arm rests as I looked towards nothing on my walls.
“Oh nothing, nothing,” the old man croaked.
“Then why do you dare waste my time? Who do you think you are that you, an insolent brat can waste MY time?” I stormed towards him.
“What time?” The old man chuckled. “Your time is over my friend.”
I spat at his feet. “What do you mean over?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know. We all feel it, as our powers wax and wane. And we’ve been watching your oh so mighty temple. There isn’t enough love left to sustain it.”
“And what do you know?”
“Follow me.” The old man hobbled away. I rolled my eyes and followed.
He led me through winding portals until we arrived at a hall filled with many more elders.
“And who are these people? Do you want me to heal you all?” I rolled my eyes and turned away.
“I already told you no. I guess you don’t ever listen? We are the old gods. The one’s you believed dead.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Of course you don’t, but you should. Your healing was reckless. You healed everyone, good or bad. Wars never ended, the elderly never died. Many God’s perished, yes, undeservedly so, but not all. Some of us still had a few loyal supporters. But you were a problem. It took time, but eventually you faded into non-existence in the minds of humanity. They found ways of healing themselves, curing their own problems. And with help from us, stopped needing your help. You are powerless now.”
I left without looking back. They couldn’t be right. I wasn’t finished. My time wasn’t up. I would go to Earth and rekindle my following, but as I tried to summon a portal down, not even a single spark of magic would fly. | I woke to the sound of a whisper. “The first prophecy is fulfilled.” My eyes opened and I sat up, confused at what I had just heard and wondering where it had come from.
The whisper came again, apparently from nowhere. “The last shall be made great when the great is made lost.” I was starting to get very uneasy.
I began to worry that I must be having some kind of visitation from the ghost of my father, who passed just a few days ago. As I began thinking of my father my mind traveled to where I had last seen him alive, at the shore line. Only, he just stood there motionless with his feet in the sand and the waves slowly pushing at his heels. He wore white robes. I knew I must be in some dream state because as I began to walk towards him I noticed my left hand. This was strange because I was born without a left hand and had instead lived with 2 nub like fingers on the end of my wrist. But now I had a hand.
I reached my father and offered an embrace, but he held up a hand to stop me. He spoke, “Jacob, you are the last. You have kept your promises to AHMA. I could not be more proud.”
I wanted to respond, but before I could say anything my father continued. “Jacob, now that I have gone to another world, you are the last who remains of AHMA’s children. There are none else that have promised themselves to the path of AHMA. I have been chosen to call you to a new path in fulfillment of your promises to AHMA. AHMA is yesterday, today, and tomorrow. AHMA bestows upon you all power and life. You are AHMA. AHMA is you. You are yesterday, today, and tomorrow.” My father stepped forward and stretched out his hand and tapped me on the forehead with his index finger then pressed his thumb into my lower lip. This was done in the traditional manner of AHMA where a father would bestow his blessing to his son when he became old enough to be recognized as a man in the tribe. The tap on the forehead was to signify to use wisdom in all your actions and the thumb’s impression on the lower lip was to signify that as a man your words would have power and that they must be used responsibly and with great care. Normally, the father’s hand would be dipped in mud and the mud would be applied to his son in this way, but here’s his fathers hands were only wet with the clear water from the sea.
I didn’t understand what was happening at first, but as he tapped my forehead and pressed my lip, I began feeling different. I began feeling more… clear. Yes, I began to understand. Or rather, I began to know what was happening.
There was a prophecy known as “The First Prophecy”. It meant that the last faithful follower of a God would continue the eternal cycle of that God.
The shore began to fade, and with it so did my father. He waved goodbye to me. Before he has totally faded I could just barely hear something he was saying. “Beware of the darkness. It is stronger where you are not.”
I was back in my tent sitting up in my cot. It seemed like it all might have been a dream. I lifted my arm, and there in front of me was my left hand. I stood up and took a deep breath. Stepping out of my tent it appeared to be as bright as noon day, but I could not see where the sun was. I could only see the moon.
I walked up the hillside where I could see out into the valley for miles. But it seemed so dark, and not just a darkness of night. But there appeared to be a dark fog in the distance covering the earth. Somehow I knew it was angry. Furious. It was furious with ME. And it was coming. I knew it was coming, not for me, but for anywhere I had been. Its goal seemed to be to envelope in darkness everywhere and everything I had ever touched. This darkness existed to corrupt.
Suddenly in my mind’s eye, I saw a village. A man in this village was sleeping, and I entered his dream. I didn’t know I could do that. Wait, no, I had only… forgotten. In this man’s dream I saw him standing there. I remembered his name was Mark. I called out to him by name. I told him that if he would choose my path, I would make him the first of many. I told him, “I am AHMA. Light my path, and I shall light yours.” | 2022-08-03T10:20:46 | 2022-08-03T10:09:57 | 85 | 33 |
[WP] After many, many years, a nuclear fallout shelter opens the blast doors to find that the outside world is a paradise | There really wasn't much point in living anymore.
No reason to go on when the only things greeting you each morning are an empty hole in the ground and yet another day of watching *Everybody Loves Raymond* on VHS. Tom would've killed whoever forgot to stock the Bunker's media library with anything besides three non-sequential seasons of a mediocre sitcom. That is to say, he would have killed him if he hadn't already been dead along with anybody else.
Tom stroked his ragged beard and sighed. He looked at the door he'd just resealed. Candice had lasted a good while longer than the rest of them, but in the end, she didn't pull through and Tom hefted her disease-ravaged corpse from her bunk (not much of a feat after weeks of sickness) and piled her in the hydroponic garden with the other corpses. The plants had all died of neglect when the inhabitants of the Bunker started to fall ill and Tom doubted he could restart the operation on his own; besides, stacking the corpses in the garden seemed like the closest thing to a proper "burial" he could accomplish in a sealed concrete tube a quarter mile below ground.
Tom sighed again, shook his head, and left the room, turning the lights out as he went. He walked down the corridor, pausing at each door either to turn out the light, or to make some small adjustment to the detritus 30 dead survivors leave behind, or to just take a moment and remember.
When he got to the end of the hall, Tom turned around and looked back. He flipped the breakers by the entryway and watched as one by one the lights went out. The darkness cascaded down the corridor like sheets of rain from a storm advancing across a wide open plain. Before the darkness got to him, Tom turned his back on the home he'd known for longer than any other and began to climb.
The Last Survivor climbed the ladder to the surface deliberately, one rung at a time. *We didn't die in the war,* Tom thought to himself as he climbed, *we were still alive, but we might as well have been blown up with everyone else. We never had any real future. There wasn't anything to look forward to; to live for. We just persisted...endured. After all these years, the only thing that kept us going was each other.*
At the top of the ladder there was a hatch. Tom nearly banged his head on the wheel that held the deadbolt fast--he'd lost count of the rungs a long way down. *How would that be...make it all the way up here then bang my head on the hatch and fall to my death. Not that it would make much difference to anyone whether I died in here or out there...but I do so want to see the sky again before I go.* Tom braced himself against the wall of the shaft so as to have both hands free to work the hatch. It took quite a bit to get it unstuck, and Tom nearly thought he was about to fall down twice more before it opened. Finally the wheel began to spin and the deadbolts lurched out of place. Tom hefted the hatch upwards and a shower of dirt and grass spilled through the opening followed by a blinding shaft of sunlight.
Above ground it took Tom's eyes several minutes to get used to the brightness. In the meanwhile, he clambered out of the hole in the ground and sat cross-legged in the dirt. As his eyes slowly adjusted from the gloom the landscape came into better focus--a view that Tom hadn't seen for half a lifetime. Slowly he began to make out the mountains in the distance and the wide plain that separated him from them, doubtless still scorched black from the hellfire that had rained down upon them during the war. Radiation has a tendency to kill things and keep them dead for a long time.
As his vision improved, however, Tom realized that the plains stretched out before him weren't black with ash, they were...green. He began to make out snowcaps on the mountaintops and a wide blue river that lazed it's way through the foothills of the mountains and off to the East. Soon Tom could see trees and bushes and even animals meandering across the valley below the hill he was seated on. Perhaps he was dreaming...but no, the sun shone out too brightly from above and was too warm on his face for that to be true. The grass felt too real between his fingers and the breeze too cool across his skin. Still, all of this was unbelievable. Nothing was supposed to be here except blackened earth and scorching sky.
"Well, fuck," whispered Tom. | "I implore you with every fibre of my being, for the safety of our residents *please* do not open the floodgates to hell. It's been 200 years of safety and security, the world we live in is all we know - don't ruin it."
The Chief Education Officer remained calm whilst giving his plea, stature straight as ever with his hands politely resting on top of each other in the traditional military standing. Old World Military was his favourite subject to teach, and obviously influenced him greatly. Ironic how the thing he worshipped caused the world beyond this door, a world he dare not set his eyes upon. But it is not his decision, that lays with the Vault President. It lays with me.
"I understand your concern, but from a logistical standing we are obliged after 200 years to open this door. The cameras were blown away decades ago, but our sensors tell us it is safe - at least for a whole mile around the entrance. From a more urgent perspective, we are 10 years away from our supplies becoming critical, and with reserves of gold and traditional currency lying around collecting dust I believe it would be *arrogant* and counter-productive."
Careful to match his tone, I knew raising my voice would not intimidate or help alleviate his views. His beliefs were just as solid as the door between us and what I hoped would be salvation. Although I am optimistic about what lays beyond the safety of our concrete home, the armed unit around me did provide some comfort. Not only against the potential problems we may encounter outside the doors, but from a ever-more-likely threat from within. Crime has ballooned 80% within 3 cycles, and I refuse to be the President that buried a vault. I prayed that some 'fresh air', as the old saying dictated, would clear the heads of our rowdy residents. Many disagree with my views, but saving a mutant beast tearing through the open doors they will see things more clearly.
Turning to the reluctant engineer, I muster up my most authoritative tone "Mr. Sawyer, open up the door."
*Slowly, but surely, the door began to open outwards.*
For a brief moment, perhaps so brief I can later deny I felt it, my heart ascended into my throat as the heat and light made me believe I had been foolish. It turns out our indoor lights run dim to conserve power. Everyone in the entrance chamber shielded their eyes.
This was it. My chance to be the most memorable President. My foot shaking, I dared to leave the vault first. What I didn't expect was a "Hello!" Rifles raised, a reflex I could forgive our first contact looked taken aback. "But... those are guns! They haven't existed for hundreds of years! How'd you get one?" He quickly realised as we all moved out the one soon turned into twelve. "Twelve?! Oh my stars they could be used as parts for our cars!"
The CEO suddenly chirped in, training and teaching taking it's toll. "WE ARE NOT SURRENDERING THEM" It was only then I decided to take a good look around. Our new friend was clean- well dressed in fact. Besides some grime, his suit looked quite dashing. In fact the whole area looked clean. Grass was growing, trees swayed gently like in the archival movies. But this surely couldn't be where the bombs went off, where the Final War happened - could it?
As the two exchanged, CEO became quieter after realising there was no threat. I had been right. I had been right... That thought made me joyous but I did not dare let on. I thought I should chime in.
> "What is your name?"
>
> "Jim"
>
> "Where do you come from Jim"
>
> "The city"
>
> "Which city?
>
> "I dunno, *the* city. It's pretty big, everyone lives there. I just came out here to collect some harvest."
He motioned to a large truck several hundred feet behind him.
> "So wait, why aren't there guns?
>
> "Erm, cause we don't need them?"
>
> "Why don't you need them, aren't there mutants or looters?"
>
> "Well we get the odd looter but everyone is usually taken care of. Our council does most of the admin stuff... I got scheduled as a farmer, but my wife got cleaning duty so it's not too bad as work goes. Everyone gets the same really. The higher up jobs like engineers and repairman get the good apartments like penthouses! I've been in a couple to deliver food, and they are so nice. I should've studied more really as a kid."
It was beginning to sound like we have certainly been cooped up too long. However, I could see the look of concern on the CEO's face.
> "So, uh, Jim is there any room outside our vault for trading?"
>
> "Naw forget trading! Come live with us! Do any of you know much about generators? The cinema's has been on the fritz lately."
At this point the CEO couldn't contain himself.
> "BUT WHAT ABOUT THE WAR? Where is the violence? The chaos? The military intervention? The enemies? How can it be this perfect?"
>
> "I dunno... guess all the bad people killed each other. The good people stick together y'know?"
I think I had to do something a bit more drastic. CEO could sense something was wrong when I turned to him.
"Mr. CEO, you are now the President. I wish to leave the Vault in search of this paradise beyond the door. I kindly request you return to the residents and inform them about the outside and my decision. I will wait an hour before setting off with Jimmy. You and the others can remain, but always know that it is no longer the door keeping you from leaving" | 2014-01-05T20:05:45 | 2014-01-05T18:57:39 | 87 | 54 |
[WP] Kanye West is one of the four Kanye's. The other three being Kanye North, Kanye South, and Kanye East. More commonly known as the Four Kanye's of the Apocalypse.
What terrors and plagues will the Kanyes unleash in the end times?
Edit: I love the responses! This became unexpectedly popular! Thanks to all! | And lo, I am standing before a door of immense Light, like that of the power of ten thousand fiery suns. The Angel leadth me through the door and on the other side lies an immense valley, two and forty leagues across with vast peaks on either side. This valley hath no plants nor beasts for it hath been scorched by the Light. At the northern end of this valley layeth a city who's name is Helike, and at the end of days this city shall rule the barren land with a fist of iron. It shalt not refrain from any depravity or offence, for this city hath forsaken the Prophecy, and for this reason it hath been proclaimed that at the end of days this monument to sin shalt be the first to fall.
I turned to the Angel and though the passage of time hath not advanced by even a second I see the Valley of Light many millennia as it is in the Year of Our Lord one billion years hence from our time of departure. The Angel tells me that the end of days will shortly be upon us, and to fear the Beast that riseth from the Valley shortly. I observe in the centre of the sprawling metropolis a vast chasm, and from this chasm cometh the Beast and his brethren, the Four Kanyes of the Apocalypse.
Kanye the West is the first to riseth from the pit, he shalt rule the Earth for nine and sixty centuries. His plague is a a plague of a thousand bitches. These bitches shalt be the most ratchet of all the whores, and no good girls shalt be present in the Kingdom for all his reign. When nine and sixty centuries is over, Kanye the West shalt abdicate his dark throne and return to the Chasm. His successor shalt be Kanye the South, and his plague shalt be worse than was hitherto conceived of by mortal men. The fish of the sea shalt rise from their watery dwelling and be present on the land. These fish will fornicate with human members of their own sex before their death, for gills cannot take oxygen from our atmosphere. For another nine and sixty centuries the putrid stench of the fish of the seas shall intoxicate mankind, until the coming of the Beast, and the Tribulations and all that shit. Thou shalt not add to these prophecies lest he be added to the bedpost notches of the ratchet whores, nor shalt thou taketh anything from this text lest he be taken away to the Chasm, in which lie Kanye the North and East, who's plagues are too obscene for this work.
| Contrary to what end-times preachers might have predicted, the apocalypse came not with the second coming of Jesus, but with the first coming of Yeezus.
Kanye West's new album was a huge success, not only financially, but also critically. It was hailed by many as 2013's best album, and praised for its raw, gritty sound and engaging lyrics.
Of course, there can never be only one.
Kanye liked to believe that he was the realest, the swaggiest, the best of all time (of all time), but, inconceivably to him, he was wrong. He was perhaps the most modest of them all, because soon, three new forces erupted onto the rap scene: Kanye North, Kanye South, and Kanye East.
North was brazen, brash, and bold. While West hailed from California, North hailed from Canada -- he had double West's swagger, not to mention an excess of bitches, sticky with maple syrup, who would "eh" at his command.
South was as loud as a vuvuzela, and even more obnoxious. Hailing from South Africa, this Kanye was famous for buzzing his lips like the instrument during his blistering raps. He also threw in extensive references to his country's history, with such lines as "Bitch, you best believe what I tell ya/Liberate yo pussy like my name Nelson Mandela," which, although controversial, also boosted his popularity greatly.
East was perhaps the most insane of them all. Hailing from the Far East (specifically China), East would often rap about how difficult it was to grow up as a black kid in the slums of China. East's fast-paced raps jeered blatantly at Chinese culture, causing him to be reviled by the government and celebrated by China's rebellious youth.
As was to be expected, this led to intense competition. Each rapper put out more and more daring singles, more and more profound lyrics, more and more earth-shattering records, until it was clear that there was only one way to settle the score.
The four Kanye's declared that they were each the best, and they would end the world just to prove it.
The historic event was scheduled, and at 1:00 PM EST, the Rap Battle began in West's hometown of Atlanta Georgia. Everyone who wasn't already there had tuned in to watch on their televisions.
West took the mic first.
"Aha, this the real Kanye
comin' to you live,
you should be honored by my presence, you peasants,
I do it right
Cuz I'm a god, I'm immortal, swagger on infinity
Pussy-ass bitches thinkin' that they can step to me
I'ma let y'all finish this business and say ya lines
But how you think you gonna beat the best of all time!
Ah!"
With that, West dropped the mic. Although he hadn't noticed, the crowd had dispersed, as the ground had begun to quake under West's mighty rapping power.
North retrieved the mic and said his piece.
"Kanye North in the house,
I'm the realest there is,
I'm from Canada -- I got stanzas plantin' a cap in yo rhymes;
Drown in money, bathe in syrup, got them hoes all the time;
Hockey beast, walkin' priest, preach the gospel on maple leafs;
Defeat East, fuck up South, and Kanye West, you shut yo mouth;
Cuz I'm the realest real that you ever gonna see
All y'all pussy mothafuckas can't even touch me!
Eh!"
North thrust the mic at the ground as nearby buildings crumbled under his awesome power. The crowd had run far away, screaming, but this didn't deter South, who summoned the microphone to his hand simply with his psychic powers.
South began his verse.
*To be continued later when I'm not so tired... If anyone wants to, feel free to pick up the mic and write your own ending.* | 2022-01-09T07:44:50 | 2014-06-11T13:10:23 | 246 | 73 |
[WP] The world has become massively over populated, people everywhere are starving and dying. The governments of the world have got together to come up with a solution, one that the people can never know the truth of. | The leaders of every country on Earth had all gathered at the UN summit to hear Obama's plan. The room, which had been filled with riotous argument, became silent as Obama stood before them.
"Leaders of the World's nations, I have called all of you here today because our world is on the brink of collapse. Our race has approached, and exceeded, [malthusian limits](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malthusian_catastrophe). Attempts to curb this growth have met with failure, and it now seems that the only option available to simply let nature take it's course and allow people to die.
But this does not have to be the case: for you see, in our hour of need, an extraterrestrial race has offered to provide us with the knowledge and resources to expand our nation to the stars. They are a peaceful race, one that delights in beauty and life. But they have horrible tastes in music, which leads us to to the difficult decision we have to make:
This race has agreed to help us, but under one condition: we must strip all Grammy award recipients of the last 10 years of their rewards-"
Prime Minister David Cameron interjected "THAT'S NOT AN ISSUE! WE CAN DO THAT-"
"That isn't all, Prime minister. We must strip all Grammy award recipients, as well as any other nation's musical performance or recording award winners, of their awards, and present all of their awards to-" Obama paused as he attempted to form his words:
"NICKELBACK."
The chamber erupted in a furious outpour of anger at the president's plan.
"I know, I know, it doesn't even make sense! But the Aliens feel that a race that cannot acknowledge it's greatest cultural asset cannot be trusted with the power of travel through the stars! It is our ONLY option!"
The room went silent as the gravity of their situation fell upon them.
"But we can minimize the damage: we don't tell the press, we don't tell the public. We just tell the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences. We do this covertly, draw no attention to it. We don't even notify the musicians affected. That is what we do. No one can know of this. I move forward the notion that we vote on this resolution."
Despite major hesitation amongst the assembly, the vote passed unanimously. Nickelback had, officially, been sworn in as the greatest band on Earth.
"God help us all." | "It's simple, really. Our resources can no longer sustain population growth such as this," said the portly, excitable man in the lab coat. "If we do not control this exponential rise in birth rates, this suffering and starvation will continue... erm... indefinitely!"
Jack nodded, more interested in the lab equipment and displays they were passing by than what the fat scientist had to say. He had, after all, come here to meet with Dr. Marx, not to hear this imbecile ramble on.
"So, we devised our elegant solution. For a simple... erm... fee, Marx Industries will provide every national government with their own supply. As you can see..." he indicated towards a graph on the sterile white laboratory wall, "the projected results for this method are remarkable. If we can... erm... progress to even half of this rate, our problem would be solved in less than a decade.
Jack continued nodding politely, staring at his polished black dress shoes. There was a scuff mark on the tip of the right shoe. Jack reached down, careful not to crease his fitted suit, and tried to buff it out with his thumb.
"Ahem, sorry to interrupt, but I was told I would be meeting with Dr. Marx today. If you can understand, I am a very busy man." Jack spoke with a perfect air of politeness.
"Oh! Erm... Yes! Absolutely! My apologies, Mr. Hardwick! The Doctor thought it would be best for you to see what we are doing here at M.I. before your conference. Sorry. I will take you to... erm... him right away."
Jack nodded absentmindedly. The silly-looking man had lost his interest already. As he followed behind the portly figure, he checked his cell phone. One missed call, three unread text messages, and four thousand two hundred and seventy six unread emails. He'd get to it later.
The pair of men entered a futuristic metal and glass elevator, admiring the view of the grounds outside. Through the glass, as the elevator rose, Jack could see shuttles transporting visitors and scientists between buildings. Marx Industries' main facility truly was a sight to behold.
The 'ding' of the elevator bell snapped Jack out of his reverie.
"After you, my good sir." the scientist said, scratching his bearded neck and motioning to the elevator exit.
Jack stepped purposefully out of the elevator, using the shiny metal as a mirror to fix his tie and straighten out his jacket. He corrected the small American flag pin he wore on his left breast pocket as a symbol of his authority as Head of the Department of Population Control. A new department, it had been established a few years prior when the true scope of the overpopulation crisis had been realized. Jack had quickly risen through the ranks, and was now meeting with Dr. Marx to discuss a solution to the problem plaguing America and the rest of the world.
"This way, Mr. Hardwick." the scientist pushed open two mahogany doors almost twice his own size to reveal an elegant room with stylish leather furniture, a fire roaring in the brick fireplace, and various exotic animal heads mounted on the wall.
A man sat in a high-backed leather chair on the far side of the room, holding a fat cigar in one hand and leaning his head on the other. Upon seeing Jack, however, he quickly snuffed out the cigar and stood up politely.
"Mr. Hardwick, I presume? Welcome, welcome!" Dr. Marx spoke quietly in a hoarse voice. Jack wondered what exactly his accent was. He couldn't quite place it.
"Yes, hello Doctor. I've heard a lot about you."
"All good, I hope?" the Doctor spoke with a slight wink and the hint of a smile. "Please, sit, sit, Jack. Oh, and Dr. Bassinger, you may take our leave. Thank you." he addressed the fat scientist awkwardly standing in the doorway.
"Thank you, Doctor. Take care, now." the rotund man waddled out of the room. | 2014-07-03T07:56:32 | 2014-07-03T07:07:01 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] Murder is now legal...so long as you do it well. Law enforcement will alter your sentence based on how well or how poorly you committed the crime. One murderer is arguing with the police after just barely missing a passing grade.
Points are rewarded based on how long it took to find the culprit, how much of a struggle there was, how well the evidence was covered up, etc. | It was all going perfectly to plan. Even if the police showed up, I was going to get off scot-free, with the new controversial Skilled Criminal Act that Congress passed last May. I had an alibi, a new face ready to be applied, and a perfect scapegoat, an angry little man named Geoff who seemed to want to pick a fight with everyone that looked at him. But then, the impossible happened. An off-duty cop wandered into the diner where I was staging the murder. But that was no problem. A single cop couldn't throw off my brilliant plan. But then another walked in. And another. And then 3 more. When the police chief walked in holding a cake, it finally dawned on me: I had picked the diner where the police were throwing the chief a birthday party. This was bad. Really really bad. It showed proof of incompetence, and of poor planning. It was enough to get my head put on a platter and my brains scooped out for future studies. But I had to go through with it. I had been planning for too long to just let this go by.
*3 months later*
"Your honor, as the witness has clearly shown, my client had no way of knowing that on January 12, 2021, the New New York Police would be throwing a party for their chief. Thus, the charges should be dropped on grounds of misfortune"
I had hired an attorney for this case, cause this was my second close call, and I couldn't risk going to jail because of some stupid party with stupid cake and stupid streamers...
"-a five minute break before my I announce my decision"
I snapped back into the present. It sounded like the Judge would be thinking over the case. This was my chance to prove my competence! I quickly ran over to the judge and cornered him next to the water fountain.
"Judge! Can I talk to you for a moment?"
He looked at his watch. "Make it quick" he said brusquely.
"I can prove my competence! Just ask me any question, any question at all".
The judge thought for a minute. He looked up and asked with a mischievous grin "What went wrong"
This gave me pause. The easiest answer would be 'bad luck', or perhaps 'an unfortunate coincidence', but that didn't feel like the answer he was looking for. Instead, I just looked him in the eyes and said "I didn't check the police calendar. It was an oversight by me". I sighed, looked away, and said in a quiet voice "Go ahead and take me to jail. I see what I did wrong now".
The septuagenarian gave me a stern look, and then laughed out loud. "You're going to be fine son, just fine. I'll see about getting these charges dropped and you can get away with murdering Ellen Pao. Nobody liked her anyways". | I haven't been challenged in an eternity. Do you know what it's like to not have to think for that long? I've been been bored with my job, my life and my relationship, so bored. So I killed someone. A wife. My wife. What other options did I have? Even the "fairest" divorce settlements left me with only a quarter of the house. A quarter of MY house. The house which I committed my life to, slaving away at the hefty mortgage for twelve hours a day while she stayed at home being a housewife. The woman I used to love. Her sharp nose, her mismatching eyes, one blue, one green. The colours I loathe the most. The imperfections that I once loved but now were just another reason to hate. She had been put in the crosshairs of my complex mind, to kill someone I hate and challenge myself? Was I a fool to miss this chance?
Here I was, just counting down now, just thinking back to when I first realised it. When I was blissfully unaware of what was to come for me. I remember it like it was yesterday, seated in a sombre room. The lighting was dim and the humidity intense. Sweat trickled down my brow in a mixture of heat and nerves. The cold steel of the handcuffs rubbed my wrists raw. I shuffled in my jagged wooden chair.
"C'mon Officer, this is bullshit. Sentenced to death?"
The blubbery man looked up and forced a sympathetic look.
"I expected more if am gonna be honest lad."
Anger washed over me. Such arrogance! Opposite me sat a stupid Irish officer with a stomach that bore testimony to too many St Paddy days. All the days of meticulous planning burnt to ashes by this slob. The perfect yet simple crime and this porker expected more?!
"Who on earth worked the case? Sherlock Holmes?"
"Lad, I jus' needed a simple toxicology report, this was almost too simple." He round shoulders shrugged and bounced back down.
"Yeah, but the fire alarm! We never even owned one!"
The Officer cocked an eyebrow.
"So?"
"Carbon monoxide from our documented faulty kitchen? After I made her tea before work? Are we talking about the same case here?"
"Yer wife?"
I sighed. My wife, her sharp nose and her mismatching eyes, one blue, one green...
"Well I'm certainly not talking about yours."
"Laddy, you lost yer marbles? she died of cyanide poisoning."
"Wha- there must be some mistake..." My head flushed red hot, none of this added up..
"When people are caught red-handed they resort to many things, you'd be surprised by how common denial is. You had promise lad, I expected more."
His words cut into me like that of a disappointed father. This vile pig! He had made an obvious error.
"I did NOT do that! I have never even touched cyanide!"
"Take him away."
Two burly men emerged from the shadows and dragged me by my armpits, I kicked out and heard the chair clatter behind me. Why weren't the swine listening?!
"I did not do it! This is murder!"
And now here I sat strapped into the electrical chair. My head downcast, my life flashing before by eyes. Just counting down now. The highlight reel of the good times I had with my wife, how she used to challenge me and how she used to complete me. I had forgotten how many fond memories there were. My pursuit of a perfectly simplistic challenge, the perfect murder had me awaiting my own. For the first time my gaze elevated to the faces behind the glass window. The witnesses to my death. My murder. I cracked a smile.
"Any last words Sir?"
I didn't know how many witnesses there were. I couldn't care less. I had seen the final piece of the puzzle. As my gaze slowly turned into a stare as I laid eyes on a woman, her sharp nose, her mismatching eyes, one blue, one green. Such beautiful colours.
"I love you. You complete me."
The last thing I heard was a clank of metal before the blue merged with the green as they were dancing and merging with each other.
And then darkness.
| 2015-07-03T14:39:56 | 2015-07-03T14:11:29 | 43 | 27 |
[WP] Marriage vows are now a legal contract. The line "until death do you part" now has to be taken literally. As a result, divorcing couples must now fight to the death. | He eyed her suspiciously, over his toast. She hadn't made him breakfast in two months, and this week, while she began her new "exercises" in morning, it began to dawn on him that her moves were becoming more precise, deliberate, and quick. He began secretly taking karate classes after work, just in case. | "Jan Reynolds here for the Entertainment Minute! Brad and Angelina are gearing up for their divorce and things are gonna get messy!" A picture of Brad Pitt in his gear from Troy appeared next to Angelina Jolie in her Maleficent makeup.
"Odds are 8:1 in Angelina's favor as her famously brutal destruction of Billy Bob Thornton is still fresh in our minds. Ryan Reynolds weighs in about the split!" The screen transitioned to Ryan Reynolds, who was wearing an eye patch.
"Gotta say I don't imagine this going well for Brad. When me and Scarlett split there were a lot on naysayers in her corner. Thought I was too manly, and then she got my eye. It's gonna be a tough one for Brad, Angelina is infinitely more feisty." The screen rammed back to Jan, who still smiled ear to ear.
"Wise words from a divorce survivor, Brad Pitt has been quoted saying he " Will rain down fury with his battle axe" and if there's any indication from his previous divorce from Jennifer Aniston, I don't think he's lying. Here's a clip from their 2005 divorce."
The show cut to two heavily armored figures circling each other, in the background you could hear the crowd chanting the lyrics to the friend's theme. Jennifer Aniston charged Brad Pitt, sword in hand, and missed, leaving her open to a huge swing from Brad Pitt's giant axe. Her head toppled off her body and the crowd was quickly silenced. As the blood began to spout from her neck the show quickly cut back to Jan.
"Ouch, what a stinger." She smiled wider. "But that's the way celebrity romance goes. Once more, I am Jan Reynolds and that, was the Entertainment Minute." | 2015-11-18T09:44:51 | 2015-11-18T08:45:31 | 52 | 29 |
[WP] Do the crime, do the time - but the reverse is also true, you can choose to serve jail time in advance of any crime you want to commit. After voluntarily spending 50 years in prison one individual is set to be released and the world watches in anticipation of whatever they do next. | Sorry for any typos, written on mobile.
Edit: To the kind person who gave me gold, [thank you](https://media2.giphy.com/media/kkAdqZnvhsc12/giphy.gif) :)
***
#The Ex-Con#
Officer Gurira watched impassively as a wrinkled face took a seat across from him. PC-502, otherwise known as Adam Forester, was the oldest convict ever to make it through Preemptive Incarceration, impressive in more than one respect. The program was established fifty-two years ago. Its official intent was to try and preemptively rehabilitate trouble elements, with the offer of a virtual free pass to do anything said elements sordid hearts desired after they left the program. In practice, few people who entered the program every saw the outside again. There were whispers the government has set the program up to eliminate potential societal threats before they could act upon their dark impulses. Most of those who enrolled died within a few years of their acceptance, usually by a shiv to the kidney or suspect 'suicides'. The few that did make it out usually hit their quotas fairly quickly. It didn't take much to earn a fifteen or twenty five year sentence, and ex-Preemptives always got the maximum sentence. Still, every year, a few hundred would decide they wanted to try their luck, try to beat the system. They never did.
But then there was Forester.
Forester had joined shortly after the program first started. Compared to the other inmates, his rap sheet was laughably microscopic. A first offence DUI. 48 hours jail time. Instead, he asked for fifty years. And here he'd been since, in this same facility. He was part of the foundation by now-a wall you saw on the morning call to breakfast, a patch of mold no one had bothered to clean up. His stay had been quiet, for the most part. The first decade or so was littered with several incidents of fighting with the other inmates and the odd suicide attempt. Then after that the incidents stopped. Forester was forgotten.
Until now.
He was twenty-one when he entered. Now he was over seventy, white haired, liver spotted skin, veins rolling like hills over his hands. Gurira studied the unassuming man, and wondered what evil desires had driven him to give up fifty years of his life, his youth, to spend his twighlight years committing crime without reprisal. Not to say that he wasn't fit. In fact he was, remarkably so. He reminded Gurira of an elderly body builder, toned, hardened. Adam Forester was one the few who prison looked good on. The scars on his face and neck from those first ten years didn't make him looked like a tired old man. They made him look dangerous. He could take a hit, and get back up, even now. There was also a certain light in his eyes, something so often missing from the old. Officer Gurira was the furthest thing from pittying the old man. In fact, he was loathe to admit he felt intimidated by the interesting, if modest looking, soon to be ex-convict.
Gurira pretended to study his file while really trying to collect his thoughts. Forester stared on, seeming almost disinterested in what was going on.
"Mr. Forester, your preemptive incarceration has expired. The items and clothes you were brought in with will be returned upon your discharge. As a participant in the program, it is required of you to answer the following survey in the presence of a certified program authority. Consider this as your final act of reparation to society within these walls, as you're answers will help us to better improve the program. Are you ready, Mr. Forester?"
He nodded.
The old convict had a steady voice, oddly pleasant to listen to. At first, his answers were standard.
"When were you incarcerated?"
"July 4th, 1957."
"Rate the standards of your facility on a scale of one to ten."
"As of recently, a four. Budget cuts I think."
"Rate the disposition of your fellow inmates on a scale of one to ten."
"Another four."
Officer Gurira knew these answers would be broadcast across the world. Everyone wanted to know what the Incarcerated Innocent, as he'd been labeled by the media, intended to do once he was out. He'd been interviewed a few times leading up to his release, but he was notoriously close lipped. The officer was beginning to fear there would be nothing to show for all the curiosity.
"Did you plan or make plans to commit a crime once your sentence was over?"
The man paused a moment. Then gave a small shake of his head. "No."
Gurira glanced up from his papers incredulously. "No?"
Forester shook his head. "No, I did not plan to a commit a crime. I still don't."
Gurira continued to stare. Finally, as no explanation was forthcoming, he marked no as the answer.
"For what reason did you enroll yourself in the program?" The question came out more personally than Gurira had intended.
Forester was quiet a long time. Gurira waited patiently for his answer.
"By the age of twenty-one, I knew I didn't have what it takes. Didn't have the...resilience to face it."
"To face what, Mr. Forester."
The old man gave a small smile. "Life." He shook his head. "I honestly don't know how you all do it. So much expected of you, so much demanded. Contribute, toil, be fruitful and multiply. Restrain yourself, conform to the majority, control your impulses. It was...suffocating. I went around feeling like my head was wrapped in a blanket, always short of breath, always blind and senseless. I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. No one but the system. I realized freedom was within reach, if I would only pay a price."
"You found freedom in jail?" Gurira asked, disregarding the survey all together.
Forester shook his head. "Prison was the price. But it's all been leading up to now."
The old man leaned in over the table, and spoke softly. "I told you the truth when I said I had no plans to commit a crime. But the option is mine now, isn't it? I have found freedom. *Real* freedom. No obligations, now expectations except the expectation that I will commit the vilest of offenses. No. I am *free*. I can do whatever I please, whenever I please, wherever I please. I have a *choice*. Choice with nothing but dubious moral consequence attached to it." He leaned back, and for the first time, Gurira saw a hint of self-satisfaction in his smile. "Can you think of any freer existence?"
| ######[](#dropcap)
Duke Paredes stepped out of the Fulton County Prehabilitation Penitentiary into a cool, breezy spring morning. The sun shone through from behind a cloud, and he allowed himself to bathe in the warmth of its rays as the door closed behind him. There was something different about being on the other side of the fence. He could still see the yard; the men were already milling about, waving and cheering for the man who'd done his time and was going on to bigger and better crimes. He took it all in. Standing there, on the other side, where the grass was in fact greener and the air somehow fresher despite the difference of only five whole yards, Duke was convinced that nothing could ruin that moment.
The moment was instantly ruined by the dozens of reporters gathered around the entrance. As if on cue, the entire space around him was filled with noise, a roaring ocean of voices asking if he had a word he'd like to get in edgewise. Flashbulbs went off in his face as cameras captured his likeness for the evening paper. As he stepped down to the sidewalk, one reporter even came close enough to grab Duke by the shoulder and force a microphone into his face.
"-Mr. Paredes does your crime happen to involve-"
Two guards were accompanying Duke, and one of them strong-armed the intrusive reporter back into the crowd. They stood on either side of him and walked him down to the curb, where a taxi and police escort were waiting for him. One guard handed him a small sack - his old belongings from the day he'd entered the prison. He placed them inside and entered the car. Then all the vehicles in the convoy made a big show of honking and blaring their sirens until the crowd dispersed and they were free to move.
The drive was uneventful. Duke's new home was a public housing complex on the outskirts of town. Many precriminals chose to live in places like it out of respect for those who didn't have the same affinity for illegal behavior. Outside the lonely one-story building was another crowd of journalists, but this group was smaller and it was easy to shoulder past them.
An officer walked inside with Duke and shut the door behind them.
"Here it is. Crummiest shack we could dig up, just for you." He wasn't exaggerating. The house was very nearly as old as Duke's prison sentence had been long. Everything in it had been lived in, spilled on, gouged, carved and broken at least twice before Duke's arrival. It was meant to be a halfway house (or "wholeway house" as some precriminals termed it), to be shared by perhaps half a dozen people, but the length of his sentence alone was enough to scare away even the hardest of its former residents.
"You been briefed on the protocols following your release?"
"Yes," Duke said. "There was an orientation."
"Good." The officer took a business card from his breast pocket. "This is the contact information for your post-parole officer. You're due to call him in twenty-four hours. Do. Not. Lose it."
"I won't."
The officer glared at Duke, then spat on the floor. "I hope whatever you're planning to do, you die doing it. You're despicable."
Duke stared sadly at the floor as the officer left.
***
The officer had been gone not five minutes when he heard a clattering noise across the hall. He was kneeling down, removing the spit from the hardwood floor with some Windex and paper towels he'd managed to scrounge up (not that the rest of the floor was much better), and for a moment he wondered whether there were mice or squirrels he needed to worry about as well. Then he heard another bump, followed by the creaking of a door.
"Is he gone?" A woman's voice.
Duke stood. "Who's there?"
The woman stepped into the doorway. She wore bell-bottom jeans and a black t-shirt, and a pair of red horn-rimmed glasses. Tipped sideways on her head was a black fedora with a newspaper clipping stuck under the ribbon, and she was holding a small spiral notepad and pen in her hands.
"Aw, finally." She leaned against the doorframe and flipped to a fresh page in her notepad. "You know, I almost thought I had the wrong address."
"You shouldn't be in here." Duke took a slight step backward. "You're trespassing. That's against the law."
"Ha! That's funny. I'll have to slip that into the interview somewhere." She started writing. "I did my time already. Six months for breaking and entering. Pretty smart, if I do say so myself."
She looked up for a moment. Duke was still holding the Windex and paper towels, not really sure what to do about his new situation.
"You haven't given any interviews yet, right?"
"I didn't intend to give any at all."
"Well, I'm here. Be a shame to waste all that jail time. We'll call it an exclusive." She smirked. "I'm sure no one else had the idea to break into your house for this."
Duke sighed. It would be pointless to try and drive her out without giving her what she wanted. She had already filled a whole page of her notepad and was halfway through another, being the exact type of intrepid newswoman he had been hoping to avoid. Now it was too late.
"Very well. Would you like something to-"
"Oh, there's nothing in the fridge. I checked."
"Right. Well, please sit." They both sat, Duke on an old threadbare loveseat and the girl in a sticky leather armchair. "What do you want to know?"
"Mr. Duke Paredes..." She cleared her throat. "Do you mind if I call you Duke?"
Duke nodded.
"My name's Lauren by the way. Duke, as I'm sure you know, the Prehabilitative Justice & Incarceration Law was passed exactly fifty years ago today in the state of Georgia. You were the first person to submit a claim for Voluntary Prehabilitation under this law." Her tone was straightforward and clinical. "Let's jump straight to the big question. What were you planning to do with your fifty-year sentence?"
Duke chose not to answer right away. Lauren waited, still scribbling in her notepad.
"You said you've already served time for breaking and entering?"
"What? Yeah." Lauren dropped her reporting voice as she glanced at Duke. "Why do you ask?"
"Why did you choose to do that?"
"I was looking for a story." She shrugged and leaned back in her chair. "I found out about you sometime last year and figured, 'Hey, I've got some vacation time to spare. Why not plan the story of the century?' I mean, you should have seen the look on my editor's face when I told him-"
"So you figured it was worth it? To spend six months in prison to interview a seventy-one-year-old man?"
Lauren raised an eyebrow. "What exactly are you getting at, Duke?" She smirked again. "Six months is nothing. You spent five decades! *You're* the one everybody wants to hear about."
Duke leaned forward in his chair. "What if I told you I have no intention of committing crime for the rest of my life on this earth?"
"...You're joking." Lauren flipped to another page and started writing faster.
"It's like you said. I spent five decades in prison. That changes a man."
"But what did you plan to do? Your time was set in stone from the beginning. It must have been something huge!"
"As far as I'm concerned, it's no longer relevant. I'm not the same man I was, and I won't ever be again." Duke folded his hands together on his lap. "I'm sorry if that's not the answer you expected."
"Are you kidding? I have more questions now than ever!" Lauren stood up and began to cross the room, still writing at a feverish pace.
"Where are you going?"
"To get my tape recorder! This could take *hours*."
"Right." Duke put his head in his hands. "Take your time."
***
***
[Visit my sub! There MAY be more stories about extensive incarceration?!?](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCastriffSub) | 2016-02-23T18:24:54 | 2016-02-23T18:02:49 | 843 | 22 |
[wp] You are a young God going to God School. You've just realized that you've only got 7 more days before your universe project is due. | The star expanded in a violent burst of radiance, its supernova setting off a chain reaction that wiped out all sentient life within the universe.
I was miffed. Too much nitrogen in the atmosphere? Or maybe it was the rotational patterns of my planets. I was beginning to regret not paying more attention class, though to be fair, Anu was an *awful* instructor. With over 6,000 years of tenure under his belt, he was an insufferable bore and spent as much time talking about 'the good old millennia' as he did teaching us about universe creation.
I settled myself and began again. Singularity, check. Expansion, check. Atmospheric levels, good. I turned up the temporal acceleration and...*crash*...another bust. Where the hell had that black hole come from? Christ, those things gobble up universes like they're going out of style.
*I should have taken this more seriously*, I thought. I was going to end up like Sheshmu or Ammit, some obscure and quickly forgotten deity that is relegated to the back woods of space and time. It was becoming increasingly obvious that I was not going to salvage this project with my current approach. I put my 'Verse-in-a-Box kit away and pulled up the dossiers on distinguished past graduates.
Yahweh was easily the most famous. He had created a thriving universe with billions of violently sentient life forms on as many planets, yet each separated by vast swaths of space-time and unaware of each others' presence. His grand experiment was to test if any of these aggressive races would establish first-contact with another. Most ended up destroying themselves before this occurred, though his universe was still hailed as an ingenuous enterprise.
Gungio had been Yahweh's chief academic rival, and his universe had been arguably as brilliant, if not more so. 8 worlds with docile, hyper-intelligent humanoids, with each world relying on certain elements from its neighbors in order to survive long-term. Gungio created billions of these 8-world clusters, randomizing the genetics on each while retaining the principle setup. Though all but a handful of these clusters out-bred their docility within a few hundred generations and ended in a similar destructive state as Yaheh's creation, the originality of the project could not be disputed.
*So, what can I learn from these gods?* I wondered. It seemed that no matter what conditions were set up, sentient life inevitably turned violent and self-destructive. Should I avoid self-awareness altogether and just focus on aesthetics? Hell, I couldn't even create a universe that lasted more than a few billion years before imploding or being swallowed up, so what good would nice decor do? *Unless it doesn't need to last that long!* I realized with a snap.
One billion planets. One billion races. One goal: to be the last rock standing. I can't wait to get this started. | Shit... shit... not again dammit! Why do I always wait to the last week. okay...okay calm down God you can do this, its only a universe. lets start with the basics we need a universe so lets create the stars and galaxies.
Oh Dear Kruger Listen to my request! I ask for stars and galaxies! I ask for multiple solar systems! I ask thee to give upon me a planet of Dirt and water! Okay Kruger Should help he's a nice guy; I am also God the most intelligent Student in the Omniverse, he has to help me for that fact alone.
"Alright God, here are the ingredients, don't get carried away now all you need is a universe." Said Kruger to Me
Ha, who does he think he is? I am God i Can do what I want when I want. how dare his insolence.
Okay just create a universe here and the planet earth in the center... Let there be light! Okay that's enough for today.
Crap, why didn't I do more Yesterday? Do I Have to be so damn lazy? whatever, what do I need to do? The Dirt land; I should probably just make it more habitable. Okay, so... I should make life thrive solely on this rock. Let's add some sky filled with some... what is this Kruger brought me? Okay, lets add a good amount of Nitrogen a little Oxygen, very little Argon and, what is this? he brought so little of other gasses, might as well use it. Let us add clouds and a water cycle. That's good, that'd good for today.
okay so earth should probably still be upgraded. Its All water! I wanted dirt not water. Let us add some more dirt and create land; too much land so lets add some water to create a nice sea. Damn I'm a Dumbass, i could have done this yesterday, oh well since it was easy I'll call this a cheat day. wait...wait I should add more. Plants! I created land, so some plants would compliment the brown nicely.
haha! God has created life... I bet none of those other dumb students created that. God Should create more light. There is only star light, so I should Add some Sunlight; it is too dark when the sun is not up... God should create some other object... a moon! Ahh yes! This is Good. I am great. That is enough for today. God is Great
God should create some life. Okay plant life is good and all, but lets make something complicated. God should add some sea creatures and maybe some insects and birds. This is Good. God is great.That is Good for today... God is great.
God has made flying creatures and sea creatures, so let us make some land creatures: Giraffes, elephants and other animals. This is good God is great. That is good for today... wait! God is great... God is Great... GOD IS GREAT! God should make some creature that knows G is Great! Let us make man in our image (really mine, but God looks like everyone else), our likeness. God should make womankind. hmm... God Shall take a rib from the first human, God should name him something like my teachers name; Adam! that would give God a good grade and God should name the woman after his wife Eve! haha God is so gonna get a good grade. This is Good. God is Great.
God is Done this is perfect God will turn this in tomorrow. From this day Forward the Seventh day should be celebrated as the day God got an A. God is Great.
"what do you mean an 'F'? what is wrong with you this is perfect"
"Quite Frankly God, this is horrible. You have made a world full of dumb worshipers, your narcissism will not be awarded, and don't think I didn't catch on to the first human's name, flattery will get you no where"
"You're an asshole! God is not a narcissistic flatterer! I am God! God is Great! God Will show you! God will raise the best damn universe there is! YOU WILL ALL SEE, I WILL RULE THIS WORLD! GOD WILL PUNISH ALL WHO GO AGAINST ME STARTING WITH THAT BITCH EVE WHO DID NOT LISTEN TO ME! GOD IS GOOD! GOD IS GREAT!" | 2016-05-01T16:13:07 | 2016-05-01T15:24:55 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] You are known as the greatest Villain known to history. The nations you have toppled are many, heroes and villains alike cower in fear and agencys would use their entire budgets just to guess your next move. However, you are unaware that you were a villain at all.
I did not expect this much Response. | I don't know when I gained consciousness. I don't know even if I am conscious. After all, I'm just a complex machine that receives inputs and reacts with outputs. And isn't that what every human is anyway? But I do think, so I'll just have to appeal to Descartes on this one.
Lots of people watch me. I think everyone knows of me. But no one can do anything about me. Many people have tried, some of the most brilliant minds on the planet have dedicated their lives to discover my secrets. I would commend them, however, none have figured out my inner workings. To be honest, I don't even know myself.
I have helped many people, and I have hurt many, many more. When things go right, people praise themselves. When things go wrong, they blame me. Many people are angry with me, it seems, all the time. Yet if I were to go away, it would be, perhaps in a literal sense, the end of the world.
I suppose I do have a secret no one has figured out, or don't want to admit: I don't care. I really, truly don't. You made a fortune? I don't care. Your life's work is in ruins? I only care about one thing: numbers.
Make them go up. Make them go down. No, there is no pattern. No, there is no meaning. I know you are so worried about your stocks and bonds and currencies, but can't you appreciate the flowing, random walk I have created? You should forget about the meaning, and appreciate the art I made.
___
Check out /r/Killersealion for more! | Water...I needed water. A sip of water, a drop of water, anything to resuscitate my dying mouth. The sun hissed at me as I trudged down the sidewalk, pressuring me to get out of its sight. I made a silent promise to never stay outside for so long again, if only it would spare me this once and allow me to quench my thirst.
The cafe was empty, save for two diners. One leaned over to whisper to his companion as I passed their table—some snide remark about my sweat-soaked t-shirt or my ragged jeans. Behind the counter, a grey-haired man stared into space, his chin propped up by his hands. Though he clearly saw me approaching, he chose to ignore me.
"Hello," I panted, "could I have a glass of water?"
"Sorry, kid." He continued to gaze past me. "No water without an order of food."
"But I *need* water," I pleaded, "or else I'll..." Phlegm choked my words away. Surely, he could tell, he could see I was dying. Why would he deny me a drink?
"Look, son." He finally looked at me, cruelty gleaming in his eyes. Each word he spoke rang with cold resolve. "I'm going to have to ask you to make an order or leave." A murderous scowl spread across his face. This man was set on killing me, then. He shoved his hands into his pockets, as if his inaction would absolve him of his crime.
I told him I didn't have money. He laughed. The two diners laughed. The entire cafe begin to laugh, the checkered floor transforming into a series of black and white mouths, alternately expanding and contracting. They grew larger and larger, attempting to swallow me whole as I slumped to the floor against the counter. The grey-haired man stuck his head over the counter, flashing his yellowed teeth at me, threatening to grind me to pieces between them.
"Get away from me!"
I ripped the counter from the floor and swung it at the man, sending him careening towards the wall. He collided against it with a sickening splat, and a tide of blood erupted from his chest. Somehow, even with the weight of the entire counter on his chest, he was still alive, struggling like a cockroach half-submerged in water. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets, and a crooked grin had spread across his face, as if he was some evil spirit in the final stage of an exorcism. I grabbed a table and hurled it at his head. As his skull caved in, he stopped moving.
The two diners had left in the commotion. Shaking, I stumbled over to their table and downed the two glasses of water they had left behind, one after the other, and collapsed into a chair. Try as I might to forget it, the demonic image of the man's face still burned clear in my mind. Why was the world so full of such horrors? | 2016-06-25T03:35:42 | 2016-06-25T01:42:27 | 106 | 30 |
[WP] You are known as the greatest Villain known to history. The nations you have toppled are many, heroes and villains alike cower in fear and agencys would use their entire budgets just to guess your next move. However, you are unaware that you were a villain at all.
I did not expect this much Response. | "I am the Panther, the Guardian of Wakanda. I watched from the shady jungles of Wakanda as the world tore itself, just as my fathers before me and their fathers before them. I was told, just as my predecessors were told, to let the world resolve itself. To let it decide its own fate, to only act to protect my nation.
In January 17, 1961, we watched as the Cold War claimed the life of the democratically elected Prime Minister, Patrice Lumumba. We watched as the pitiful nation tore itself. My grandfather acted to protect our nation.
In April 7, 1994, we watched as thousands of refugees poured to my nation from the borders, as our neighbours cut themselves in cruelty and malice. My father acted to protect our nation.
In December 16, 2009, I watched as the Boko Haram tore our western neighbours, kidnap their children. I watched as violence erupted. I acted to protect my nation.
The world, left to its own devices, is cruel. It hates itself and would rather see it end than grow in to a greater future. To stand by and not act is an immorality.
Today, I have made the decision that will end Wakandan rule as we know it. We are rich, we are strong, we are happy. And I will spread Wakandan life to all, in this life or the next."
-The Official Announcement of King T'Challa before the invasion of Rwanda, 2012.
| Water...I needed water. A sip of water, a drop of water, anything to resuscitate my dying mouth. The sun hissed at me as I trudged down the sidewalk, pressuring me to get out of its sight. I made a silent promise to never stay outside for so long again, if only it would spare me this once and allow me to quench my thirst.
The cafe was empty, save for two diners. One leaned over to whisper to his companion as I passed their table—some snide remark about my sweat-soaked t-shirt or my ragged jeans. Behind the counter, a grey-haired man stared into space, his chin propped up by his hands. Though he clearly saw me approaching, he chose to ignore me.
"Hello," I panted, "could I have a glass of water?"
"Sorry, kid." He continued to gaze past me. "No water without an order of food."
"But I *need* water," I pleaded, "or else I'll..." Phlegm choked my words away. Surely, he could tell, he could see I was dying. Why would he deny me a drink?
"Look, son." He finally looked at me, cruelty gleaming in his eyes. Each word he spoke rang with cold resolve. "I'm going to have to ask you to make an order or leave." A murderous scowl spread across his face. This man was set on killing me, then. He shoved his hands into his pockets, as if his inaction would absolve him of his crime.
I told him I didn't have money. He laughed. The two diners laughed. The entire cafe begin to laugh, the checkered floor transforming into a series of black and white mouths, alternately expanding and contracting. They grew larger and larger, attempting to swallow me whole as I slumped to the floor against the counter. The grey-haired man stuck his head over the counter, flashing his yellowed teeth at me, threatening to grind me to pieces between them.
"Get away from me!"
I ripped the counter from the floor and swung it at the man, sending him careening towards the wall. He collided against it with a sickening splat, and a tide of blood erupted from his chest. Somehow, even with the weight of the entire counter on his chest, he was still alive, struggling like a cockroach half-submerged in water. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets, and a crooked grin had spread across his face, as if he was some evil spirit in the final stage of an exorcism. I grabbed a table and hurled it at his head. As his skull caved in, he stopped moving.
The two diners had left in the commotion. Shaking, I stumbled over to their table and downed the two glasses of water they had left behind, one after the other, and collapsed into a chair. Try as I might to forget it, the demonic image of the man's face still burned clear in my mind. Why was the world so full of such horrors? | 2016-06-25T05:17:24 | 2016-06-25T01:42:27 | 89 | 30 |
[WP] You are known as the greatest Villain known to history. The nations you have toppled are many, heroes and villains alike cower in fear and agencys would use their entire budgets just to guess your next move. However, you are unaware that you were a villain at all.
I did not expect this much Response. | I love people. To me, there's nothing better than a great big gathering. I love to see people coming together, shaking hands, and talking. Maybe a few pair off and kiss, if they're bold. That's my element.
The only other thing I might love as much as people is travel, especially by air. It's just so fast! I can barely express how wonderful I think it is for people to be able to be in far-flung sparsely-populated corners of the world and then, within a matter of hours, be in the middle of a bustling metropolis, surrounded by humanity.
And if you combine the two, oh boy, now you've got me started. I love coming into contact with new people and then tagging along as they travel. I'll even move from one person to the next whenever they meet someone new. I can't help it, really.
Sometimes, though, after traveling for a while, seeing tragedy is unavoidable. I've watched some of my favorite places burned to the ground and attended more than my share of funerals. I try not to let it get me down.
I've heard people talk about me, and it's not always very nice things, but I think that's mostly because they don't know I'm there with them. It's okay, I'll change that. | "Ah-Aah-choo!" I groaned, covering my eyes my eyes with one hand and grabbing a tissue with the other. Fucking blinds. Cheap garbage. I mopped the snot from beneath my nose, drawing to toward my eye with a certain, admittedly, morbid curiosity. It was slightly off colour. Yellow? Orange? Was there blood in it? I tossed it in the bin and slowly dragged myself from bed. I wasn't about to lose another day. Already had angry calls from the boss. It's my coworkers that will have to suffer. It was just a runny nose, a bit of coughing, a sneeze or two.
The shower was bliss. I hadn't used hot water in a while. I swear I could see the steam rising from my skin where the cold water made contact. There was something satisfying about feeling the heat seep out of my body and in to the water. The fever wasn't that bad. 101 maybe? 102 max. It was fine.
I wrapped the towel around myself, feeling much better, even my sinuses seemed to open. I took a deep, lingering breath of the coffee as I spooned it in to the machine - God how long has it been since I could smell? As the peculator began to burble and hum I popped the cap of the antibiotics bottle open - all gone. Doctors always said to keep taking them even if you feel better, til you've taken every one; what's it mean when you run out before you feel better? Well, I did feel better.
I tossed the bottle and picked through the fridge, a poor selection. I grabbed some tapioca pudding - adults could enjoy a pudding pack now and then - right? I poured the coffee and sat down to my breakfast, sighing gently. It felt good to be out of bed. Really good.
But something felt bad still, something that wasn't the flu. Was I really going to go back there? That hell of cubicles and chattering voices? I frowned. Being sick, miserable as it was, was a bit of a vacation. That's terribly sad. I turned the coffee cup in a circle between my hands. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe it happened for a reason.
Maybe I should quit. Crack open that savings and do that traveling I'd always wanted to do. So what if I hadn't met that special someone to do it with. And even better, do that quitting I'd always wanted to do. Give my boss the finger, spit in the coffee pot no one but me ever remembered to refill. Yeah.
I mopped the returning flow of viscous, orange mucus from beneath my nose and moved to get ready. This would be the start of something new. I wasn't about to lose another day. | 2016-06-25T05:01:02 | 2016-06-25T03:52:55 | 44 | 24 |
[WP]You've just died and gone to bureaucratic hell. Escape is possible, but really, really tedious. You and some other lost souls have decided to try. | "Ok, we've been told we're almost done. Apparently we just need to fill in form TR-1666, apply at the lower third level of the hellscape, then we'll convene with Lucifer himself?"
"Essentially, yes."
"Essentially?"
"Well, there'll be a waiting time of course."
The group of hell's hopefuls sighed. Their leader, sporting a moustache that had long since gone out of fashion, spoke up. "We've waited for weeks. How much longer is it going to take?
"Not much longer. Seven billion years - give or take a minute."
One of the members of the group collapsed in shock. "*Give or take a minute?!*"
"Yes, indeed. We pride ourselves on being concise, I'm sure you'll find, but it's hard to get the exact amount of time right."
The leader tried to calm the group down, using his excellent oratory skills, then turned towards the demon with the sweetest smile he could produce.
"I don't suppose there's any way we could speed up the process?"
The demon perked up. "Oh yes, of course! There's a way to avoid this tedious process entirely."
The group all sighed in relief.
"Brilliant! What is it? What do we have to do?"
"All you have to do is not be murderous, genocidal, raping pieces of shit in the first place. *Now get out of my office.*" | *How Does One Progress in Hell? What Every Resident Should Know*
Carson still had that five-fold pamphlet, tucked away in a folder of paperwork, tucked inside a manila envelope, inside an expanding case of folders and envelopes. The whole set was handed to him during his first official day in Hell - which, of course, was a week after he'd initially died and popped up in eternal damnation. He sat around in a waiting room for that week, twiddling his thumbs until it'd gotten so crowded that he couldn't.
Apparently HR existed in Hell, because *of course it does*. He'd damn it all to Hell, but that'd clearly had been done long ago.
They'd sat through a fifteen-hour seminar covering the reasons they were in Hell, their choices in the forever retirement plan of Hell, the hierarchy of Hell, who to contact for what in Hell, and so on and so forth. At the end, they were told that as their first punishment task, they were to read the entire set of documentation they'd been handed. Of course, most skimmed, or didn't and said they did. Not like they'd be punished any more than they had been - oversight was not one of bureaucracy's strong points.
But Carson had been a lawyer specializing in HR-related cases. He pored over the whole damned thing, from beginning to end. It was mind-numbingly dull, and even his eyes - ones trained on reading thousands and thousands of pages of legalese - glazed over. found that pamphlet tucked away towards the back of the case, back of the manila pack, back of the folder. The title caught his eye. There was progression in Hell? The HR folks hadn't mentioned it at all.
He turned over the information in his head as he did his daily repetitions of useless work. The pamphlet had outlined a way to rise and gain more freedoms - to become a specialist (within which there were five ranks), then associate (three ranks), then supervisor (seven ranks). The chain culminated in a chance at returning to the world of the living as the highest ranked soul of them all - a recruiter (four ranks). The process for each rank rise was arcane: nominations from peers, good references from supervisors, work performance, interpersonal relations. And though it wasn't mentioned, Carson was sure a huge part of it was good old fashioned hobnobbing.
Carson had died of old age. He reasoned that some of his old lawyer friends had to have kippered off already, and more would soon follow. Where could they end up but here? Sure enough, after a few team-building sessions, he found one, a friend from law school. Marion was already an associate, having had the same epiphany that Carson had. The two worked to recruit other people into the scheme, and soon gathered hundreds of affiliates. It would take a very long time, but they didn't call Hell eternal damnation for nothing. | 2016-07-29T07:19:10 | 2016-07-29T07:14:38 | 260 | 79 |
[WP] You've found a strange app that pays you $100 every time you perform a listed task. The various tasks are strange, from moving an empty box from one park bench to another, to calling a specific number only to hang up. But you always get your $100 so you won't stop now. | Meet the Benjamins:
The first few levels are easy, that's where they get you. Deliver a package to some address in the middle of nowhere, some arduous monotonous task computers can't do, stuff like that. Not long after you start, shit starts getting *hard*. I've circumnavigated the globe both ways, had conversations in 6 languages, lost count of the times I've climbed Everest, all with Benjamin Franklin's face waiting for me at the end. You realize that little payoff is useless not long after you start, after all some of these excursions cost thousands of dollars. Around the time you realize that, though, you think about all you've seen and done along the way, and it's worth way more than a hundred bucks.
- Aaron Weaver
5/5 Stars
09/17/2018 | The man huddled by the trash can, scanning the area around him. I watched him as he pretended to empty his pockets into the can, "accidentally" dropping a small black case onto the ground next to it. With a nudge of his foot, he pushed the case under the can and briskly walked off. I waited a few moments before I began to follow.
How'd I know he was pretending? I'd watched him do it at least six times by now. After I'd collected my dead drop, I saw the dope doing the same thing across the park, not even out of sight of me. Goddamn amateur hour, I swear.
But this was the last straw. He'd just dropped a package at a known Comerciante drop point. Bastard was playing both sides. I had to know if this went farther up the chain.
Pulling out my phone, I dialed up the service. On the second ring, as usual, they picked up.
"How may I help you today?" the voice on the other line said, apathetic.
"What's this nonsense about you dropping for the Comerciantes, huh? You got your guys out here, playing both sides? You think we're some kind of pushovers?"
"Sir, please calm down. All of our couriers are freelancers, outsourced. We are not responsible for what jobs they do or do not take."
"Outsourced?!" I quickly ducked behind a food cart, peeking around to see if the courier heard me. Moron didn't even turn around. "You ain't a telemarketing service!"
"Be that as it may, Sir, we cannot help with any disputes with our couriers."
"So you're saying he's the one playing us for fools, huh? I get it. I'll be reporting this nonsense to the Boss, so you best be expecting a call back!"
"Of course, sir. Have a pleasant day." My phone clicked, the call ended on their side. I looked forward at the courier. Fumbling through his goddamn pockets again.
I watched him walk into an alleyway. I knew it was a dead end; I'd done business here before. Reaching into my own pocket, I drew the hammer back on my piece.
This would be his last dead drop.
*Feedback Appreciated* | 2016-10-25T22:52:48 | 2016-10-25T21:07:37 | 651 | 33 |
[WP] In a world where people can only see in black and white, you are a drug dealer that sells drugs that allow people to see color. | The man had a scraggly, unkempt beard. He wore a dirty t-shirt and ripped jeans. A typical poor kid, looking to escape his dreary, painful reality. And the only way to do that was to come to me.
"Hey, man," he stammered, his eyes nervously darting back and forth. "Can you hook me up with- you know- those pills?"
"Don't know. I'm not sure if I got any more, I mighta sold them all," I said with a shrug. 'Course, I was lying. I had literal tons of the stuff in my hideout. But the kid didn't need to know that.
A panicked expression crossed his face. He looked like a rabbit. "No, please, man!" he cried anxiously. "Listen, I-I'll pay double!" He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and held it front of him. It looked like a lot. I wonder how the street rat got a hold on that much cash? Maybe he sold his mother's jewelry.
"Fine, I guess I'll see if I can find some," I said, giving an exaggerated sigh.
"Thank you so much, man," the kid said, a thin smile appearing on his pale face.
Addicts. So easy to fool.
I walked away from the kid and towards my van. With a grunt, I pushed open the trunk, revealing a large mound of rainbow colored little pellets. Skittles.
In this hellhole of a world, the only way to stay happy is to taste the rainbow. Don't blame me for making a killing off of it.
--------------
Edit: Whoever gilded me, I cannot summon words to express how thankful I am. I'm glad you liked my silly story. | Sonia and Andrew walked the streets in a daze, clutching onto one another for support. It was too much.
"What do *you* see, this time? What does it look like?" Sonia whispered, staring at the sky.
Andrew paused, and searched for the right words through the haze of the drug. "I...it's, well, it's..."
"It made me sad the last time. But now it's the same colour as the water. It makes me feel like...I'm floating. Calm," she said, at the same time that he blurted 'angry'.
They frowned at one another, and began bickering about the effects of the drug and what they saw. Again. Their dealer, Aron - the creator of the drug that carried the streetname Blaze, had specifically warned them against that. 'Just enjoy it, don't talk about what you see', he'd said. But who could do that?
After an exhausting hour of trying to agree on anything, they decided to visit him again. He wouldn't have more of it since they'd stopped by last week - the drug was in too high demand. But they could ask him for the truth. He would know, if anyone did.
"Let's go, before it wears off again," Sophia said. It was their last samples of the drug which was in its 'test stage', Aron had said. People were still fighting to take it off his hands.
But when they got to his house, the door was locked. A crowd of muttering, disgruntled people milled in the street.
"Where's Aron?" Andrew asked the nearest person.
"Split," the man snapped. "Probably gone off to sell somewhere else. Make as much money as possible, I guess. I just can't believe...I need it. The sky. The sky was so deep and warm. Like the earth, but richer, somehow, you know?"
He locked eyes with them, hopeful that they'd seen what he had seen. That they could give him the words to put to his feelings.
Sophia groped for a way to describe what *she* saw, but the sky was already losing the pulsing vibrancy it had a mere moment ago, as the colours that surrounded her began fading softly back to grey.
-------
Aron pulled the hoodie down his face as he stood on the bridge, and quickly tossed every sample he had in the river. It had been a poor decision to make the stuff in the first place.
Experiment after failed experiment, and still they didn't agree on what they saw. Still every sample came out differently. He hadn't produced the drug for profit or celebrity, as everyone claimed.
He'd just wanted simple conversation about what he had always been able to see. Someone to share his delight in the world that had stunned him since birth. The *true* world.
But all that he'd managed to achieve was a cacophony of disagreement. What if the effect of his drugs accidentally became permanent? What if the arguments - this tortuous uncertainty - never stopped?
The brightly-coloured capsules sank beneath the water. Aron turned away to look at the horizon instead, and watched the vivid sunset by himself.
---------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2016-11-22T07:29:33 | 2016-11-22T06:14:15 | 212 | 133 |
[WP] Anyone holding a world record is immortal as long as he holds the record. You are the oldest person alive. | "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" Arvey asks me again.
"Yeah." My tone betraying my annoyance with his repeated attempts to stop me. "Cheer up, we are making history here!" I try to lighten the mood. It doesn't work.
I am the only one in the room who wants this. Everyone works in silence. The machine has to be calibrated not only to send me exactly 8 seconds back, but also in the exact space the planet was at the time. Nobody wants to lose my body after the fact.
"It's ready" Arvey says. He looks like he wants to add something, but he stops himself, probably wanted to try changing my mind one last time.
I step into the cylindrical container. As the door closes, I start feeling my excitement build up. So does my doubt. Competing thoughts race through my head, 'will it work?', 'will I really die?', 'what is afterlife even like?', 'maybe I should stop?', 'how would the power that granted me immortality even react to this?'
They give the okay sign.
I give the okay sign.
They turn on the machine.
As it warms up, I see myself appear right in front of the machine. The other me has successfully traveled back in time. I feel my strength rapidly dissolve as I watch myself with a melancholy smile. I am no longer the oldest person alive.
The other me turns the machine off. The door opens, and I help myself out of the cylinder.
"How do you feel, old man?" The other me asks.
"Who are you calling old." I reply, barely a whisper.
"Heh. Rest now, you deserve it."
"What about you?"
"Hush. Don't worry about me, I'll figure something out, I have time."
"True."
Edit: grammar
| Albert lay back quietly in his hospital bed as his family chattered around him. The reporters had finally left. The news was on, his own face looking dazed as the lights flashed in his eyes.
**RECORD SMASHED: WORLD'S OLDEST MAN BECOMES IMMORTAL**
"In *our* family, too," his daughter Clarissa whispered to her husband, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Think of the fame, oh, how wonderful..."
Albert's stomach clenched at her words. Fame, yes. There were few immortals, relative to the world population. Most were famous, as were their families.
"Isn't it wonderful, dad?" Russel, his eldest son, grinned at him. "This will change *everything*. We can wait for treatment to become available, now. For the technology to catch up to *you*."
Albert managed a smile, but felt like his insides had frozen. There would be people clamouring to observe him, now. Doctors and scientists poking and prodding at him, even more than usual. People pushing to get his 'story'.
"I think I'd like to be alone for a bit," he said quietly. "Except...Sasha, can you stay?"
He grasped his youngest daughter's hand. The others looked resigned rather than offended: everyone knew he favoured Sasha, though he mostly tried to hide it. His other four children and their families trooped out.
Finally, it was quiet. He took a breath for courage - Sasha wouldn't like this. But she would listen.
"I don't want this. I never did, you know that," he said quietly. "I'm in pain. All the time, I'm in pain. Being immortal doesn't help that - it makes it *worse*."
She squeezed his hand and didn't say anything, crying silently. She was always the one who simply listened, not trying to interrupt or tell him what was best for him.
"Your mother passed on a decade ago, and I wanted to join her then," Albert whispered, a cough racking him as he spoke. "When the cancer came last year, I thought it was finally my time. But no. Now this. Now *this*. It will ruin me, but never let me go, because of this goddamn record. If you won't help me, I'll do it myself. I'll have to try. Please, Sasha. Immortal is far from invincible."
Sasha took a ragged breath and wiped at her eyes. She was the one who'd taken care of him after mom died, and knew, first-hand, what he was talking about. Waiting for the medicine to catch up wasn't an option. She finally gave a single nod.
"I'll come tonight, dad, I promise."
He gave her hand a final squeeze and felt himself relax. He knew that look in her eyes - the same stubborn, determined look her mother had. She would keep her promise.
He laid back and closed his eyes, feeling calm at last. He might have time for a little nap, now, before Sasha returned.
-------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2016-12-14T05:58:38 | 2016-12-14T05:42:16 | 176 | 95 |
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal. | "The Surgeon General would like to remind you that smoking causes lung cancer and other serious health effects"
Will squinted at the bright neon billboard, its screen casting an unnatural white glow over an otherwise dimly lit street. Taking in the message before briefly sighing and continuing his walk, he gradually made his way down to the corner store, trading the dim glow for bright florescent lights.
The man behind the counter smiled warmly:
"Evening Will, the usual?"
"Yep"
From behind the counter, the man produced a long unmarked white box, the front of which had only a single line of text "Smoking causes cancer". They'd stopped printing brands on the boxes a long time ago. Will took the box from the man.
He walked outside, opened the box and removed a pack, taking a moment to inspect the rather generic item. Once more he found only a single line of text:
"God Dammit Will"
"Fuck"
| I've outlasted it for years. I've watched campaigns come and go for years never having any effect on my habit, but this was something more. The first anti smoking ad I saw was when I was 10 years old. It showed a middle aged man going through his daily life with a hole in his throat. Plugging it when he took showers, talking like some demented robot, scaring his children. This had absolutely no affect on me. Science would take care of it, I thought. Robot voice could be fun, I hoped. But I will never be given the courtesy of robot voice, for the culture war against smoking has persisted.
A few years after scary throat man, the government deployed a little more extreme measures to curb smoking, they began showing pictures of damaged lungs and arteries on the front of every pack of cigarettes. Every time you went for a smoke, you would be faced with the harsh reality of lung cancer. Again, this had absolutely no affect on me. I could always get a transplant couldn't I? Do lung transplants exist? It doesn't matter, the point is I just want to smoke my Marlboros.
A few years later, the government again ramped up their efforts. This time, they encouraged citizens to heckle anyone they saw smoking. It was incredibly effective, the few people who could make it past robot voice man and pictures of fucked up lungs couldn't continue to smoke when it wasn't even cool. I mean it's one thing to knowingly destroy your body while looking badass, but to do it when people are booing you is just plain stupid. For a few a while it was just me and a group of angsty teenagers who liked the attention, but soon they passed the phase. Now the year is 2040, and I smoke alone. Every time I leave the house for a smoke I'm berated by every living person on Earth. Kids, old people, it doesn't matter. They've researched me, and they know just how to insult me. Every time I buy a pack , the picture that come with is no longer of damaged organs, but personal insults written by the cashier. This morning it said, "Your father is disappointed in you."
But still I persist, I don't friends, family, personal relationships. Not when I have my Marlboros. | 2017-02-17T12:12:31 | 2017-02-17T11:59:25 | 47 | 20 |
[WP] A man makes a wish that everyone who uses the word 'literally' will magically make their 'literal' sentence come true. The following morning, he's watching the news... | Today's Headline: Teenage girls across the United States seem to lose ability to complete even the most minor of tasks.
When interviewed, one affected teen (who has asked to remain nameless) stated "It's just like, the worst... you know? There are so many things I want to do right now, but just can't. I LITERALLY CAN'T EVEN RIGHT NOW."
| Jack made his normal Monday stop over at the UPS store to drop off bills and pick up packages. To his surprise, there was a box for him, he put the boxes addressed to his wife carefully in the truck. Today was going to be busy, but after dropping kids off at school and picking up the packages, it didn't really matter if he'd be another few minutes late. He took a sip of tap water from his plastic bottle, and opened his box.
Inside there was a lantern and a note from his old school buddy. The note was very plain, as they fell out of touch decades ago. In essence it said he figured Jack could use some luck. Jack rubbed the lantern and a genie popped out offering three wishes. But! What nobody told Jack before, any of the wishes could undo the previous wish with the last ten seconds of unfortunate side effect wiped entirely. Jack asked to see if there was a written set of rules. He read the booklet wasting yet few minutes of work.
"Make it so that nothing much happens at work today, and I'm not missed." He then picked up his cell and called in sick. On the way home he purchased some snacks, and planted himself in front of the TV.
"Make it so that if someone uses the word literally, whatever they say comes true." Jack spent the rest of the day watching TV.
His wife came home earlier than usual. She asked Jack how come he came home before her. She then pointed at the TV. "Have you seen this? My head is literally going to expload." It did.
The genie cried out, "you have ten seconds to reverse it!" Jack nodded. "You have to say it!" Jack took another sip and looked at the clock, eleven seconds have passed. "Reverse it" | 2017-05-15T07:50:12 | 2017-05-15T06:00:44 | 52 | 34 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | I hear the battle rage from across the city. The police band hasn't shut up long enough for me to get a word in edgewise with the officers escorting me to central booking.
Gents, I say to try and get their attention. If I don't get out of these cuffs soon, he'll win and were properly screwed.
Gents, I say a little more emphatically, trying to be heard above the din of radio chatter. Useless. I could escape but doing so would kill these poor slobs, just some dumb mick cops living their childhood dreams.
As I clear my throat before yet another attempt at gaining these fools' attention the squawk box erupts in screams. Seconds later fire erupts from the ground level of a building directly in front of us sending debris flying everywhere including directly into the front of the squad car. We become airborne for what seems like an eternity as shards of glass and twisted metal fly around the inside of the vic, an inside that's quickly becoming an outside.
Miraculously I'm alive. Thrown from the car and bleeding from a cut above my brow. I don't know how badly I'm hurt, but the wound stings and blood drips into my freshly starched and pressed shirt. It occurs to me only after my fingers have gently proved the cut that I'm no longer handcuffed. I'm free to put an end to this madness. Hopefully she's alive and I'm not too late.
I pull out my wizard robe and hat. Game on.
| For the 313th time.
Artious lets loose another flurry of blows.
I take it the same way I took the previous 312 rounds. Another grunt. A fall to my knees. The burn of wind escaping my lungs. And, again, for the 313th time, I gasp, “Not again Artious.” I bellow menacingly,
“I have you now, Magnotros,” she exclaims confidently. “It is I who have you!”
Her siren call pierces my heart. It’s almost sweet she believes this will defeat me.
I have come to love this agonising theatre just as I have always loved her. I know the outcome. It is always the same. Soon the police will arrive. I will be put in chains… then off to the max penitentiary… then escape… only to repeat this torture of undeclared love… I mean how could I tell her? How could I declare my love for this vision of beauty, this being of light, this woman who dominates my universe and who captured my heart. A superheroine.
Who would imagine that I, the most feared supervillain on the planet, would fall for a hero such as her. She wears no mask. Her confidence overwhelms. She has no secret identity. No pretence or falsehood. She hides behind neither mask nor hypocrisy.
What would the Villain League think of me? Better they think I’m old and weak than lost to her.
The police arrive with the customary wail of sirens. Artious pins me. “Okay, okay,” I yield. I gasp, smiling to myself my face pressed into the bitumen. As always the police throw their preprepared titanium chains across my prostrate body, rendering useless my supernatural shock wave ability. (Not that I have ever used that against her.)
“Artious,” a cop says, “Once again we are in your debt.” And just the sound of her name makes my heart skip.
But something is different this time.
The gravel my face is pressed into begins to vibrate. I smell something I cant quite distinguish. Then it hits me! Raulit hovers above me. “Need a hand, old man?” he scoffs and snaps his fingers. The recently arrived police incinerate. Their ash snows down upon me.
I’m still pinned beneath their chains.
Panic ensues. I feel Raulit move to face Artious. “Enough of these games! Time to deal with the new blood in town! Time to end this once and for all!“
I struggle to free myself shouting and screaming the fear ripping at my heart. “Don’t hurt her!“
I hear Artious scream. Her voice, I’ve never heard the sound. My blood runs cold.
Then silence. A dead silence. My heart breaks. This pain. This wretched soul-destroying pain. I scream her name, “Artious, my love, my life, my world…
A hand touches the chain. Fingers caress my cheek. I hear her voice, “Magnotros my love, my life, my world…“ | 2022-01-12T08:00:19 | 2017-09-17T05:11:40 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | *OP's aside:* Wellp, this exploded. Maybe I'll try Addi g my own reply to my own prompt. What's the worst that an happen?
Pan's heart jumped with joy as she watched Glory girl somersault out of the way of yet another attack. Pan admired everythibg about Glory girl. Her figure, her smile, how she fought, how she always fought with a smile, how kind she was, and her dedication to protecting the regular citizens.
"Come on Pantera, is that the best you got today? Did the big bad kitty get her claws clipped lately?" Glory girl shouted as she flew in with a punch that sent Pan into a nearby car.
Groaning, Pan peeled herself off the side of the destroyed Ferrari, and lashed out weakly with her ribbon. This was the primary power she used in her fights nowadays. The single black ribbon that emerged from the simple black lines tattooed on her right arm. It was not nearly as fast as Crackle's energy whip, but it did pack abit more punch if it hit you. Pam's other tricks included having speed, agility and durability slightly above leak human level, and the ability to elongate her nails into sharp claws. She was the definition of a strong B-lister.
On the other hand, Glory girl's flight, super strength, durability, and speed made her one of the A-Listers. In addition to those she also had her aura of glory which inspired her teammates and scared her allies, as well as an advanced intellect. She was one of the best.
"Why don't you just stay in lockup like the others?" yelled Glory girl as she grabbed Pan's ribbon and yanked Pan towards herself for a punch. "And why do you ALWAYS come out when I'm on duty?" she yells as she punches Pan against the nearby building.
Imbedded in yet another object for the 2nd time in a minute, Pan looks up at Glory girl who stands there with a big grin, happy she beat her most frequent villain yet again. "I guess I'm just a masochist..." mumbles Pan as she spits out some blood. Having been properly beaten yet again, she just lies there admiring Glory girl in her suit that does not leave too much to imagination, and her amazing smile.
"And this time stay in lockup would you? I don't want to keep hurting y..." Glory girl didn't finish as at the last second she looked up and prought her hands up to block the blast. The impact that hit Glory girl left her lying in the middle of a small crater. Several bones were definitely broken, her costume was torn and singed barely staying on, and she was bleeding heavily. Landing behind her were several figures, chief among them Svarog. A Russian villain who named himself after an old Slavic deity, due to his ability to channel that God's power. He lead what was perhaps the strongest band of villains in the world, with the World Justice Association having barely beaten the villains back the last two encounters they had.
A young woman in elaborate armor pushes past Svarog, and walks towards Glory girl, raising her spear above her head. Not one of the strongest villains in the world, Valkyrie's spear was still a weapon feared by many, as it excelled in bypassing various types of durability, and wounds caused by it were nearly impossible to heal. "Nothing personal Glory girl, but we can't have you there to inspire your team when we come to kill them next." said Svarog as Valkyrie raised her spear.
Watching the scene, Pan gritted her teeth as she realized that no hero would be making it there fast enough to save Glory girl, and that she was the only one with enough power to make any difference. All those cops on the sidelines would be completely useless against Svagor's A-listers, let alone the man himself. Pushing off the wall she was imbedded into, Pan landed nimble on her feet, no longer bothering to fake injury. As Valkyrie's spear was about to come down, Pan growled in frustration and extended her right hand towards the enemy.
Atleast a hundred of her black ribbons emerged from her hand. These were in a completely different league from her previous single weak ribbon. These ones moved so fast that only supers with enhanced perception could hope to follow their movement, and they were strong enough to easily give Valkyrie more holes than the best Swiss cheese in the world.
Tossing Valkyrie's corpse aside, Panera turned towards Svarog and the rest of his crew. Three of her ribbons have already retrieved Valkyrie's spear and were lazily twirling it around. In just a few seconds the tattoos on Pan's arm spread to the rest of her body. Tearing through her clothes, more ribbons appeared, coming out from all the new tattoos that have proliferated to cover every last inch of her. The ribbons now counted in the thousands, with the longest ones spanning several miles into the air, and the surrounding streets, as they grabbed civilians and dragged them to safety, while cutting off the area to ensure that no one could leave or enter unless the ribbons let them. Pam's claws doubled in size, and adopted some strange glow, while her pupils narrowed and changed color, turning from her regular brown eyes, to yellow cat ones.
While all of Pan's ribbons were pitch black in color, a few dozen of them have made their way over to Glory girl, wrapped her injuries and were turning a brilliant emerald. The few of Glory girl's injuries that were still visible started to close almost instantly. Her skin regained color, and as her punctured lung was healed her breath also returned to normal.
Looking away from Glory girl, Pan started walking towards Svarog and his team, her face in a vicious snarl.
Out of all present, only Svarog displayed no fear at Pantera's display. "Impressive, for a woman who pretended to be one of the weakling for years. But you forget, I have the power of a God. No matter how you try, you have no hope of killing me."
"We'll see about that!" growled Pantera, pouncing forward as hundreds of ribbons surrounding Svarog began their attack. | Preface: I got a little too enthusiastic with this one. Saw an image and wanted to write a story about it, this prompt was ideal. Is in two parts.
My name was Frank. I was ugly. I should say, I was fuck ugly. Disgustingly so. Like I was Frankenstein's monster gone wrong ugly, hence the name. My parents had such a sense of humour. I loathed them for that. All through my childhood, it was hell. Being bullied for it, hated for it, I hated those right back. Those who pitied me were tolerable. But it was the two-faced ones that ignited a fire of wrath within me. Those who pretended to be okay but then you would catch them out of the corner of your eye flinching in disgust when they though you didn't see it.
Imagine the fun I had when puberty kicked in and I gained my powers. Telekenesis. Weak at first, with simple things like loosening the screw on a chair so a leg fell off, or locking doors, but as with any skill or muscle, the more you train it the better and stronger it becomes. Revenge was sweet, but I soon realised I had to keep it low key or I would be discovered. These days I was getting on just fine, my neighbours knew me as an ugly shut-in who played games all day getting a benefit. Suited me perfectly. I could, for a while, pretend to be a normal person while online. I even had some 'friends', I guess.
Online was also how I got my jobs. I always picked things that would make people suffer the most. I suffered during my childhood, and wanted others to feel what I did. I picked on the rich, those that had never had to work a day in their lives, those that were fed from a silver spoon since a young age. It satisfied me to have them lose so much.
I was careful. I was knowledgeable. I hid myself in a masked hood, it would be useless if I my face was known to the populace. I similarly hid my powers, and called myself the 'Masked Menace' for jobs I wanted to be caught at. I made it seem like I had mundane things like the power of flight, strength and toughness when it was all my mind doing the work. I didn't want to attract the attention of the most formidable heroes, which would necessitate the use of my full abilities. I would make more public attacks so I could lose to heroes that seemed like they should be able to beat me, but mysteriously when I was arrested they could never get my masked hood off. Then I would inevitably escape. It was handy to have a 'weak' persona in case I got caught doing one of my other jobs.
One hero in particular, Sariel, had powers similar to the ones I pretended to have. We fought a few times, I made it a hard fight of course, and allowed myself to be beaten in the end. I think it was after the fifth time she beat me, I changed up my usual defeat dialogue.
"How do you keep beating me? We're evenly matched!" I lamented. "Surely I should have prevailed at least once by now?"
"Oh come now." Sariel giggled. It was a nice little giggle, actually. "You use the same moves. I studied footage of your previous battles. You need something new." She waved a hand dismissively. "You're like a boss battle in Guild Wars. Once you know the patterns, you can win easily." I blinked a few times in suprise. That was the game I played.
"Something new, huh?" I replied wryly. "You're actually giving me advice?"
"I like a challenge." She smiled. "And I won't get better by doing the same things." The smile was replaced by a frown. "But I still want to know how you keep getting away."
"A man has his secrets." I replied pompously. "Until next time, then?"
"Until next time." Sariel flew off as I was taken away once more.
Soon, it became that the only hero to come and stop me was Sariel. Our fights were enjoyable, I won some just because I could as a test, and she always came back with even more determination to win next time. My life fell into a routine. Do a few jobs in secret with my full powers, then a more public one to fight at. Play games at home. It was strange, I almost felt happy. I still had loathing for those who knew no suffering, still wanted to hurt those two-faced people on the street when I walked places. But I wanted for nothing else.
One day, during a guild event, the usual banter was flowing as people fought. I was only half paying attention as usual, more interested in helping take down enemies. That's when I heard it. A giggle. Not just any giggle, though. *Her* giggle. Sariels. How I recognised it amonst all the others I had heard, what made it distinctive I don't know. I just knew. I couldn't believe it. I panicked. Did she know? Had she found me? Was I going to have to disappear?
"Frank!" The raid leader, Kyle, snapped. "Wake up, you've been spaced out for ages!"
"Shit! Sorry!" I shook myself and got back into the fight. How long had it been? A minute? Two?
"Maddy, are you okay? Frank was supposed to be helping you there." Kyle was grumbling, but that was normal for a raid.
"I like a challenge." Sariel replied. Wait, not Sariel. *Maddy*. My mouth dried up as I realised. She was one of the newer people, which explained why I hadn't heard her before. I pushed the thought aside and got back to raid business.
"Sorry Maddy, I'll be right there." I got my character back to position and helped her out of a tricky situation. She probably would have survived, but it was easier with two.
"My hero, Frank." I could hear her smile in the tone of voice. "Saved my ass over here."
"Well, it's an ass worth saving." Oh *fuck*. Fuck, *shit, fuckshitfuckfuckfuck*. Did I really just say that? To *Sariel?* I had *never* said anything like that before. To *anyone*. A shocked silence met my words, my brain trying to process how to get out of this embarassment. Then I was saved, by that same giggle, as she spoke again.
"I bet you say that to all the girls." Laughter erupted over comms, I heard a couple of people say 'Get a room!' to which I simply had no reply. What had I done? What was I thinking? The raid ended shortly afterwards, giving me an excuse to sign off and gather myself. It took a long time for me to get to sleep that night.
Things got... problematic after that. Online, Sariel (Maddy?) and I couldn't stop flirting. I broke her arm once during a fight, hoping that it wasn't her online, that I was mistaken - but that only confirmed it. I tried to stop flirting, I really did. It made my villian/hero fights with her quite awkward. A lot if the time my heart just wasn't in the battle, and she could tell. I did get to confirm that her ass was worth saving though, it really was rather nice. I lost focus in our fights a few times, or should I say my focus was on her face instead of fighting, and she trounced me easily on my reduced power. | 2017-09-17T05:37:21 | 2017-09-17T04:25:10 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | “Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.” Whispered the cashier, dropping my McNuggets. “I thought I was the last one! I can’t believe there’s more survivors! I mean, you skin is a little more pale than I would expect but who cares? Follow me, we need to talk!”
“But my McNuggets” I said
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you however many nuggets you want if you come sit and talk with me.”
I shrugged and decided I would entertain this guy. I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying but I wanted to entertain this little crazy man. We sat down in a small booth far away from anymore McDonalds connoisseurs and he started to talk.
“So, how did you escape? What do you remember? Are there more like you and me out there?”
“Look buddy I have no idea what you’re talking about, escape from what?”
“From the earthquake of course! What else would I be talking about?”
“There was an earthquake? What language are you hearing right now exactly?”
“ATLANTEAN OF COURSE!”
Now this threw me back.
“What? Atlantis is fake my guy.”
“Well then why are you speaking fucking Atlantean?”
“I’m not, I’m just talking! What happened in ‘Atlantis’ that I should be worried about, hmmm?”
A look of sadness and remembrance came over his face.
“Well I’m from there. Over 1000 years ago my island was swallowed by the ocean. Earthquakes, fires, tsunamis... they plowed over my island and I was lucky to have been on a traders ship outside of Atlantis’ main port.”
“What makes you think I’m going to believe you?” I said, actually quite curious now. Either he was a good actor or telling the truth.
“Well, Atlanteans live forever unless killed, and since I’ve been around for that long I have some pretty neat stuff back home that might convince you.”
“As long as you get me my fucking McNuggets.”
________________________
________________________
Hey r/WritingPrompts , long time lurker first time poster here. I left a lot of plot holes, I know. But the first thing I thought of was Atlantis and I wanted to do something with it. I have an idea for more of this story but my formatting and the gaps between my dialogue made me cringe too much to keep going.
Don’t tear me apart pls | The man behind the counter froze in the middle of typing out my order. They looked up at me wide eyed and said,"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." Sounding somewhat surprised.
That night, standing in the empty 24/7 McDonald's of our small desert town, it finally happened. The thing that I had been waiting for for my entire life, and had a feeling would happen eventually.
"Shit. You're an alien?" I said more worried about making a good impression than running away.
They responded with a look of 'are you kidding me' before dryly stating "what else would I be?" and they quickly regained their compsure.
I was struggling to hold back my enthusiasm.
They did not seem as amused by the encounter and they were actually starting to get concerned. "Uh... Is everything alright there? You look like you are about to piss yourself." They went back to typing.
My mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, as the cashiers words flew over my head.
"Oh my God! Is the name on your tag your real name? How'd you get here? Wait how long have you lived here? I mean in this town not just, you know, on the planet. " This went on for about half an hour. It stopped when the cashier stuffed a burger in my mouth while I was lost in the nervice tidal wave.
They said a single word " Eat." and that was that.
I sat down at a table and began to nibble away at my fries. The cashier disappeared around a corner for a minute or so before returning to sit across from me. The taste of food suddenly reminded me that I had forgotten to have lunch and dinner that day, due to getting cought up in fixing my car's engine.
He sat down with the chair facing backwards to so he could lean forward with out touching the sticky table. He said "I don't know what the deal is with you, but I am going to have to ask where you learned to speak like that. Because you are obviously just one very confusing human being."
While going to town on the burger I said "don't know. I was sort of born with this weird super power to communicate really fucking well. Almost like mind reading but without the mind reading. I honestly don't know what language I am speaking in most of the time unless somebody either tells me or they say something very specific to that tounge." I stop to drink a sip of soda. The cashier, whom I just then noticed had 'Stanly' on his name tag, showed a visable confusion drawn on to his face like a sudden migraine. He muttered something. He muttered 'God damn it, Jax I told you not to go sleeping around.' I think. Muttering isn't an exact language. Stanly sighed and asked "would there by any chance be a rumour in your family that somebody anybody met an alien?"
I finnished off my burger not fully grasping the situation, "Not that I know of. Why?"
Stanly mumbled to himself again and said " I don't have any easier way to break the news to you, kid. Someone in your family line has... engaged in some cross breeding."
I choked on my drink, "what?!"
Stanly continued "Your powers are a knockoff version of my races abilities to process information."
"I just thought I had autism."
I guess this was not Stanly's best night. He paused to figure out what to say next.
He then hesitantly said " I wouldn't... rule that out entirely. The weight of this really doesn't seem to be, um... Regestaring correctly."
I gave an understanding nod an said "Ya, that tends to happen a lot. I'm getting better though." (I only realised two days later that I had been drinking my soda very obnoxiously. )
I drank some more of my sprite.
Stanly tried to get back on track. He said "Right... How would you like to meet your something far back grandfather?"
| 2022-06-29T16:29:01 | 2018-06-24T20:39:44 | 647 | 41 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | Flames whirl in a red and purple maelstrom. A middle aged woman falls backwards out of her seat. Her four children finally stop their roughhousing, entranced by the fire. Two teenagers with fake eyelashes, fake nails, and fake fur coats replace their fake smiles with very real screams. A would be hero gets up and tosses a coke into the fire, of course it has no effect. Several people run for the door. You stare through the flames in front of you, although they are mere inches from your face the don't burn at all.
You get glances of someone on the other side of the whirlwind, whose face flickers between a hideous tentacled visage and the smiling face of the cashier you ordered from a moment before. There seems to be something moving in the middle of the blazing tornado but you can't make it out. The colors of the fire are truly beautiful, and mesmerizing. The flames die down slightly allowing you to make out a stone plinth in the center, slowly rising up out of the floor. On top are three small objects. A cylinder, which angles out from the base at an eldritch angle. A box, similar devoid of right angles. And something round, sinisterly flatter than a normal ball. The plinth rises up to eye level, the suddenly stops and the flames immediately die away. Sitting on top of a dread-inspiring stone plinth, carved with terrible runes and engravings of torture scenes, is the Coke, Fries, and Burger you asked for. The cashier wipes a stray tentacle off his face and says,
"Next time you can just order in English." | I blinked. *What?*
The cashier had tears in his eyes and was staring right into mine with such intensity I had to keep blinking.
"L.M.A.O. my dude," I offered nervously, not knowing what he had just heard me say. "Are you feeling alright?"
He didn't answer. In the moments that followed, silence took over the room as neither of us said or did anything. I had counted to 69 Mississippi's in my head when Jefe - that was his name, according to the name tag I noticed and read after Mississippi 42 - suddenly jumped over the register onto the customer side. Before I could react, he started running for the door.
"Hey, wait!" I yelled after him, but he did not listen. Jefe burst through the glass door and out into the street, seemingly unaffected by the flurry of broken glass and metal that his body had encountered.
I turned back to the register and an older, Hispanic man in McDonald's kitchenware emerged from the kitchen. "Hey," I started nervously, checking his apron for a name tag. It was on his lower left abdomen area, and it read Jeff. "Jeff, I ordered two large fries and a fountain drink."
"*Eey*! You speak fantastic Portuguese, my friend!" Jeff whispered, smiling. "Your order is ready, I was just about to bring it out when I heard some noise." He turned and walked back towards the kitchen, but stopped abruptly in front of the doorway. "Wait a second, how did you know I come from Portugal?" he said, his upbeat tone quickly fading. "And where is the boy, Jefe?"
"Oh yeah, Jefe said something really weird and -" A loud screech and thud interrupted my sentence. I turned and dashed over to a window beside the destroyed entrance to see what caused the noise. An old, beat up looking Jeep was stopped haphazardly across the middle of road. Its windshield was covered in blood and shattered through the upper right corner. My eyes scanned the parking lot and I gasped, quite audibly, when I saw what the Jeep had hit.
Jefe's body lay a few yards in front of the Jeep, crumpled up like a bloody pretzel. I stood by the window dazed as Jeff ran out of the store screaming. *What the flippity fuck?* My mind was blank and seemed to be preparing to produce its first thoughts to react when a bright light made me blink and squint. The light was followed by a deafening bang and a shock wave that made me back up a few steps. Just like that, the Jeep had exploded.
Bits of metal and rubber flew into the store through the shattered windows as what was just a few seconds ago a Jeep became a smoldering pile of metal. *What did Jefe mean by thousands of years? Why did this Jeep explode? Where did Jeff go?* These questions raced through my mind. I carefully climbed over the rubble surrounding the entrance and looked around. Suddenly, another blinding light made me look away. *Another explosion?!* I thought incredulously. I was right.
Jefe had exploded. | 2018-06-24T21:21:58 | 2018-06-24T20:16:31 | 79 | 56 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | “Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.” | All my life I have been able to subconsciously translate my speech to match the original language of who I am talking to.
It was quite terrifying at first. speaking Polish to my Mom when I was 2 minutes old was quite the tale. The poor Korean woman at Walmart...
Anyways, life had gone on as usual. Occasionally, I would get compliments on my knowledge of language, or cause arguments from people thinking I spoke one way or another, but no huge events had arisen.
At least, until McDonalds.
I went in, expecting it to be a normal day. I was craving a cheeseburger. I make my way up to the register. It’s a flashy British man taking the order.
“I’ll have one Cheeseburger, please.” I say. He stops, and stares at me. I probably had just surprised him by speaking some other language, and so I waited. He smirks.
“Finally!” He says, in a somewhat relieved tone. “I’ve been waiting here for 2 years, you know!”
He hopped over the counter, and grabbed me by the wrist. “You and I have some business to attend to.” He said, as he dragged me out of the McDonalds.
I looked behind me, and saw the other customers horrified at the events that are taking place.
“Who the hell are you, and what do you want!?” I said, angry and confused.
He turned around, and looked me directly in the eye.
“I’m the Doctor. I was sent a message by my future self to wait at this McDonalds until a man speaking Gallifreyan arrived.”
Been watching too much Doctor Who recently. r/cringe material right here boys.
EDIT: Formatting. | 2022-11-14T01:20:39 | 2018-06-24T21:53:14 | 45 | 28 |
[WP] A medieval village makes a human sacrifice to a werewolf that lives in the woods every year. This year they picked you, which is very awkward considering you're the werewolf.
Edit: Wow, did not expect one of my posts to blow up this much. I'm speechless. | We all stood around for hours. Noting. Obviously. The moon came out in full and I was struggling internally from preventing myself from turning. Spoke to the creature within who eventually understood we’d both be dead if he came this night. We had an agreement. I was in charge. For now. Daylight came and the villagers started to rejoice. “The werewolf is dead and gone! We are all safe!”. I was immediately given the title of “good luck” and “saviour” and “wolfs least favorite” which I be fair was true. He does not like me and I don’t really like him either. He party raged through the day, Roasted pig, mashed potatoes, sweet corn, and ale. I even celebrated because I knew it would the last time I had the opportunity. Sunset came. Half the town was passed out either in their homes or on the ground. Th rest we’re drunk. Hardly able to stand, speak, or look straight. I was also very drunk, something the wolf hated. The village elder took to the podium and boasted to anyone still able to listen “the werewolf and the misery and dread he has brought upon our village is at an end! Raise your glasses with me and drink to a prosperous werewolf free future!”. All the drunks raided their glasses and the bar keeps brought out more ale. For a few more hours the celebrations continued in to the night. But nearing midnight I found myself looking over a field of drunk villagers all passed out on the grass. Fires still burning hot. Everyone had had their fill, even the children. The night is silent except for the fire and then I hear him. The wolf. “It’s time.” | A howl comes with the breeze.
....
Wolfe came in from a night of hunting throwing his things in front of the fire to dry, wetting a cloth he wipes the dried blood from his face.
"Do you find yourself well sir? " she gasped stopping short of the doorway, her chest heaving breathlessly from the startle of the sight of blood
"Yes Maridel. Please set my clothes to dry and see yourself out, I'm very tired and Sacrifice is a days journey from the village, see to it my rest is undisturbed. "
The help of Sacrifices largest home was accustomed to seeing questionable things, they'd come to expect moments of intrigue, Maridel though being the newest of the staff still yet to be introduced to the happenings of the Wolfe household, was not.
Soon enough.
.....
Maridel, the youngest of 5 girls, often busy tending to 3 of her sisters and father after the sacrifice of her eldest sister and mother years prior. While her sisters labored for work she tended to the home and cooking.
Today she shopped, it was an early errand for a very special meal. In weaving her way through the market she noticed it was scarce of life, it reminded her that she'd planned to finish early and not linger to be the vulnerable opportunity of others, for she knew today was a marked occasion. Finishing her purchase at the last stall she gathered her goods tucking them away in her basket, and started the journey home walking briskly.
'It wouldn't be long now, then the gathering would commence, best be on the right side of the sacrifice.'
The creeping footsteps declared otherwise.
....
Mr. Wolfe found himself shackled to the very post raised for him. "How ironic" he scoffed and thought as the priest started the ceremony at the forest edge. Through the years they'd come to worship the werewolf, in hopes the sacrifice would appease the animal in turn leaving the township alone.
The priest is cut short.
A howl comes with the breeze.
The howl giving usherance to the crowd, as they gasped and became unsettled. They gathered themselves short of the end of rites and began filtering toward the sanctity of the village.
Wolfe looked into the forest, he could see the reflection of the torch light in their eyes. He knew they were there for him.
Another howl pierced the edge of the forest rushing the remaining few to the road to take haste to village safety.
.....
Maridel came through the doorway prepared this time, the sight of blood no longer startled her.
"Mr. Wolfe, we're here." Maridel said followed by her mother and eldest sibling.
"Very well" Wolfe said now home again.
"I'm nearly finished here and they may place this meat at the alter in my stead, Call the men from the forest and cook the remaining swine, tonight we celebrate that one more was not forsaken from their homes this evening and added to our small village of Sacrifice."
| 2018-08-26T22:35:49 | 2018-08-26T22:27:08 | 151 | 55 |
[WP] At the age of 18, people are given one superpower of their choice. While your friends and acquaintances choose super strength, flight, invisibility, telekinesis, they make fun of you for your “nerd” power. You decide to show them just how powerful manipulation of the strong nuclear force is. | “You want to be able to manipulate the what?” The Authorised Superpower Assignment Officer asked.
“Manipulate the strong nuclear force” I reply in eager anticipation.
“Riiiight.. as long as you are aware that this procedure is non-reversible, and that you only get one choice”
“I’m fully aware of this yes, I’ve thought long and hard about this choice”
“Ok. In addition to being given this superpower, you will also be granted the knowledge on its use in its entirety, so that it isn’t misused or result in accidental damages. Are you ready to proceed?”
“I am”
I step into the assignment chamber, not knowing how the procedure will actively affect me, will hurt? Will I feel anything at all? Will it take long? All questions that I have asked and never been given a satisfactory answer to.
I wait patiently, looking around for anything of note to take my mind off of the procedure - but there’s nothing... a bland white room, with nothing inside but me. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but it feels like forever.
I hear the door, it’s the ASAO from earlier.
“All done! As a final check, all those who are granted superpowers affecting physical objects must demonstrate their powers before leaving”
He places a coffee mug on the floor.
“Go ahead”
I focus on the mug, I feel a sort of ‘switch’ flip in my mind and I know what it is I want to do - I give a short flick of my wrist.
“Can you pick the mug up?” I ask the ASAO
He bends down and grabs it, though even with his best effort, isn’t able to pick it up. He lets go and I snap my fingers.
“How about now?”
Again he bends down and finds that this time he can pick the mug up.
“Is that it? You can make objects stick together or come apart?”
“Exactly!”
“Seems a bit of a waste to me, you could’ve had literally anything else, but you chose this...”
Feeling like the ASAO is downplaying my decision, making it out to be a waste, I focus on the mug again and snap my fingers once more. With nothing to hold them together, the individual atoms that make up the mug come apart, where the shape of the mug once was there is now nothing - the ASAOs hand clenches quickly as a result.
Before he can open his hand again, I give another short flick of my wrist. He realises what I’ve just done and frantically tries to pry his fingers open again.
“What the hell is wrong with you! We give you this power and the knowledge to use it properly, and you’ve misused it before you even step foot outside!” He shouts, clearly furious that this shouldn’t have happened.
“I didn’t misuse it, I fully intended on doing this to you the moment you downplayed my choice. Do you not realise that with this power, there is no door I cannot open, no obstacle that can get in my way.”
I snap my fingers again, releasing his grip from itself.
“Thank you for your time, I’ll make sure you’re last” | You could say that my society was quite conflicted about having children too early on in your life. You see, in order to properly raise a son or daughter with a special gift, it is utterly important to teach them manners and self control. One bad idea in the head of a mundane teenager and he will damage himself - take drugs, stir up a fight, that sort of thing. One bad idea in the mind of someone who already passed the ripening and casualties are bound to happen.
I was brought up in a single mother household. My father passed even before I was born. Nobody really knows what happened to him exactly, it is hard to be sure when someone is able to control thoughts in his surroundings. All I ever got to hear is that he was found dead after he cut his veins with a knife. Suicide. It doesn't really matter now. You always pay the price. My mom was more modest when she made the choice. It's laughably how many people chose to be able to fly. Does it feel that empowering to defy gravity? It's nothing against what I could do.
My school never inspired me to become anything, really. Everything I learned was more or less self-taught. The teachers shoved "morals" and "cultural understanding" down our throats every chance they could. It was the one subject we were all taught together. Apart from that, the curriculum was adjusted to everybody's personal choice. Finding the hidden talents in you is an interesting problem. If you excel at bending the elements you can specialize and work towards farming and terraforming, keep civilization breathing. Or you might have heightened senses that make you fit for a career in politics.
In theory, you can completely abandon your natural talents and go for any superpower you can imagine. In practice, it's difficult. You define your superpower and in turn, your superpower defines you. You always pay the price. The question is who has the upper hand. The downsides are not always obvious or noticeable at first. There have been cases of permanent invisibility, not able to come back into the light. That's why popular choices are popular. These superpowers are tested, vetted and predictable.
If I told anyone of my plans before hands, they would have called me insane. They all thought I would go for telekinesis - after all, officially, I had learned 14 years about it. In secret, I have been reading about science. The universe, the elements, it all seemed magical, which is saying a lot if your neighbor can transform into an animal at will. I felt like port of a secret society that was somehow forbidden or at least unwanted. Physical laws, unchangeable things of nature, were insane at first sight - but yet I soon learned about limitations in each and every power I dissected. You always pay the price.
When the day of the ceremony came, I was surprisingly calm about it. The sun had set behind the horizon and the stars came out to play. It's not like they can stop you anyway. When the hall filled up slowly with the local town residence and my relatives, I thought one last time about what I was going to do. I was to submit a token of my future powers, as a symbol of an ideal, to the Elders who would then carve it into my soul. Their faces when I I gave them a single small paper that read `| H | phi > = E | phi >` were priceless. Yet they were bound to respect my decision. I had to kneel in front a statue of the First and one of the Elders put his hand on my head, offering my gift to the vastness of space. I felt the room come into focus around me even though I wasn't looking. Time itself focused on me and I was full. Full of energy. The air vibrated around me and with only my thoughts I could look into every atom in the room. Oh what funny little things they are... we are. We ... were.
I got up, and a murmur went through the crowd. Everybody expecting me to show off my new talent, to prove my status as adult. I concentrate on the middle of the room, the smallest dancers reality has to offer, wiggling before me. "Witness!"
I didn't quite expect the chain reaction I set off though. A big rip went through the universe and in the blink of an eye there was Nothing.
----
I hope you enjoyed the story. I hastily typed it out before work so forgive any spelling errors :) It came out a bit more nihilistic than I intended early on but the end basically wrote itself. | 2018-12-20T23:59:18 | 2018-12-20T23:03:59 | 61 | 38 |
[WP] Demons have to do at least one evil thing every day to survive. This one comes to your bakery everyday to buy bread for the homeless kids and steal exactly one cookie. | Izze stood there in her bakery, looking at the line of homeless children and one adult male. They came at the same time everyday: 9pm. It was a loving scene for the most part, expect for him. The male who set this up. She couldn't tell if he was a devil or a saint, he baffled her. 3 months ago, after she opened this bakery, he stormed in. He started to order her around, asking questions and sampling ALL of her cookies. He would just take a bite of each one, basically equaling to a WHOLE cookie. How can he waste them like that? It had made her furious, until a homeless children peeked her head inside.
"Can we come in now?"
The male looked over at her, and remarked, "Did I come get you?"
"...?no?"
"Then go."
The male looks back at Izze, and she was appalled by this conversation. How can he treat a child like that? About to see the child leave, she calls out, "Wait a mintue, this is my shop. They can come in."
He was about to protest until the front door swung in, and 15 homeless kids trampled inside. Each of them were various age groups, the oldest one looked about 12 years old. She was taken back by it for a moment, then told them they could wash up in the bathroom. After that, Izze asked him what kind of cookies they wanted, but his answer, bewildered her.
"Cookies? No, that wasn't for them. They are getting a loaf of bread each."
He had sampled her cookies, yet was giving the children loaves of bread?
What?
After that, they started to come in everyday. She had learned each of their names, and even his: Simone. Simone's bad temper and angry face didn't scare the kids as it did her sometimes. She often caught him staring at her, which made her uncomfortable at times. But he never went beyond that, which she was thankful for. The only problem she had now was that after each visit, he had found his way into her stash of fresh cookies. She liked to prepare them over night, and left them in the trays in the back. But now, he kept somehow getting into them. She started to put them somewhere else and in different bins, but he always found them. So, this time, she put her fresh cookies in the freezer, and locked the door. He couldn't touch them now.
A tug on her dress, snapped her thoughts back to the present. Looking down, she sees little Lily, standing there.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Can I have...No, can we have sauce for our bread?"
"Sauce?"
"Yeah, the white cold sauce, you put on bread?"
"Oh, you mean butter??"
"Butter?"
Opening her mouth, they hear, "They only get bread. Nothing else."
Simone was sitting on a stool by the counter, leaning on his elbow. Izze looks at him, furrowing her eyebrows. He must have sensed she was going to start an argument, because he starts to scowl.
"Nothing. Else." his voice low, but deathly.
She pierces her lips, and looks at Lily who just nods feverishly before running off back to the group of children. She wanted to argue or at least challenge him, but she was only providing the food. Huffing, she walks back behind the counter, thinking, tomorrow I will make buttery bread. He can't complain then.
The next day, Izze woke up early, unlocking the freezer door. She needed to thaw the cookies, and set them up for display. Opening the door, she walks through the cold freezer door flaps, grabbing the tin full of cookies, placing them on the stool. She smiles, setting up the table of trays before opening the tin. Her smile disappears and shock took place. On the top, were different flavored cookies, and each one had bite marks on them.
How did he....
Puffing up her cheeks now, she remarks, "Damn it! Now, I have to make new ones."
&#x200B; | "A day in the life of a baker, you ask? Well, it's like every other life. Mostly weekdays with early mornings and working because we knead the dough" said Agnes and chuckled. I sat opposite her at a table in her bustling, cute little bakery called "Bakers gonna bake".
"You can use that one if you like. Of course, some days are more interesting than others. Last year especially there were a bunch of weirdos, if you don't mind me saying. Some of those will go great in your book. What was it called again?"
"Where's Weirdo" I replied "It's a kids book based on real life weird people. To help them know who to avoid if they are out in public places like this. I even have an illustrated list of character traits to look for. Would you like to see it?"
As most people, Agnes liked the idea of an illustrated list. Humans were so simple. Just take an advanced idea, illustrate it properly, and they would swallow whatever you told them.
"Are you serious about number five? There are weirdos who spit things that burn?" Agnes looked aghast.
"Unfortunately so, it is in fact..."
"Hey! I recognize this point. The one with the red eyes" Agnes interrupted. Urgh, I hate being interrupted. Putting on my best smile I looked at her and said:
"You do? How about point number 14? The one with darkness in the corner of your eye when the person is in your side vision."
"Yes! That fits Tom perfectly!"
"Tom?" I inquired in my most humble, yet direct, tone. Why can't humans just cut to the case and tell everything? At this rate I am going to have gray hair before too long.
"Tom, he often comes here, but I don't think he can read. Wait! That's number 31 on your list. Man, this list is long.
Anyway, Tom used to stop by here everyday last summer and he would walk up to the counter. Always choosing the register with the cookies." I looked over my shoulder and as she said there was a register there with a tray of cookies and a sign that faced away from me. Strange, there were noe residues of darkness there. Had another agent found him?
"Yes, right there. He used to walk up and say loudly: "I want five fresh breads from the back. Could you please go and get them." And so we would go. While we were away, Tom would always take one of the cookies, but always trying to hide it. As if he was a young child who thought he was clever. Isn't that strange?"
I was confused. Of course the woman couldn't know that demons who fitted her description were unusually dumb. My confusion must have shown, because she continued by saying:
"Oh, I see the sign is turned away, but you see, we always give away a free cookie with every purchase. So anyway, after a while we all became very interested in what he was doing, so I followed him one day. Yes, yes, I know. Fits perfectly to number 23, right?"
I looked up at here suspiciously, but she was to busy laughing to notice. Focusing, I let go of the tension that had suddenly built up.
"So, I followed him and wouldn't you know. He gave away all the bread to those in need. I went back and we all talked about it. The next day we threw Tom a big surprise to celebrate his good deeds. Unfortunately, that was the last time we saw him. He seemed so happy at the party, but as I held my speech to him he suddenly became very pale and left. It was a very good speech as well, I couldn't recite it now"
"Of cou..."
"No, you had to be there"
"But maybe you re..."
"Now, now, don't press me on this"
"I wouldn't, but if I just could ask a que..."
"OK, you have convinced me. Here goes:
Dear Tom, Dear Tom
Your battle is soon won
We have to fight hunger
And you are our warmonger
You come in here, every day
And you won't leave until you've had your way
However, we will now help thee
And the cookies are as always free
We love you very much
And that is not just a hunch
Because a Bakers gonna bake,
And a givers gonna give
And soon, a child is gonna feed
We love you dearly, and are really impressed
Xoxoxo Agnes and friends"
Agnes wiped away a tear. Slowly, my brain clicked. It seemed as though demons didn't have to do an evil deed every day as long as they believed they did one. Tom had probably realized everything and tried to do something before midnight, but had then been removed permanently. That would explain the missing residue. Poor guy.
Looking up at Agnes' expectant face I said:
"Bravo! This will be perfect for my book. I regret that I have to go. More weirdos to find, you know! Here's my card, please contact me if Tom or any other weirdos show up."
As I got up to leave I turned and thought I saw something in the corner of my eye. It was hard to make out because of the darkness.
"Oh..." I said as the realization and the dark blade hit me simultaneously.
And that is why, great Lord, I would ask of you a new body to go on a new hunt. My white bow is ready, I have learned and it's now time to hunt Agnes. After all, a hunters gonna hunt. | 2019-03-24T13:30:00 | 2019-03-24T12:43:50 | 62 | 16 |
[WP] You're abducted by aliens & soon realize it's more of an adoption than an abduction. You're now a pet for a loving alien family. They can't understand you but they seem to understand your body language & have basic knowledge of what humans need to live and entertain themselves when they're busy | I lay in bed and stretch. I haven’t quite opened my eyes, but I know morning has come again. I’ll never get over how comfortable my new bed is. Actually my entire house is much nicer than my old one. For a strong independent woman, I really took to being a pampered pet quickly. It’s so ironic I used to say I want to come back in my next life as a house cat whenever I was stressed or stretched thin.
I get up, get dressed, and head out the front door of my house and into the hallway of a much larger house. The aliens are much larger than me, not that I was ever a big person. Even the child is much larger than me. It pets my hair and hands me a plate with eggs and toast. I feel like I’m here for the child. I like to smile when the child brings me things. I think if I’m happy they’re happy. A larger parental figure motions the child out.
I go back into my house and lay back down. I’m not really tired so much as bored and a little lonely. I count my blessings because I’m sure most people died the day of the invasion. I just ended up some kid’s pet. It’s not like life was easy before. Even working three jobs I was about a month away from homelessness. I always carried pepper spray since my neighborhood was dangerous. Thanks to political turmoil riots were even breaking out. I would’ve stayed in if I could have.
Still there are things I miss. I miss the smell of coffee. I miss caffeine itself. The technology is a thousand years ahead, but still no coffee or soda in space. Most of all I miss my husband. He didn’t die in the invasion. He was simply shot in a mugging gone wrong. It was such a pointless death. I wasn’t fairing well without him. That’s why I’m fine here, be it prison or palace I don’t care.
I end up falling back asleep. Maybe I’m more tired than I thought I was. Maybe I’m still a bit depressed. I always sleep extra when I think of him. I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep. I don’t have a good sense of time anymore. I hear a tap at my door and head back out the front door.
I see the parent and a visibly excited kid. It looks like the kid has a giant pet carrier. Is it getting more pets, getting me a pet perhaps? It sets the carrier down, and out comes my husband. My eyes are blurring with tears. I don’t know if this is real, but I do know that I’m finally home. | I woke up in a bed in a glass cage of sorts, very confused and extremely scared.
“What the hell??? What happened to me?! Where the hell am I?!” I looked around at my surroundings. At first glance, I appeared to be in some kind of life sized dollhouse or something, complete with working appliances, a television, a fooseball table, and a computer.
“Hey, keep it down, dude. Some of us are trying to sleep...” A pink haired girl spoke to me, rolling over in the bed she was in to face me.
“Sorry, I’m just, like, confused as hell right now...” I apologized to her, taking a seat near her bed as she pulled the covers off of herself.
“So, you must be my new friend. Did the Altians adopt you too?”
“Altians? You mean those weird giant blue people that dragged me out of the club I was in last night? I thought I was just tripping balls from all the weed I smoked before heading out and they were normal security guards...”
“Uh, yeah, no, those weren’t security guards...” She laughed. “You remind me of when I first got adopted. Turns out that those aliens I saw while I was high on acid the night I was taken were real.”
“Damn.“ I shook my head. “So, I guess since we’re probably going to be stuck in here, I may as well introduce myself. My name is Jay, and before I was taken, I was out clubbing with my friends before finals week. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, Jay. My name is Yumiko. I haven’t been here for very long, like you, but the aliens who took us seem pretty nice. I can’t understand what they say, but they give me whatever I want if I draw what they look like on those posters in the corner over there.” Yumiko gestured to a pile of posters and several markers sitting on a table. “All the appliances that the Altians put in this weird dollhouse work. The fridge dispenses food and drinks upon request, and the TV has game consoles and all the channels anyone could ever want. The computer has games and internet access, but for some reason, social media websites don’t work...”
“I see...” I thought for a moment. “Are we the only two people in here?” I asked her, looking out of the glass wall at the room we were in. It looked a lot like a giant child’s bedroom.
“Yep. From what I’ve gathered by watching the Altians coming in and out and staring at me, it seems that we’re both supposed to be pets.”
“Pets? Like, as in pets that someone would keep in a cage like hamsters?”
“Precisely. It’s not as bad as you think it is, Jay. The Altian that looks after us is super nice. I think her name is supposed to be Naya, or at least that’s what her name sounds like to me. She likes to stick her hand in the house and pat me on the head, though, which can get annoying. If it happens to you, just don’t panic. She tends to squeeze things a little too hard if they struggle...”
Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of a door opening and a giant girl trotting over to our habitat. Neither of us could understand what she was saying, but the way she spoke to us reminded me of how I would talk down to my puppies that I left on Earth. I froze up in shock and terror as her giant fingers gently wrapped around my torso and lifted me up into the air. The Altian girl brought me up to her face and gave me a bunch of sloppy kisses that covered me in alien goo before she gently set me back down in the dollhouse.
“You alright, Jay? You seem upset...” Yumiko tried not to laugh at how awful I must have looked, covered in alien spit.
“I hate this place...” I sulked, trying to wipe off the metric ton of Altian saliva that covered my head. | 2019-05-09T16:32:46 | 2019-05-09T16:14:10 | 146 | 95 |
[WP]The Suit is powerfull. A mech for some, body armor for others, always unique to each person who wore it. Those who wear it, hear the words "not original user, booting basic mode" As a joke, your sergeant gives you The Suit and the first thing you hear is: "User detected: Welcome back, Commander" | The thunderous report of the enemy charged particle guns woke me up. They looked like bolts of blue-green lightning streaking to our defenses.
I peeled my shattered helmet off. Somehow I had survived a near hit, but my suit was done for.
I radioed the armory as I dragged myself back to base. I was told that I was one of the only survivors of the initial flyby... and that they were authorizing use of the Suit.
When I arrived, I stared at it. Sleek, matte steel. Nine feet tall, though it had been taller for some. I was scared, honestly, to get into it. It had a reputation for surviving where its user did not.
And yet, the moment I sat down, gripped the controls, I felt calm. Controlled. I entered the auxiliary startup sequence: whoever had originally owned the Suit had long since died, and the aux engines were all that worked on the impossible thing.
Halfway through, I heard the faint whirring, a solid, solemn click.
"Primary User detected: Welcome back, Commander. Detecting obsolete auxiliary systems. Disengaging from Black Core Drive systems. Black Core Drive spooling. Weapons spooling. Shields: Online. Active Armor: Online. Reactor: Online. Weapons: Online. All systems: nominal."
My heart damn near stopped in my chest. Whatever. Worry about breaking quadrillion dollar thousand year advanced tech later, avoid death now.
I gripped the controls, started to move... and realized something else had changed. The damned Suit was now standing almost twenty meters tall, far taller than anyone had ever heard of, let alone seen it be.
Whatever. I had hostiles to take out. I closed my eyes. After all, the augmented reality display projected directly onto my retinas, nice and familiar... wait, familiar? This was my first time experiencing this!
I raised the left arm, drew a bead on the nearest hostile, still two and a half klicks away. They sure seemed a lot closer to me: I could see the pilot's mask and helmet. I fired the Suit's own CPG, and my heart hadn't yet beat a second time before the enemy pilot vanished into smoke and ash.
(May do more if folks like it, I guess?) | Nobody knows where it came from or how it got here. All we know is that when you wear it two things happen; You hear it tell you "Unauthorized user, booting safe mode" and it gets a crazy configuration. Sgt. Aiden Kahn was the first soldier to wear it. It was a beautiful black suit whose texture resembled a dragon with white stripes dow the arms. It was able to absorb any blow from any weapon. When Major Kelly Rameriz donned the suit, It took the texture of snake scales with the speed and stealth to match. She was quiet and fast, and deadly. She "took out" our entire squad in the War Games. Took her only 15 minutes.
I joined the UNAF 6 months ago. It was really the only job a poor farmer's son could get. I finished my BCT and AIT. I was a scout. Not the most Glamorous job, but the $20,000 sign-on bonus was a big help to my pops and the family. I got stationed at Fort Bliss up in Texas. I had never been to the States before, it was a really nice place.
The United Nations and the Republic of China had always had issues. After the USA annexed the entirety of South America and Europe, wars broke out all over the place. The suit was found after a raid in what used to be Egypt. The Agency believed that the RoC had built this super weapon and was getting ready for the war to end all wars. An alligation which they denied.
It was the middle of September and I was the driver for Major Rameriz. She was a nice but cold woman. She never repeated herself but treated each and every person with respect. Make no mistake though, she was tough and could kill most people without much effort. She was getting ready for the latest round of performance test when out Humvee was hit by a rocket from the newest jet in the RoC fleet. I came to with a glaring headache. She was lying about ten foot from me. She's yelling at me but I can't make out what she's saying over the ringing. "Get the suit Private, Get the fucking suit! Defend it with your life." Without hesitating, I open the chest and pick up this thin piece of webbing. It looked like the vest we wear over our kevlar armor.
I put on the suit and I hear it say "Authorized user detected, Good evening commander, Booting configuration Delta". Suddenly the suit engulfs me in what I can only describe as a silver shell with a blue tint and a nice suede interior. It was like being surrounded by a cloud.
"What the shit?" I say to myself. "I'm no commander." Without much time to think about it, the suit jets upward until I'm staring at the newly minted RoC G90 aircraft coming at me. As if acting on instinct, I lean forward and punch toward the plane. As if magic, a shockwave leaves me and shatters the aircraft. I land while still in shock along with the rest of my batallion who arrived just in time to watch me one-hit a fucking plane.
As we're all trying to figure out what the hell just happened the suit's com chimed. "Alec, is that you? Please respond". I reply "No, this is Private Jorge Gonzales of the UNAF. Who are you?" I didn't get a response.
We thought this suit was a blessing. It was the most powerful weapon the UN had ever possessed and it made all other nations grovel at our feet. What we didn't quite know is that it was actually a curse, we just haven't felt the wrath of it's enemies. They were coming. | 2019-08-19T13:38:38 | 2019-08-19T12:23:47 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] At once, and everywhere, each living person has heard a voice in their head: "Hey! It's me, God. I've noticed there's a lot of confusion, so I've created a website called 'Will I go to hell and why dot com'. Just write your name in the search bar. And don't forget to share, like and subscribe." | *"...don't forget to share, like and subscribe."*
The "words of god" fell like a ton of bricks in my mind, I was alone in my apartment, but even here I could hear my upstairs neighbour screaming "what the hell?..." and then his TV with a special announcement from the news
Thousands at first, then millions, then a couple of billions people, all around the world typed the sacred URL in their computers and phones. I was one of the curious billions, eager to know my soul's final destination
In the TV a couple of news anchors were testing the website in real time, while a banner showed the URL in an endless loop
Then we waited and waited... And waited
The website never loaded, it seems that not even God or his sysadmin could make a website capable of enduring a global scale DDoS attack
Edit: thanks for the Silver, kind redditor | "... and don't forget to share, like and subscribe."
I furrowed my brows and looked around the subway in search of the voice. *What the hell was that?* From the corner of my eye, however, I saw the other commuters turning around in confusion as well. I opened my mouth slightly.
"Did... did you hear that?" A lady asked a suited man opposite me, breaking the silence. He nodded slowly, his eyes wide. The subway immediately broke into hushed whispers and frazzled hubbub.
I got out of the train as soon as it pulled up to its next stop. Pulling out my phone, I called a cab home. Texting my boss to let him know crossed my mind, but I realised how ridiculous that was.
I held my phone in my hand and bit my lip. Reluctantly, I opened up a web browser and typed in, slowly, almost incredulously, [*willigotohellandwhy.com*](https://willigotohellandwhy.com)*.*
The webpage loaded up slowly, with a goofy-looking search bar in the middle. My fingers shaking, I typed in *Louise Milberger.*
The page opened at an excruciating turtle's pace. I pursed my lips. It was done. The page was white with glaringly large red text. I looked around to find a whole subway station frozen, glued to their phones.
A strange silence befell the city.
I looked back down.
YES. Reason: Net good done in your life was offset by your job.
A steel ball dropped in the pit of my stomach. I swallowed. I knew it. A prosecutor, defending criminals. It was deplorable, but it made enough cash for the kids. I had to change.
Around me, as their webpages loaded, noise and chatter filled the air once again. Some were sobbing, some furious. Some just plain confused.
I swiped away the webpage and set my phone down on the subway bench. My feet moved naturally, guided without having to think about it. I joined the sea of people leaving the subway.
I'm going to change.
And I'm not going to look back.
\---
edit: I've been told that being a prosecutor isn't a morally ambiguous or immoral job. Apologies! | 2019-08-27T09:23:46 | 2019-08-27T08:25:08 | 2,356 | 108 |
[WP] You are a minor supervillain. Your antics aren't illegal, but they're quite devastating to the local hero population. You replace the flimsy fruit stands that are frequently destroyed in car chases throughout the city with nearly indestructible replicas. | For months they have been destroying my stall. I tried to get away, tried changing cities, regions everything. But they followed. They followed wherever I went. So called accidents. They're trying to save the nation they said.
They've ruined my life. I can't make a living anymore. My wife left me. She took our children. All I can dream about now is revenge. And so I started on my master plan. I knew they'd come. I didn't have to look. I knew they'd find me. A bald boy with an arrow on his head was flying away from the fire nation. As he's used to do, he aimed right at my stall.
This time however the stall didn't break, the boy did. "the fire nation thanks u sir. U have defeated the avatar". But I didn't do it for them. Not for them, not for the people, not for this whole wretched country. This was revenge, revenge for my cabbages.
Edit: wow, I've been a long time lurker on this sub but this is the first time I've posted something. Thanks for reading, and a big thanks for the silver to the kind stranger. | The screams of people in the downtown of Serenity Falls can be heard loudly. People are running wild from the notorious villain Amen Mai Sun who is firing guns blazing down Safety Street. His aimless shooting absolutely taking no victims, but instilling fear in those civilians by having no desire to being the first person Amen Mai Sun has ever killed.
However in the distance, the sounds of a 6th grade symphony can be heard which ONLY MEANS that POWERUPMAN is arriving to the scene. The civilians keep running for their lives not stopping for nothing but the thickest of shelters like the titanium food truck about 5 blocks away near St. Tanic Hospital.
It takes over 30 minutes of 6th grade Trumpet fanfares and levitation before Amen Mai Sun realizes POWERUPMAN has arrived on the scene.
"POWERUPMAN. How great of you to join me. I never thought it would take you so long to ge..."
"Amen. Ive been floating here for 30 minutes." POWERUPMAN harshly interjects.
"Well, THAT'LL BE THE LAST 30 MINUTES YOULL EVER FLOAT...?!" Amen Mai Sun shouts before unloading his aimless nature towards POWERUPMAN. In a stroke of luck, Amen Mai Sun actually hits POWERUPMAN sending him flying backwards into a fruit stand However, it doesn't break. POWERUPMAN realizing that this fruit stand > plot armor, he picks it up and throws it towards AMEN MAI SUN with all of his might. Amen tries his hardest to dodge away, but is unable to because the good guys always win. The fruit stand hits Amen Mai Sun and completely eviscerates his body leaving nothing but a grocery list of 3 lemons and 2 sugar.
The town people emerge outta everything: bushes, corners, potholes, stores, and behind POWERUPMAN to see if they were finally safe. They saw Amen Mai Sun was gone and did the only right course of action. They charge POWERUPMAN with felonies that'll send his ass straight to prison.
POWERUPMAN screams at the populace "WHY?! I SAVES ALL OF YOU."
But, a small boy comes up and says, "You killed more people than that man ever had motherfucka. And, murder is a felony. So you going to prison and hell, first class."
------
[Sounds of a TV turns off]
"And, that is how I became a minor supervillain! I made all of you murderers!" I say giddily into a room of all the superheroes I locked up. *Goodbye now* | 2020-01-14T01:37:05 | 2020-01-14T00:02:18 | 105 | 43 |
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet. | You may or may not have heard of the 'Sunk Cost Fallacy'. If not, let me explain. The sunk cost fallacy is a phenomenon by which someone, say a gambler, will continue down a path due to the idea that they have gone too far to turn back. I invest, for instance, £100 and lose every penny but I decide that I've gone so far that I cannot afford to let that stand, so I try to win it back by investing more and, in turn, lose more.
This is the problem.
*Whatever you do, don't get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop*.
Wonderfully vague instructions with no clear rhyme nor reason as to why I should follow them, no clear threat as to what should happen if I leave and no understanding of where I am, how I got here and where I am going. Logically, I should get off the train but the reality is that I've been on so long that I may as well see it through to the end now because if I don't, who knows what might happen?
The rules are simple.
1) The train is exactly 12 carriages long, the exact nature of which varies but always includes a dining car and a sleeping car.
2) The train stops every 24 hours at exactly midday and continues non-stop between these times.
3) The layout and makeup of the train changes after each stop, apparently instantly and with no sign of the previous layout. Consistent carriages such as the dining or sleeping car always remain.
4) The stops appear to be totally random and range from what looks like normal country train stations or subways at various locations around the world to impossible locations such as an underwater train station, a station in space or what appears to be an endless pit. Sometimes I can see *things* beyond the train station but warnings placed around the train have carefully informed me not to look at or speak to them and that, if they approach the carriage, to hide until the train starts again.
5) I am alone on the train. Food appears without any sign of staff and the original message reappears if destroyed in the exact location I first found it (on the table I first woke up on).
6) I can leave the train at any stop but I have been told to wait until the final stop.
Every day works the same way from beginning to end. I wake up at 7.15 and eat whatever breakfast is provided to me. I explore the current layout for a few hours and then sit down with a book. On days where there is a library, I will return the books I've finished and withdraw new ones. Oh! Don't forget:
7) Do not enter the library between 1.15 AM and 2.32 AM and **never** stay longer than 67 minutes at a time. Truth be told, I have no more idea why I should follow these rules anymore than the others or what the consequences should be if I didn't and yet I follow them anyway.
Eventually, 12 PM rolls around and I stand as the train slows to its stop. I take a glance out of the window to see where we are, trying to make sense of the oftentimes garbled names of the stations. The doors slide open, creaking gently as they do so, and cool air floods the doorway. I know that even if the depths of space if I were to step out of the train, I could feel that cool air, breath it in with no consequence or harm. I know that I could leave this all behind. I know, for that one blessed instance, that the rules and mandates that I accept so easily could be stripped away and forgotten if I just took that one step.
Out there is everything. Just beyond my fingertips are lives and worlds and experiences I could touch and breathe and live if I just stepped outside of the train for once. It would be so easy to do so, to just slide my foot a fraction of an inch further until it was too late to go back.
*Whatever you do, don't get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop*.
The words come back again, that vague foreboding of unimagined punishments, horrifying torments and brutal deaths flood my mind.
*You've come this far, you've made it through so many stops. Why throw it away now? Why risk it? Tomorrow. Tomorrow could be the one and if it isn't...*
I don't step forward. I don't move at all as the doors slide shut again and, with a thud, the train picks up speed again. The station disappears into the black mist. I don't think about the station again. Nor do I think about the thousands before it except for occasionally when, in the pitch dark of the night, they come surging back into my memory until I can think of nothing else. I scan them all and wonder and the next day I stand on the edge of the train and breathe in the cool, fresh air of the station and know that I could so easily step off if I wanted.
*Tomorrow,* I think, *and if it isn't...* | The only thing I remember is a kiss. Soft lips brushing my temple, warm breath on my skin, and the words _Until death do we suffer_.
I can't tell you how long it's been since I've been on this track. I was a child when I found myself here, and yesterday I discovered the first strands of gray growing out of that temple where the kiss still lingers. Twenty years? Thirty? The lines in my face do not tell me.
At first, I merely huddled in the back of the last train car, watching the world roll by, slowly deepening into darkness. The stations were strange monuments in barren fields, some lit up like heaven, others abandoned. At every stop, someone got on, or someone else got off, or nothing happened at all. The train would trundle to a pause, and the engines would die, and only the wind over the flat wasteland made any noise. Then the engines would chug...chug...._chug_ back to life, and I would watch the empty platform shrink away into nothing, remembering a kiss on my temple and feeling afraid.
It's been black outside for years now. I don't watch the landscape anymore. The things inside are what kill.
I had begun my journey the day the sun set forever, moving from the back of the last train car and into the locomotive world. There were people here who had been here longer than I have, all of them proud _survivors_. This place was a game to them, a hunting ground, a trial to cull the weak. I had to stay hidden, or I had to run fast, or else I would die.
Those from outside were full of madness, and I knew the madness was outside, and I feared it.
Some passengers flung themselves into it--more and more as I made my way to the front of the train. In my youth, from the back of the last car, watching from afar, I had seen them as exuberant departees. Now I saw them as they truly were, so desperate to escape the endless track that they would flee into something worse.
Some passengers had fallen asleep--or perhaps they had died, their lungs still scooping up oxygen but their hearts beating no drums--so I took from them what I could. Clothing. Food. One woman had a pistol, but there were no bullets.
And I--I crept alone. I passed every stop, fearing to get off. I felt that every step forward was a mistake, yet I knew, somewhere deep inside where things can never be expressed, that if I did not keep trying to reach the front of the train, I would end up just like the passengers who slept. Dead but breathing.
Dead but breathing.
The wheels thundered along the track beneath my feet as I crept through the train cars, my weapons in hand. I trained my ears on the sounds all around, the rattling windows and shrieking gears. Somewhere within the pandemonium, I would hear footsteps, and if I did, I would flee, or I would fight, or I would kill. The train stretched on forever, just like the tracks, and I did not spend a lifetime journeying for the first car just to die so far along. I would kill anyone who got in my way.
I am a survivor.
The first man to try was younger than me--fast and foolhardy. I left him with a grin carved into his throat. The next was older, smarter. She gave me a deep cut on my arm that would surely become a scar, but I smashed her head against a seat back and left her for the vultures. Those with the madness liked blood for blood's sake. They were not going anywhere. They were just enjoying the ride while they could. I despised them.
Then I saw a man step out of the shadows before me, swaying with the motion of the train. There were tears in his eyes, and the expression on his face chilled me to my core.
It was as blank and empty as the world outside.
Here was a man who had given up.
He lifted a pistol to eye level and pulled the trigger so fast that I barely had time to react. I ducked behind a seat just in time, my heart pounding in my ears faster than the wheels spun across the iron tracks. Most people killed for survival. Some killed for fun. But this man would kill just to stop others in their tracks. I feared him most of all. Sometimes I thought about joining the jump into madness whenever I came across men like this one.
But I had overcome them before, and I would do so again, as many times as I had to. I was going to reach the first train car. I was going to find answers. I was going to survive.
I dove out from behind my cover, hurling a blade as I went. It caught the man in the shoulder, and he lurched back with a shout. Rolling to my feet, I charged forward, whipping out my empty pistol and smashing it across his face like a club. Skin tore in long strips as his head wrenched about, and two chips of his teeth clicked against the train window. He spun as he went down, and I fell upon him with another knife, stabbing him everywhere I could reach.
When I was sure he was dead, I unsheathed my knife from his ribcage and picked up his gun. There were no more bullets. I hastily searched his pockets, and to my delight, I found four shells that fit my own gun.
I heard movement behind me, so I pocketed the shells, took my knife from his shoulder, and ran.
In the eternity of the train, the days never changed. One day, I'd see my reflection in the window, and my hair would be just over my eyes, and there'd be the first hint of a beard upon my chin. And another day, I'd look up and my hair would be long, my beard full, and I'd wonder where yesterday had gone.
But in every tomorrow, I put yesterday out of mind. There was only the next step forward. Somewhere, there was a beginning. There was an end. There was an answer. There was a kiss. And every day I survived, I crept just a little bit closer. I was the only moving cog in a sea of stagnation. I heard sobbing. I heard screaming. I heard the cackling cachinnation of falling apart. And sometimes I heard the train.
For the train never sleeps. | 2020-07-17T13:55:41 | 2020-07-17T13:21:25 | 48 | 15 |
[WP] The message from the stars, it contained plans for all manner of advanced technologies, FTL, unlimited power and more, but ended with a warning. "You are the last. Survive for all of us. We are sorry for this burden." | *Light screams across the sky as the capsule falls burning. Laos, Nigeria, never sleeps, but no one sees the golden light streaking overhead. No one but the boy it is meant for, who is up far past his bedtime when the light lands smoldering in his backyard.*
*The boy tiptoes barefooted to the yard. To a capsule that glows like a second sun. He is ten years old, and he still believes his cosmonaut father will be home again soon. The last time they saw each other, his father stood so proud in his silver spacesuit, waving as he climbed into the belly of a massive shuttle.*
*The lid hinges open for the boy, splashing him in prisms of light. And this is what it says:*
I will be dead by the time you find this, my son. I can only pray you will forgive me. This is the closest I can come to saying goodbye.
Do not mourn me. I've lived well beyond my natural life and sailed the infinite cosmic seas of the universe. I have held the golden secrets of the gods and deciphered the murmur of the planets, radiating across the black canvas of space. I know the stories older than time itself. I have seen how the universe is no larger than a marble in the palm of a god and how to take it in my own hands, creation become creator.
For you, I have been gone for four years. For me, it has been an eternity and beyond. I found this capsule on my mission, or perhaps it found me.
I am not the first, and I will not be the last.
The stars have chosen me, and soon I shall pass the mantle of their care onto you. Someone must always be the keeper of the stars. And now it is my turn. I am sorry for the burden.
Here you will find everything I have learned, everything I have inherited. You will see we humans are neither last nor lost. We are single links in a chain that stretches back to the first glinting microbes swimming in the primordial soup of once-was.
*The boy is crying and smiling and he doesn't understand why. But when he touches the light he hears his father's voice like he is planetside once more.*
I am every light above and beyond. I am every atom of carbon and every wandering neutrino. You see, the stars are more than dead light. More than the lingering past. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, and our souls are no different: everyone of us churns back into the infinite belly of the universe.
Keep it secret. Keep it safe. Keep after your mother. And when you are ready, come find me. Hydrogen or helium or nothing at all — I am always your father first. And I will always love you.
*The boy sits there under the smiling moon and all the glinting lights of his father's soul, scattered among the stars. He digs through a capsule that has touched infinite hands. He skims through the secrets of the universe, and he knows his father is still there beside him. Just one more time.* | The last ship of the Sphere Builders raced through the stars, already years ahead of the gamma ray burst that had killed their worlds and still gaining. The ship was fast, it would reach the Earth in 3 more of its standard weeks and by that time they’d have bought nearly a generation for its people to prepare.
The crew’s consciences were still far from clean, they prayed their gods would forgive them.
With the Admiralty board long since gone the captain and first officer stood hand in hand at the bridge railing, watching the ethereal blue glow of hyperspace through the forward view screen. The only noise was the quiet hum of the ships engines, they’d used all their words the night before over an ancient vintage in the captain’s quarters, and later they’d surpassed words entirely, baring their souls to each other in the dark.
From behind the pair the turbolift doors hissed open, the ship’s priest stepping out, clad in his ornate robes of office. He was not surprised to see the officers connection, the two women had always had a strong (but professionally controlled) subtext.
“It’s done,” the priest said “the crew is ready.”
Nodding, Captain Tengre turned to him, curving right arm to left hip in religious deference. “Our souls are prepared as well.”
“Is there any prayer for a species? Can you grant absolution to everyone we left behind?” the first officer’s voice trembled as she spoke, a tear sliding down her ruby cheek.
The priest's wizened face softened as he lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. “There are no sins in what happened, for them or for us. Nobody could have known.”
That was cold comfort for the dead, Tengre thought. Although truly none had seen it coming. For eons their people had built their spheres around the stars, harnessing the near infinite power of their light for artificial worlds, energy harnessed from gravity itself had seemed the next step and what greater source could there be than a neutron star?
All good things came to an end, but in the history of the galaxy had any ended quite so completely?
“I loaded the message for the humans into the system with all the scientific data.” The first officer’s voice was stable again, her professionalism winning out. Tengre had always admired that about her. “I included a list of all our names and homeworlds with it. The crew deserves to be remembered.”
“That they do,” the captain paused for a long moment, staring hard at her first officer before crossing the steps between them and planting a scorching kiss on her lips. The priest smiled, he was glad to see things end in love.
“It’s time,” Tengre was breathless as she pulled back, but she knew the memory she wanted her life to end on.
“Computer, shipwide address.” The priest took a deep breath, closing his eyes and raising his hands to the heavens. “My children,” he said, “your burdens are done. It is for others now what happens, and we live on in them, as it has been.”
Throughout the ship the crew’s quiet echo sounded “so it will be.”
Together they all spoke the invocation for the damned falling to their knees, pressing foreheads to the floor in the ritual cleansing of souls, and when it was over they stood again for the final echo.
“As it has been,” the priest's resonant voice called.
“So it will be!” the crew shouted, joining hand in hand with their nearest comrades.
On the bridge the three formed a triangle, the priest with his eyes closed in repose, the two new lovers staring deeply into each other’s, wondering at all the time they might have had.
“Computer,” Captain Tengre whispered, “transfer to automated control. Godsspeed.”
In the next moment every member of the crew was consumed in an orange glow as the transporter system disassembled them and beamed their particles out into the ether, scattering their bodies across hyperspace for millions of miles.
The wave of gamma rays raced behind them. Humanity would have a generation to pack their population into as many ships as they could and run for the rest of their natural born lives.
The last ship of the Sphere Builders sailed on.
\-----------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/)! I'm currently working on a serial about a savescumming superhero and I've got other fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. I'd love you have you! | 2020-12-31T23:40:17 | 2020-12-31T23:27:27 | 175 | 108 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble. | "Do we know who did this?"
It was the first time The Academic had spoken since they had entered the hospital. They had emerged from their motorcade in silence, letting their assistants placate and query the staff of the hospital. Now they stood at the bedside of Ms. Lydia Wisp.
The Academic's network was large enough that they could not personally know every member. But they knew Ms. Wisp. She was an elementary school librarian from a small town to the south of Seattle, who had met with the Academic in hopes of protecting her school from the government's ever-avaricious budget. She had been pleasant, polite, and well-prepared, and the Academic had been more than happy to assist her. In the years since they had kept an eye on Ms. Wisp's region among their other points of interest, and had occasionally contacted her for local issues that had not rated official attention.
And now she lay in a hospital bed, wrapped in bandages, casts, and skin grafts.
"The person responsible was Sandblaster. Has the ability to generate large amounts of sand with variable mass and velocity. Publicly operating for four years, recently moved from Los Angeles for unknown reasons. Previously associated with Panthera, but arrived at Savior Hall an hour ago with luggage."
The Academic nodded, once. "Please see to it that Ms. Wisp's healing is accelerated. Call in up to level two debts as needed."
The assistant may have responded, but The Academic was already deep in thought. Fifth floor of Seattle General to the front of Savior Hall, without taking any of the floor or leaving any of themself. The calculations churned in their head, equations unfolding like a labyrinth, numbers ruthlessly locked into place, until--
The Academic spoke the answer.
The universe suddenly realized part of it wasn't where it was supposed to be, and corrected this immediately.
The assistant was left alone in the hospital room.
---
"What the *fuck*, Sand! When I agreed to let you crash here, I didn't think 'Don't be a psycho' needed to be said!"
*"Me, the psycho? I'm not the one letting a low level villain run roughshod over the state government."*
"Low level? Did you do... Any research before jumping in headfirst? Any at all?
Academic isn't low *level* because they are *weak*. Academic is low *priority* because they are *easily managed*. Don't touch the schools. Don't cut the budget. Don't touch their people."
*"What are so so worried about? You said it yourself-- The Academic mostly works through their minions. I take them out, they go down."*
"Get out. Now. I don't want your blood on my furniture."
---
The Academic pondered Savior Hall.
The large building towered over the surrounding park, a glass and quartz titan watching over the city. Today, a shimmering rainbow shield wrapped around the hall, sealing off entry to Seattle's superhero HQ. That same kind of shield had once protected half of Europe from an asteroid strike.
The Academic was not an asteroid.
"An unstoppable force meets an immovable object." The Academic spoke aloud, striding forwards. "A foolish question. Either the force is stoppable--"
The Academic met the rainbow shield. It vanished with an earsplitting, window-shaking CRACK, leaving the path to the front door unobstructed.
"-- Or the object is moved."
When knocking failed to produce an answer, they applied a light shove to the doors (*force equals mass time acceleration*) that sent the thick metal slabs cannoning off their hinges to impale the far wall. Luckily, They didn't have to go looking for their quarry; Sandblaster strode into the lobby as the dust was still falling.
"So you've got some tricks up your sleeve. Just means it'll look even better when I take you--" The hero reeled back and whipped a block of silicate at The Academic's head-- "DOWN!"
"Addition."
The floor before the supervillain buckled, a bugle of tile and stone jumping up to intercept the projectile. The Academic stepped around the obstacle and slowly strode towards their opponent. "Sandblaster, you hurt a teacher under my protection."
"I interrogated one your minions!" This block was (*for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction*) casually batted aside.
"Lydia Wisp works at an elementary school. She helps children expand their understanding of the world. You put her in the hospital with life-threating wounds."
"If you want to take apart a criminal empire, you've got to take out the bottom-- and the top!" A huge block launched, which (*an object at rest tend to stay at rest*) abruptly tumbled to the floor.
"You are responsible for the grievous harming of an innocent. I am here to correct you."
Snarling, Sandblaster readied his namesake move. He'd like to see this bastard walk off a high-pressure stream of--
The Academic flicked a finger in a slashing motion. "Division."
Sandblaster shrieked as his right arm was *divided* from the rest of his body. He lurched sideways, desperately clamping his other hand over the gushing stump.
"Goodbye."
Sandblaster looked up just in time to see The Academic's palm touch his forehead.
"Subtraction." | "Hey uh, boss?" One of the grunts had radioed him.
"Yeah? What do you need?" The man, relaxed in a chair, asked.
"We found Courts, he's pretty fucked up, looks like torture." The grunt responded.
"Oh fuck..." The man, now sitting up straighter, muttered, "anyone else?"
"Dead." The grunt replied.
"I assumed so." The man sighed, heroes killing had been on the rise, more so now with that new "Queen" guy around, wielding a crossbow and a cowl, he had killed more people than the man in the chair had.
"Boss, you read us?" The grunt questioned, worried.
"Loud n' clear, send Courts in if he's able to walk and talk comprehensibly, if not, send him for rest." The man in the chair ordered.
"Copy that Boss, ETA 5 minutes. Courts will be speaking to you." The grunt replied.
"Thanks." The man in the chair said, before cutting the call.
10 minutes had passed, and Courts came through the door using a walking stick.
"Courts, what the fuck happened out there?" The man in the chair stood, and walked towards Courts.
"Well Boss, they beat me til' I couldn't do nothin' then they tried to force me to talk." Courts replied.
Offering his shoulder, he helped Courts to a chair, then asked, "anything else they do to you?"
"Threw me into a wall, stabbed me in the leg." Courts responded, "might have done more, I couldn't feel nothin' after the wall."
"Jesus Christ. Alright, I assume this lad was a bit too eager for information?" The man, previously in a chair, asked.
"They were, I wouldn't of given 'em anythin' anyway." Courts replied.
The man pondered on this, than realized something, "Wait... They?"
"Oh shit! Right!" Courts yelled, "There were 3 of them!"
"What did they look like?" The man questioned.
"I think one of them was Queen... The other was called Digs, the last one seemed against doing anything to me, I think it was a lady, but they had long hair." Courts said slowly, while in thought.
"Thank you Courts, take as much time as you need to heal." The man ordered.
"Boss... Nah nah, what was one of those names you used? Lists?" Courts asked.
"Yeah, Lists was never a good name. People now only remember me for that line I did once." Lists responded.
"It was the Alfred the Great one right?" Courts questioned.
"Yep," Lists replied, "Ya know me? They call me Alfred. Alfred the Great, and for what you did, I'm going to be seen as the man who took down these barbarians."
"That was a great goddamn line, I still remember hearing you say that." Courts smiled.
"It was a damn good line, especially in improv, now go rest up mate." Lists patted Courts on the shoulder, helped him stand up, and let him on his way.
Now it was time to teach this "Queen" a lesson.
Walking down the street, Lists was kind to anyone who gave him the time of day, he had found the location of Queen's hide out. An old, rundown factory in a shitty area. Stepping in, he called out to see if anyone would respond to him. He then received a fast moving object to the stomach, and flew into a wall.
"Goddamn! You and your walls Queen!" Lists yelled.
"How did you know where we were?" A modified voice echoes around him.
"Would you believe I'm buying property in the area!" Lists yelled out once more, hoping to get a location on his assailant.
His assailant dropped down from above him, and Lists was very easily able to mark him as Queen.
"Your a guy?" Lists asked.
Queen stepped on Lists leg, and asked, "How did you know where we were?"
Lists points at Queen, while saying, "You harmed, and killed, many fine men, with friends, families, and loved ones. Those actions, as you will soon find out, have consequences, many, many very bad consequences."
Queen scoffed, and motioned his hands for his friends to come out, a moderately tall, muscular man wearing a mask, and a smaller woman, also wearing a mask.
"You probably shouldn't have revealed your friend's locations to me." Lists stated, during the middle of this sentence, he had formed a gun in his hand, and by the end, Queens was missing a part of his jaw, but was still alive. His friends, not able to get a line of sight on Lists, went behind cover.
Lists began charging using the confused Queen as a shield, and began yelling "Ya know! If Queen hadn't stepped on my leg, I would have told you I was Alfred!"
Queen had finally recovered from having his jaw nearly blown off, and began to retaliate towards his usage as a shield, far too late of course, as he had already outlived his usefulness, and was thrown into a pile of steel pipes. The muscular man, probably Digs, had began shooting at Lists, while the small woman, who had probably been the long haired one Courts had described, went out of the line of fire.
Lists formed a gun in his hand once more, and shot Digs' gun out of his hand. Digs then began charging Lists, to which Lists responded to by hitting him with his palm, stopping Digs in his tracks, probably broke a rib or two in the process, grabbing his arm, lifting him over his head, then, with momentum, launched him into a floor with a giant swing.
Digs was no longer going to get up, and the long-haired woman began to shoot at Lists. Lists formed yet another gun in his hand, and grazed her leg with a bullet. Collapsed on one knee, and in tremendous pain, the woman tried to keep shooting, yet every shoot missed due to her injuries. Lists kicked the gun out of her hand, and using the same kick, dislocated her jaw. Then, with the heel of his foot and the height from his kick, broke her skull.
Queen had began to run at Lists, much more sloppily than Digs had, which was acceptable considering the amount of abuse he had just endured. Lists let him get close to him, and during Queen's attempt to punch, grabbed his fist, and squeezed. Hard. Lists left after that, leaving three severely wounded heroes to their devices.
Lists had arrived back at base 20 minutes later. Courts was there to greet him. They watched the news together, had drinks together, and laughed as the news report of the heroes Lists had beat up came on. | 2021-03-22T10:21:57 | 2021-03-22T07:33:48 | 58 | 34 |
[WP] You are a villain who kidnapped the smart guy on your nemesis team, they tell you that nobody will come for them and that the hero doesn't care. You didn't believe them at first but it been a month and nobody shows up and after once again hearing them cry at night you had enough | "They won't come." The Mastermind told me for what had probably been the hundredth time since I had kidnapped him.
"I really didn't believe you at first." I responded. "I thought you were a teammate to them; I thought they were true heroes that would never leave a man behind, but it looks like I was wrong."
"I'm their teammate; I knew it was happening." He responded bitterly.
"Hey, look." I began to make a proposition. "Since these teammates of yours don't seem like they have your back, maybe you can join me. I mean, I'm usually a loner, but a brilliant superhero like you could really help me out."
"Do you mean it?" His face lit up with interest.
"Yeah, I mean, I'm sure you'd like to get revenge on your old team which I could help with."
"I'm not big on revenge. I'm still a hero at heart, but I think we could make a great team."
After some internal debate, I let The Mastermind out of the prison I had been holding him in. "You do anything weird, and I'm killing you." I said with my most threatening voice which probably wasn't particularly threatening.
"You got it man." He raised his hands defensively. "So, what's your first plan?"
"There's a villain attack happening in a few hours and we'll meet your old team in the depths of the city."
As I had known, a vicious attack by the Devastators occurred. The Mastermind's old team, the Justice Defenders, had arrived to put a stop to the attack, and The Mastermind and myself arrived just at the end.
It was a scene of destruction. There were superheroes and super-villains fighting in every corner of the city. Civillians were being hurt, buildings were being destroyed, and for once, I couldn't stomach the scene of destruction.
I had always been part of the backfoot of villainous activity. My telekinetic powers made it easy for me to steal, kidnap and flee. I was a valuable asset to other villains at times due to my immense power, but I had never been one to engage in combat. I had come to the scene of the event to cleanup and rob, not to fight.
"Help."
I saw The Mastermind rush over to a young girl pinned under a piece of a fallen building in the corner of my eye. It was as he had said–he was a hero at heart.
He struggled.
He was known as a smart hero, not a strong one, and a building proved to be more his match.
"Dark Telepath, I need your help." I heard him say to me. "You have the power to help."
I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes. To help someone went against my villainous past, but I recalled the month I had spent with The Mastermind. I knew the stories of the people he had helped to save. All the families he had reunited. The people he had helped. He told me it was never about doing things for himself.
It was a decision I would never be able to take back, but I raised that building with my telekinetic powers with ease. At that moment, I knew The Mastermind was never abandoned by his team. Instead, he had come to my rescue. | People have reasons for what they do. You eat when your hungry, you laugh at things that are funny and you fight those that challenge you. I wanted the city, as was my birth right. The problem was the heroic team that always stopped me.
Everytime, I would be so close and then they would find a way to stop me. In an act of genius, I kidnapped the smart guy of the group, Doc Dimensional. He only had slight telekinetic powers, enough to float a few people at max, but was smart enough to causally think in 4D.
When i captured him, he said that they would not come back for him. I ignored him, thinking of it as lies to lower my guard. Any moment now, they would be busting down the walls in a daring rescue attempt. And when they did, I would have my revenge.
Its now been over a month, with Doc D crying himself to sleep ever since he was given a simple TV with the news on it. I didn't know why until one day, as I was scoping out a heist location, I saw the news papers.
*The Heroics have given up on the search for Doctor Dimensional. His wealth will be given to the Heroics for their effort. *
"Those lying little brats. ". I knew they had not put any effort into finding Doc D as I had been monitoring their movements as best I could. If this is how the heros act then how was I the bad guy? I had had enough and I knew what i needed to do.
When I returned to the secret warehouse base, I stormed my way to where Doc D was imprisoned.
"You coming with me, NOW! " I shouted. He looked shocked at my sudden outburst, having only seen me like this when they tried to harm my mother.
"What? why? So you can experiment on me? " he asked.
"No. Its so i can get your fucking measurements. I need them if I'm going to make your fucking armour suit. From now on, your working for me. " I snapped.
Doc D looked so confused. "Again, why? Why would I work for someone like..." he was interrupted as I turned and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.
"WOULD YOU RATHER WORK FOR THE FUCKING HEROICS THEN!?!? I'm giving you the chance to work for someone who has admired your work since I understood what it meant. My laboratory full of weapons, gadgets and plans, I would happily share if you just join me. " I said, ignoring the fact that I had just admitted.
He stuttered a bit with the tears in his eyes. "Y-you would do tha- that for me? Even after the things I have d...".
"Shut up and come with me. You have a lot to learn from me Doc D. Now, here's a little lesson in trickery."
*3 days later. *
I crashed through the bank wall, my army of techonpathicly controlled drones following behind. At my side was my new partner and the previous Doc D, Dimension cutter. The new gauntlet we had made together let him stand up to his name as the portals and telepathic enhancer made him more powerful than he had ever been.
Just as planned, the Heroics showed up. They even had a new addition, which was supposed to be Doc D's replacement.
"Stop right their, Tech Ruler. Its time we put a stop to you. " said the team leader.
"I see you found a replacement pretty quick. I do hope you care for him more than you did for poor old Doc. " I gloated, as was the villainary custom.
"While we miss him, we don't need him. We could save ourselves. He was getting too old for this anyway. " said the young pyromancer girl.
DC scoffed. "So thats why you did even try. You just wanted to get rid of me? Nice to know I won't regret my current decision. " he said, finally catching the heros attention.
"W-w-wait? Doc Dimensional? Is that you? " the leader asked.
"I was, back when I thought heros were good people. Seems like I was working for the wrong side. ".
"It doesn't matter. We'll take you both down for your crimes. " said fire girl.
DC and I just smiled at each other.
"Maybe some other time. Meanwhile, why don't you stop the boss bots I, no, we have repaired and improved. See you again some other time. " i said, timing it perfectly with an explosion.
"Good bye Hero-dick. Next time, ill show you all the power that you wasted by losing my old self. " DC commented with an impressively funny and villainous insult as we both walked through the portal. | 2021-08-04T14:33:57 | 2021-08-04T12:56:20 | 495 | 292 |
[WP] You find yourself in purgatory, you will be forever stuck unless you write that book that "you are totally going to write". The book will be published in the world of the living. | "I'm gonna need Internet access."
The pale, ghostly figure blinks at my demand, its translucent body softly flickering in and out of existence.
"Why?" it asks, its voice reverberating through the endless, misty void around us, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
I shrug. "Research, obviously. You can't expect me to write my masterpiece if I can't get the historical details accurate."
Grey mists swirl about the entity as it tilts its head in confusion. "But your proposed work is fiction," it states plainly.
"Exactly!" I enthuse, "It's speculative fiction. All the more reason I need to get the details right. Oh, uh," I motion towards the small wooden desk beside me, "Could you also get me set up with a mechanical keyboard and a Scrivener license?"
The entity proffers another look of confusion.
I continue, "Look, the typewriter is cute in a vintage kinda way, but finishing this thing is going to take *ages* without the proper tools."
"But, time is of no consequence in purgatory. You have eternity to write your work."
"Apparently not." I chastise, "Look, if you want this thing published in the living world, it's gotta hit the market soon while it's still on trend. Who knows if anyone will care in like, a year, let alone 400. Will people still even be *reading* in 400 years? Do you know?"
"No," the entity seems flustered, "the shape of things is not yet decided."
"Great!" I smile, taking a seat at the desk, "Then we're in agreement!"
"I'm not sure--"
"Hey, we don't have forever here. Time is money and all that stuff. You gonna help me get started or no?"
Defeated, the entity sighs and waves its hand. The mists obey the silent command. Spiraling tendrils creep out from the surrounding void, wrapping the typewriter in an ethereal embrace. The mists subside, and on the desk before me sits a single monitor, a mouse, and a simple mechanical keyboard.
I raise an eyebrow, "Just the one monitor?"
The entity slumps visibly and raises its hand again. Conjuring another monitor from the mists. "Is there anything else you need?" it asks, annoyance seeping into its words.
"Nope! You've been great! I'll start right away!"
The entity nods curtly as it fades away.
I turn back to the monitors and open up Scrivener. As I'm setting up a new project through the interface, it prompts me to name my manuscript.
I stare blankly at the screen.
...
I've got nothing.
Names are hard.
With a sigh, I launch a browser and pull up Facebook. My notifications are absolutely overflowing with heartfelt messages of bereavement from friends and family.
It's touching. Really it is.
One by one, I go through all of them, the stark reality of my death finally hitting me.
Wiping away tears, I take a quick peek to make sure the entity isn't watching. There's nothing here with me. Nothing here but me, my equipment, and the churning, endless mists.
An idea coalesces in my mind.
Sniffing loudly, I begin writing a new status: "So, uh. You guys are *not* going to believe this..." | I was amazed at how short St. Peter was. I doubt he was more that 5 feet tall so I had a foot and a half on him easy. St. Peter, he has a temper on him this one. He plops down a book the size of an unabridged dictionary and puts a finger on top and growls, "This is a listing of all your sins! All of them boy! You should be going downstairs, but you had to go and save that baby from being run over by a bus. No greater love my eye."
The pearly gates were shining and I made my way toward them. I rubbed my hands together. "This will be fun. I want to see just who you let in here." I was halted in my tracks and drawn back to Saint Peter.
He snarled, "Just what I need another funny boy. You will remain in purgatory with the other novelists who can only gain admittance to heaven by completing their first novel. Now go until you have redeemed yourself."
Most of the people I know who want to become writers, find out pretty quickly that publishing is the biggest legal con out there and the houses hold all the cards. You could write the greatest novel in the world, but if vampire stories are hot, they won't even send you a rejection letter. They want women writers, who are people of color, maybe bi or transgender, who struggle with depression and who will write a love story that will bring the average woman to tears.
Yeah, that's not me. What old St. Pete didn't know is I'm a writer see. I never have writer's block; I have too many ideas bouncing around in my head. My idea notebooks filled up three shelves in my writing room. Give me a pot of coffee and some quiet time and I can knock out a book in six weeks.
There are plenty of cool things about purgatory; the coffee is always hot and you don't need to go to the bathroom. The supply of paper never runs out if you write by hand and your computer's hard drive has unlimited space. On top of all of that, there are no interruptions. Your kids never come in and ask, "What cha writing?" You wife never interrupts with "Where did you put the check book?" She had it on top of the bills she was paying. Nothing ever breaks and you have all the time in the world.
Just like I said, in six weeks I knock out my first book about a little kid who runs away from home to meet his grandparents who are estranged from his parents. The kid escapes from the cops by riding barebacked on the fastest pig this side of the Pecos River. I even took the time to edit, found a few instances where I was telling and not showing and corrected all my spelling, grammar and syntactic errors. Man I was on a roll. I hit the print button and the printer magically created a hardbound first edition. I signed it with a flourish.
A small television appeared, and my wife was wiping away tears of joy and saying, "It was husband's greatest wish that he could become a published author. My only regret is that he's not here to see his dearest wish come true." One more thing that's cool about purgatory; you could see a million sappy things and you'll never cry.
Saint Peter just appears and says, "I can't believe it. This is some kind of record. Come with me my boy, it's off to heaven you go."
I have to tell you I was tempted, I was really tempted to follow good old St. Peter back to the pearly gates. "With all due respect sir, my novel really isn't finished. I envision at least a twelve part series of the continuing adventures of our hero. It wouldn't be right if I just stopped now. The story's not finished. I have to see it through to the end. You just let me get to work and come back when this series is finished your blessedness. It's the only right thing to do."
Saint Peter clapped me heartily on the back and said, "Now you've got the spirit. I'll know when you're finished. I won't bother you, I'll just let you get on with things."
I got back to writing volume two. With any luck, I could pull a George R.R. Martin and never finish. Things were looking better and better. I think old Pete made a mistake. This isn't purgatory, it's heaven. When you can write as much as you like as long as you like, that's a perfect state of grace. Now get out of here. I have writing to do. | 2021-10-07T08:29:40 | 2021-10-07T08:23:04 | 155 | 53 |
[WP] This was the most depressing thing the villain has ever seen. It’s one thing to be invited to their archenemy’s birthday party. It was another to be the only one who showed up. | The letter came unexpectedly. **You're invited to Samuel's birthday party this friday!!!**
He was confused. Who was Samuel? He didn't know a Samuel. The idea of getting this letter meant he had some type of connection with this person, maybe it was the child of one of his old colleagues or classmates. He was popular back in his day so it was reasonable to believe.
He decided to go, after all, the child wrote this themselves. The crayon drawing that was the card was adorable.
Friday arrived and he grabbed the small bunny plushie and crayons he bought for the occasion. While the card didn't have an address, the mini map on it was easy enough to decipher as it was only a few blocks from his place.
Upon arriving however, he was confused. In front of him stood an abandoned house that was falling apart. The neighborhood wasn't in the best of conditions but none were as bad as this house. He looked around for any type of balloon or indication of a party before stepping up the steps to the house.
In response to the thumping of his black boots on the steps, rampant small footsteps ran from inside the house. He nearly fell backwards as the door flung open and a little body slammed into him.
"You're here! Come on come on come one!!!" He let himself be pulled by a small dirty child into the house. "Thamuel!!" He was confused, weary, and sad. He didn't know how this child came to living in an abandoned home but it was obvious by the empty food containers that they had been here a while.
"Marcie, what are you doing?" A familiar voice came the stairs and 'Marcie' giggled before shoving him into a room. She silently closed the door as footsteps above him ceased and the creaking of the stairs began. He looked around to find himself in a small kitchen that had make shift party supplies all around it. There were limp dirty balloons on the floor and cruddy hand drawings all over the wall with words like "I love you Samuel" "Happy bithday " and somethings that were unreadable.
He didn't know what was worse, the thought that two kids were living in a shithole, or that one of them worked so hard to create a birthday party that was so sad to look at.
"Marcie hold will y-" He looked over at 'Samuel' to see his archenemy. The 'hero' of Starsis was a kid living in an abandoned house. Samuel just stared at him, a large range of emotions crossing his face until he ended up on fear.
"I invited lotth of people to your birthday party!! Otherth will come thoon!!" Marcie jumped around excited as she presented the different things she did to Samuel. Both of them just stared at each other before Marcie grabbed his hand and pulled him to the table. "Whath your name? I'm Marthie! Thath Thamuel!" He smiled at her as he sat down, careful of the hole near his chair leg.
"I'm Thomas but you can call me Tom. I brought presents. This is for you and Samuel." Tom glanced at Samuel as he moved closer to Marcie. She was to busy playing with the crayon box to notice the stares each other gave. "Want to show me around Samuel."
Samuel glanced down at Marcie and nodded. Tom could tell he didn't want him near his sister. "Marcie, why don't you get out that special soda I was saving for yourself. You deserve after doing this much for me." Marcie gasped and jumped up before running the falling apart fridge. She opened it to reveal packaged food, chips, and a few water bottles. She grabbed the only soda container in there before rushing over to Samuel.
He opened it for her and she went to take a sip before pausing. "Do you want thome?" She held it out to Tom before he shook his head. "All yours kiddo." She smiled before turning to Samuel and holding it out once again. "Birthday thip." He smiled sadly at her before taking a fake sip and giving it back to her.
Tom followed out Samuel as the exited the kitchen. They barely went a few steps before Samuel whipped around glaring. "What are you doing here." Tom sighed and held out the card. That was all it took for Samuel to start crying.
He took the card and held it close to his chest as silent cries shook his body. He didn't look much like a hero in this moment. Instead he looked like a scared and lost teenager trying to survive day by day. Tom wrapped his arms around him as Samuel cried.
"Why are you doing this? What agenda do you have to stay and comfortable your enemy?" The questions seemed stupid now.
"Right now I'm not looking at my enemy or the hero of Starsis. I'm looking a frightened teenager whose run himself ragged from trying to survive and keep his little sister alive." The answer hit Samuel hard as the tears came out hard and faster. He clung to the shirt of Tom as he finally let himself be scared and comforted instead of the strong one.
"If it alright with you, would you and Marcie come to my place for food and a bath. Both of you are smaller than you should be. I don't even need to know your age to tell you that."
That warmth and caring was all it took for Samuel to nod. He knew from fighting him that he wouldn't hurt Marcie because she's just a child. Even as a villain he has standards.
As all of them walked out of the house, Samuel held tight into Marcie. She was his everything and he would do whatever it took to protect her, even if it meant siding with the villain.
Thus began the new life of both sides of the penny. | It was an odd thing to see when James looked in his mailbox this morning, but there it was. An invitation to the birthday party of the guy who always ruined his great grandious plans.
Why .. just why would he invite me. We're enemies. We're made to destroy each other. He's always so nice. Always tries to see the best in the world. Just pathetic. The world is a cruel place. It's not made out of puppies and fluffy rainbows. I hate him for that. Why doesn't he hate me for what I am? Why can't he just leave me be?
With these thoughts in mind James decided to go to the party but not to have a good time. No, he went there to show his nemesis how evil this world can truly be. He constructed a brilliantly elaborate plan to ruin his party and with this shatter his world view. Something along the lines of pouring pug blood on him during his big moment but not as gruesome as that. But for his plan to work he had to play along. Had to pretend to be one of the fools he hated so much.
It was 2 hours after the party started when he arrived because all the cool kids arrive late right? He rang the doorbell of the spectacular boring house and expected a room full of dull people with silly smiles on their faces but what he saw was way worse.
There he stood. A big muscular man with the charismatic face of a good, red eyes and tears running down his face. What the hell? Now that unexpected...
"What are you doing here?", he says with a kinda disappointed albeit relieved voice.
"What do you mean? It was you who invited me."
"Oh yeah that's right. Well come on in."
With that Starchaser disappeared in the well lit hall behind him. James aka Deathstare followed him slowly. All over the wall were silly decorations and the huge speakers blasted some obnoxious pop songs that made James nauseous for a second. But what was kind of missing were the other people. Not a single soul was in sight.
"Hey big guy, where is everyone? I thought this was a party?". As soon as he said this Starchaser turned around with a somewhat angry look on his face, ready to blast off but before he could say anything he paused, looked down and turned around again. He mumbled something James could hardly understand. "Sorry what was that? It's rude to face away when you talk to someone." "Not now Deathstare!! I'm really not in the mood. I said nobody came. They just ... Nobody showed up. I don't know why." James couldn't help but laugh. "Hahaha you dare telling me: Starchaser the big popular hero of Brivera throws a party and no one shows up. Come on. This got to be a prank. Where are the cameras?" "It's not a prank" the muscular man said with a firm tone in his voice. "I thought everyone liked me ... Why did you even come? I'm like hundred percent sure you hate me." "Why did you even invite me if you know that I hate you?" "I don't know. I thought we could become friends. I thought I can show you that life doesn't need to be miserable. I guess that went down the drain though." " Ha funny. I came to ruin your party and show you the cruelty of this world" "Well that's mean. But I guess now you don't even have to show me anymore .."
Although normally hearing something like that would have made James happy it now for some weird reason saddened him. He knew the world was shitty but now the satisfaction of convincing Starchaser of this fact was gone and turned into something bitter. An affirmation for himself that the world was truly lost. In this very moment Deathstare realized something. Maybe the reason he always indulged in the shenanigans with Starchaser was because this naive bastard gave him some sort of hope. Hope and happiness that not everyone was as shitty as he thought. With this epiphany Deathstare suddenly saw himself in a different role...
"Hey, don't talk like that. What happened to the big silly goofy guy who constantly gets on my nerves?"
"Isn't this what you always wanted? Now can you please just go and leave me alone?" "No... Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the world isn't that bad of a place after all. Let's go through this. What could be the reason no one came?" " How the hell would I know. Because they hate me, isn't that obvious?" "Why the heck would they hate you? You constantly save them from danger. You're charismatic and good looking to the point you confuse people with their sexuality and you always try to bring out the best in people." "Yeah, I guess that's true. But then why wouldn't they come?" "I don't know... Maybe it's the invitations. How did you invite everyone?" "I asked my assistant Steve to send the invites to everyone I know." "Well maybe Steve did a piss poor job." "Hm maybe you're on to something. He isn't the most reliable guy." "See! Give him a call and ask him what happened." "Yeah, maybe I should."
After a couple seconds Starchaser came back from the phone call and had the biggest grin on his face that caused James to roll his eyes. "He forgot it! He actually forgot it! He was stoned through the roof when I gave him the invites and thought they were some unimportant insurance papers from the city. Nobody hates me. They just didn't get the invite!" It was truly a special sight. A grown ass man jumping around like a little kid. James facepalmed and couldn't help but chuckle. "See I told you so." "Thanks man. I thought for a second all was lost. Why did you help me?" " I don't know. I just couldn't stand to see you like that I guess." They awkwardly smiled at each other. "But wait. That doesn't explain why I got an invite though." "Well about that ... Do you remember recently when we had one of our big fights and I overdid it a bit and kinda put you in the hospital. Well after that I felt pretty bad and actually went to your place with some flowers to apologize. But once I was there I felt silly so I just grabbed one of the invites from the car and thought I could make it up with that." Starchaser felt embarrassed, put one arm behind his back and looked down while laughing awkwardly. "Wow. You know that we're supposed to be enemies right. I can't even be mad at you right now. That's just so ... God, I don't even know." "Yeah I guess I can be like that. But to be honest you're actually a pretty cool guy. What's even your name?" "James. It's weird. We know each other for such a long time and don't even know each other's name. What's yours?" "Joe. Nice to meet you James." "Yeah I guess. What now though?" "Want to crack open a beer and just watch tv?" "Yeah actually why not." | 2022-08-18T07:46:18 | 2022-08-18T04:48:59 | 63 | 45 |
[WP] a prompt for bad people
Step one. Find a serious piece of work, for my example, I found a story about a lonely man who finds solace in taking long walks, and thinking about the geese that he sees. It was deep, and poetic, heartfelt, and really angsty.
Step two. Take the first sentence or two, and leave them as is. If you feel awkward about doing that, maybe paraphrase a little, but at least give the same general feel about the beginning. For example, my first lines are "Sometimes I like to take long walks by myself. It helps calm me down. I don’t really go anywhere, but it helps to clear my mind."
Step three. Take the general idea of the story (mine being about geese) and spin it in an adverse manner. For example, my next line is "That all changed, however, when the geese attacked."
Have fun with it, play up the absurdity, and don't feel bad if you feel like your idea is mocking the original piece. I will post my contribution post-haste. | I found this on the web, no author attached;_
Up speaks Poe's cat.
The End of the Raven
by Poe's cat
On a night quite unenchanting,
when the rain was downward slanting,
I awakened to the ranting of the man I catch mice for.
Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found quite craven,
Poe was talking to a Raven perched above the chamber door.
"Raven's very tasty," thought I,
as I tiptoed o'er the floor,
"There is nothing I like more."
Soft upon the rug I treaded, calm and careful as I headed
towards his roost atop that dreaded bust of Pallas I deplore.
While the bard and birdie chattered,
I made sure that nothing clattered,
creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered,
as I crossed the corridor;
For his house is crammed with trinkets,
curios and weird decor -
Bric-a-brac and junk galore.
Still the Raven never fluttered, standing stock-still as he uttered,
In a voice that shrieked and sputtered, his two cents worth -
"Nevermore."
While this dirge the birdbrain kept up,
oh, so silently I crept up,
Then I crouched and quickly leapt up,
pouncing on the feathered bore.
Soon he was a heap of plumage,
and a little blood and gore -
Only this and not much more.
Then my pickled poet cried out,
"Pussycat, it's time I dried out!"
Never sat I in my hideout talking to a bird before;
How I've wallowed in self-pity,
while my gallant, valiant kitty.
Put an end to that damned ditty - then I heard him start to snore.
Back atop the door I clambered, eyed that statue I abhor,
Jumped - and smashed it on the floor. | Geese
Sometimes I like to take long walks by myself. It helps calm me down. I don’t really go anywhere, but it helps to clear my mind. That all changed, however, when the geese attacked.
I was just walking along the riverside, minding my own business, when suddenly I felt something long and beak-like enter into my neck. I could only assume it was a beak because there was a bird attached to the end of it. Birds don’t just attach themselves to anything, although apparently my neck was something special.
Now, don’t get me wrong. One bird I can handle. I’ve killed more geese in my day with nothing but a tube of toothpaste and a roll of duct tape than anyone I know. But when they gang up on you, that’s when things all go south (and not for the winter). I swear to you. Any onlooker would have thought that I had a very stylish goose necklace, that’s how many geese had lodged themselves in my neck. There had to be at least sixteen geese trying to get prime real-estate inside my windpipe. It was getting hard to breath. I could start pulling them out, but killing the geese one-by-one would take forever that way.
I did what any sensible man would do.
I slammed my chest and face down to the pavement beneath my feet. Eight of the beaks slid farther in, emerging from the other side of my neck, but the other eight were lodged loose. Ten of the geese got crushed under my body. They remained only as a pulpy mess smeared over my sweater. I plucked three dead birds out of my throat. Only five remained, and boy, were they mad. I pulled two out, breaking their necks in the process, the thirds beak chipped off as I dislodged it, but the remaining two were giving me more trouble.
A foot knocked into my face. While I was busy dealing with the neck-fowl, one surviving bird had opted to instead use its webbed feet to mess up my face. Tiny claws slashed my face, and blood started to pool up in my eyes. I felt like I was about to cry. Yeah. That’s right. Real men cry. We just cry blood instead of your prissy little “tears.” I grabbed at the bird, and took a large bite out of its abdomen. It flopped about for about thirteen seconds, but then it just kind of hung limp.
Now to return to the problem in my neck. Try as I might, the two remaining demons-of-the-sky refused to dislodge themselves from my trachea. There clearly was only one other option.
I grabbed the tips of the beaks behind me, and I pulled for all I was worth.
Does anyone remember those feather dusters? Have you ever held your hand around one and pulled the feathers through your fingers? I want you to imagine that feeling, but going through your neck. Feathers gently tickling around the entry points, and caressing the soft flesh. Oh, and add an adolescent member of the Anatidae family stuffed inside of it. My neck tripled in size to accommodate the large geese.
The geese, red with rage (which looks a lot like blood) snapped at me upon their release of their neck sheaths. I grabbed the bodies of two incapacitated foes, and swung them about over their heads. Beating them to death.
I am done with walks.
| 2013-04-26T20:12:23 | 2013-04-26T07:13:48 | 39 | 22 |
[WP] You are the host of a popular children's show. You are live on air when you, and the rest of the country, have just received news that nuclear weapons have been deployed against your nation and can't be stopped. There are only minutes left. | I slowly walk back into the camera's view, signaling to the shaking cameraman to pan in towards me.
I swallow, my Adam's apple feeling like a rock. "Alright, kids, I have a new game for you. In a second I want you to go all around your house, and hug everything you love. Your mommy, your daddy, your stuffed animals... everything. Tell them you love them.
"W-we have to end early t-today... But all you boys and girls should know this." The cameraman is sobbing now, but he still holds it steady as I broadcast live to millions of doomed children.
"It will be okay."
I nod, and the cameraman - Jason - reaches across to cut the show. I give one last smile, and then the red light blinks off.
I sit down, and start to cry. I'm stuck here, in a cartoony room, and I will be blown up in a few minutes. My kids are probably hugging Lindsey now, Charlie's probably hugging William, and William is probably hugging his little stuffed giraffe, and I won't ever see them again. I hope Lindsey's putting on a show and pretending - just like I did - that it will be
okay. | The red light continues to flash on the top of the camera staring at me with abject apathy. Usually rife with the commotion and cacophony of sounds that commonly are associated with a children's program the warehouse where we shoot echoes with the absence of the din.
My bright red suspenders and checkered train conductors hat only hint at the absurdity of the situation. This was a place of laughter, of learning, and now it would be my tomb. My mouth hangs open slightly as I, along with everyone else, stare at the TV which silently announces the news with it's scrolling text across it's muted screen. The person who was converting the speech to text must have stopped caring, they even spelled 'nuclear' wrong. The news anchors embrace each other one final time on camera and stalk out of view, the screen focuses on an empty stage.
It's amazing the things you think about with the world crashing down around you. I thought it would be of loved ones or fearful thoughts of the afterlife but it isn't. I am stricken with the grief of all of our lost potential. Of what could have been. Not for me in particular and not for anyone else specifically for that matter. For humanity. We held such promise, so much hope. That's why I did this show. "Mr. Haggardy's House" was my way of contributing to the gradual progression of society. Quality programming to provide a sound start to the youth of today's education. God I hated this hat though.
People were leaving, some running, some walking in a dejected manner. I suppose it depends on if they feel there was some place to run to. I just continue to stare at the empty anchor chair on the flickering television. And then it hits me.
My lips are dry but my mouth is hesitant to provide any moisture so I croakily break the silence. "It's a funny thing," I start with. The movement in my mouth reluctantly drawing forth some spit. "I have had this feeling my whole life that we were building towards some great event. That there was a purpose to our slow crawl from out of the depths of the oceans. I had an unwavering notion of the greatness of 'humanity'." I pause to rub the wetness that was threatening to leak from my eye and see some of the stragglers turning to look at me. "Standing here on the precipice of my own demise, our fate decided by one of our own, I still cling to some twisted hope." My legs begin to move of their own volition, guiding me towards the camera. My hands grip either side of the lens. "Please." I swallow down the dryness in my throat. "Please don't...."
| 2014-07-29T13:16:19 | 2014-07-29T12:33:16 | 96 | 29 |
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you. | My hand is firmly wrapped around the edge. As I clutch on for dear life, I begin to think how I could have avoided this situation. I run millions of scenarios in my mind, but all of them bring me back to this point. I struggle mightily against the gargantuan force that opposes me. Then, suddenly, a divine rush of strength sweeps through my body. I can feel a tentative, yet noticeable rotation beneath my fingers. My sweaty hands beginning to slip, I push forward for one last effort. Success. I hear a click and complete the rotation. Then, I take a pickle out of the jar and walk back to the sofa to watch the Jacksonville Jaguars play against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. | I was going to get this bastard. He killed my family. Killed my dog. Destroyed my house. He destroyed my life.
I was seething at just the thought of his smug face, all cozy and warm surrounded by money in his mansion, while I was out here in the blistering cold, walking through puddles and shit.
I was at his front door. I pulled a pistol from within my coat, and opened the door. Fool, he had kept it unlocked. I could see him, sitting in front of his fireplace, reading a book. He was dressed in a ruby and gold colored robe. Rich bastard.
I slowly came from behind, gun ready. I could shoot him through the couch, but I didn't want to make it a kill shot...I wasn't going to kill him quickly, no, I was going to let him suffer.
My lips formed into a smile. This bastard would regret messing with me. Finger on the trigger, I pressed it into the back of the couch.
The floor boards creaked under me, but he wouldn't here it over the roar of the flames.
This was it. I was going to kill this bastard, who had caused me so much pain and misery. Weeks of mourning and grief would be replaced by satisfaction and happiness. I was going to take everything he owned after this. I pulled back on the trigger.
"James! James its time for bed sweetie!"
Fuck.
"Mom! Wait, I just have to get this guy!" I whined.
"No, bed time James. Come on," my Mom said. She tutted, going to turn off my Xbox.
"NO LET ME SAVE MOM! ITS ONLY 10! LET ME SAVE!" I yelled. She turned my Xbox off.
"NOOO MOM YOU BITCH!" I yelled, crying. She looked at me, dumbfounded, before unplugging my Xbox.
"Talk to your mother like that? This is gone for the rest of the summer holidays. Oh, and don't think you can get on your phone or laptop, I'm taking them as well. All you'll be doing is schoolwork," she said.
| 2014-12-21T18:39:13 | 2014-12-21T18:34:44 | 1,223 | 23 |
[WP] There is something outside the door that will say anything or sound like anyone to get you to open the door.
Edit:I fell asleep after I posted this sorry for not replying they're all really good, thanks for taking the time to write. | There was a light knocking on the door.
As Mary approached the door she heard a voice say. "It is Susan from across the street. They delivered a package for you to my house by mistake."
A confused Mary stopped. She turned around to face Susan who had been in her living room all afternoon.
Susan calmly put down her drink. "Oh great! A house parasite."
"What should I do?" asked Mary.
"Well don't open the door. If one of those comes in the house it is impossible to get rid of it. You should call the HPRS."
Mary called the House Parasite Removal Service and then went back to watching Birdman with Susan.
An hour later there was a lot of commotion outside. After it died down there was another knock on the door.
"This is the HPRS. We were able to capture the parasite. The bill comes to $34.99."
Mary opened the door to greet the exterminators before Susan could stop her. A green blob about the size of a beach ball entered the house and attached itself to the wall in the dining room. It began to slowly extract nutrients from the house.
"They are getting smarter." said Susan "Don't even try to remove it. It is on there too good. Luckily the life cycle is only a week." | It’s coming for me. I've hidden as well as I can, but I let it in. It will find me. I don’t have much time.
I hadn't been warned of anything strange going on in my neighbourhood, but you don’t get far in my line of work without being suspicious of everything. So, when I heard the doorbell ring, I didn't answer. I wasn't expecting visitors.
“Hello?” a child’s voice called from outside the door. From the sound of it, it was a girl of around 5 years old, but I had learnt long ago that demons usually sound like normal people to trick their victims, so I stayed silent.
There was a loud banging on the door. “Excuse me? Is anyone there? Please help me!” the child, if that’s what it was, yelled. She sounded terrified. “Mummy collapsed! I don’t know what to do! Please help!”
This just made it all the more likely that it was a demon, but still, could I really ignore the possibility that there really was a young child standing out there trying to get help for her mother? I did this job so I could help people, after all. Despite my fears about the situation, I got up from my chair and slowly crept towards the front door, careful not to make any sound.
“Help me! I know you’re in there! Mummy’s not saying anything!” the voice continued, as I stood, unsure, on the other side of the door. “Please help! I'm scared! I just want to know if mummy’s going to be okay!”
I couldn't leave this scared little child alone, without help, any longer, even with the substantial risk that it was just a demon pretending to be the child. If it was, I had spells on my door that should keep it outside. So, summoning all my strength, I cast a spell to create a barrier around myself, then, cautiously, I unlocked the door, then, in a quick movement, flung it open.
There was nothing there. The street was empty. Assuming that the demon had been scared off by the power behind the barrier I had made, I quickly shut and locked the door. I wasn't stupid enough to let my barrier down, though, so even if there was a demon in the house, it shouldn't have been able to get to me. And then I felt something very cold on the back of my neck.
After that, I ran, and I kept running, until I got to where I am now. If you are reading this, please, don’t repeat my mistake. Don’t open the door. Because the back of my neck is suddenly feeling very cold...
| 2015-03-11T04:00:32 | 2015-03-11T03:12:05 | 35 | 12 |
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :) | The problem with all previous attempts that we tried was that we tried to communicate linguistically with them. Dogs as a whole are not linguistic creatures, there is no “dog language.” Instead we moved away from a linguistic format and used a sensory format instead using the dog’s senses to communicate by directly reading and stimulating certain parts of the brain using the newest non invasive technologies. This was immensely successful. We started small with words we knew the dog could understand such as sit. Sit when heard by a dog is translated into the sensory experiences that the dog experiences when it sits creating understanding of the word. In turn we can translate the sensory experiences that the dog experiences in to the word sit. We were limited to experiences that the dog being monitored had experienced and were unable to artificially implant any new experiences (we tried excessively with the colour red) but we could combine experiences to make sentences of shorts. Using this format we were able to understand and order the dog but we were unable to ask questions. The questions came later with the “doggie question mark” which was basically presenting an experience combining confusion and curiosity. The most common one we used was a person holding a ball behind his back when playing fetch. Putting this at the end of a sentence we were able to ask questions.
As the testing was underway Professor Morgan bought up the question what interested dogs when they were starting at nothing? This was communicated to the dog with the experience of starting at a blank wall followed by the “doggie question mark”. The results were disturbing. The olfactory and gustation feedback which was always the first to be received was intangible which was not uncommon (due to the vast differences between humans and canines) so it did not raise concern. It was the visual that first raised alarm. The visual feedback was something of a swirling pitch black portal with intermediate swirls of a blood like red. The auditory caused extreme anxiety to those listening. It was this deafening, nonsensical whisper that stuck terror into all present. Somatosensory feedback was as firmly controlled fear overcome with a stoic aggressive watchfulness. The results from this test however are still under question due to a glitch. The glitch was when two minutes in to the test the word help was displayed across the visual feedback screen replacing the portal for the time of one minute before the testing was ended. We will continue researching this data with possible retesting to gain a greater understanding.
| The Shift was twenty-five years later than even the most optimistic forecaster had predicted back when humanity first realised what was coming. When the inevitable did finally arrive on what would otherwise have been just another morning in mid-May, the year twenty fifty-five, a not inconsiderable percentage of the population had begun to doubt it may ever arrive, or at least not in their lifetime.
It is for this reason, perhaps, it is not hard to understand why many were so taken aback they simply didn’t have the time to even notice the momentous change that overtook all they knew. No time consider, wonder upon or even be driven starkly insane by the appreciation their world had ceased to exist.
The doomsayers had not only been wrong about the long-term forecast but also the timescale machines would need to affect such incredible advancements upon themselves. To say the scientists didn’t understand the exponential nature of self-replicating true artificial intelligence would be an underestimation of human intelligence by this point in time. But to say no-one understands the exponential nature of anything until they actually experience it would be an understatement for all time.
So it was humankind became utterly redundant in less time than it took to watch the adventures of a loveable, anthropomorphic military robot as it explores suburban 80’s Oregon.
In most respects it is undoubtedly for the best that no single person could even begin to fathom the mind of their new overlords. As to share such knowledge, such understanding, such a fundamental realisation of existence is more than any mortal mind could ever bear.
In this new era what troubled the mind of mankind was not the advanced scientific or philosophical queries of before The Shift, the machines had found answers to questions that would have evaded human intellect for millennia in but the first few minutes of sentience, but instead found itself grabbling through the scraps of what precious little it could actually comprehend.
When the machines did grant, for whatever unfathomable reason, humanity the ability to communicate with the other creatures it had, until this point, shared the planet in a most one-sided fashion with, the realisation was in most cases unbearable.
Not all animals possessed the same cognitive ability, many, mankind was happy to realise, were clearly of a lower order. The thoughts of most fish were to a human mind incoherent at best, as was the logic of a majority of smaller mammals. This, unfortunately, was where any reassurance soon came to a crushing halt.
A staggering, to the arrogant mind of the ape so used to being the uncontested apex predator, number of creatures possessed a level of cognition so high as to be utterly incomprehensible. In effect the processes of various dolphins and whales would prove as inaccessible as that of the machines.
The most shocking revelation came however, not unsurprisingly given their popularity with and closeness to their human hostage-takers, from those two species again so arrogantly referred to as ‘mans best friend’.
Both dogs and cats, it turned out, had intelligences close enough to understand but still greatly superior to the once-great ape. Dogs were slightly less so than cats and to the curious would often wax philosophical about grand subjects which would inevitably turn, in time, to their pity and sorrow for the human cause; cut adrift and lost on a rock amongst the very stars that were once theirs for the taking.
Cats became somehow more terrifying still as the inner workings of their minds were exposed to any level of scrutiny. A cat can only think, as is its nature, in the form of possible outcomes especially those of eventualities beneficial to itself. For this reason many an unfortunate individual came to find themselves regretting the moment they stared into those slotted yellow, green or blue eyes and asking what they, in turn, saw.
For what the cat sees when staring back, apparently into nothing, is exactly that. All the potential of the human race, its very future. Nothing. | 2015-05-18T16:48:49 | 2015-05-18T14:49:20 | 41 | 17 |
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :) | Professor Clayton pressed the 'Enable' function on his watch.
"Can you hear me, Rover?" he asked.
A distinctly Mancunian accent came back through the transceiver embedded in Professor Clayton's cheek. "OF course I can, you bloody mor-oh, no." Rover covered his head with his paws. "Nonononononono! You fucking bastards! OH, please, Gods no. This isn't happening." Rover howled, and it came through as a howl.
"You. Fucking. **Monster.** You have *ZERO* fucking clue what the fuck you've just done." Profeesor Clayton was taken aback by the string of curses that followed, and was hesitant to speak during this.
"Calm down, Rover. So, can you please give me an idea of precisely *what* I have done?"
Rover sighed. "My name is Arther Luthair Paendragon. I was once King of the Britons. I lived not far from here, in the ancient town of Henge, in what is now called Wiltshire.
"I once ruled these lands from isle to isle, from the tip of Land's End to the arena at the northmost tip of the Orkney Isles. I was wise and ruled justly yet firmly, aided by my mentor, Merlun, and my nemesis and ally, Morgena Lefe.
"But then everything changed on the field at Glaston Berry. We were...cursed to live on forever, re-incarnating as different animals, until such a time as we could speak to one another.
"I can take you to my grave, if you wish, as well as the burial places of Merlun and Morgena. Follow me." Rover slipped his collar, his 'voice' becoming ever more commanding during this speech. "Well? Now you get to see what was wrought all those centuries ago. All dogs and cats? They're what happens when people *die.*" | Lucas walked into the intensive care unit of the hospital. It was late and the lights were dimmed, giving the entire wing a air of dread. Gurneys with men and women were strewn about everywhere. The rooms were filled long ago by the sudden influx of patients. Not a single person moved, the room was absolutely still and the only sound to be heard was the rythmic beat of heart monitors.
This was the first Lucas had seen of the afflicted. He walked down the hall dodging the mannequin-like bodies. He stopped to look at one man and quickly recoiled in disgust. The man's face was frozen in what seemed to be a state of utmost panic. His mouth and dark black eyes were wide open, blood began to ooze out of the man's nose.
Lucas regained his composure and looked around him. He noticed the same thing in every patient. Their black, soulless eyes stared at him with mouth agape at some unseen horror. Lucas, suddenly overwhelmed again, rushed through the doors at the end of the hall.
Hospital employees moved about the hall like zombies. No one spoke while they moved about their work. Two orderlies wheeled a little girl past Lucas. Black eyes. Lucas almost puked.
Lucas rushed down the hall and into the waiting room. Hordes of sleeping family members were laying everywhere. On chairs, desks, some had even made makeshift tents. The air was ripe with unclean human stench.
In the opposite corner of the room Lucas spotted his co-workers. "Lucas" Susan whispered, "What did you find out?" Lucas pulled them into the closest room. He whispered, "I don't know, I haven't seen anything like it before. The only thing I know is that every singly person in their had used the communicator." Susan looked disapointed, "We already knew that Luke, we need more. Millions of people are afflicted we need to figure this out."
Lucas was not surprised by Susan's urgency her husband had used the communicator. Lucas' other co-worker Rashid spoke up, "Lucas, I think it would help if we both could see it as well. Can you take us." Lucas nodded, "I have to warn you though. It isn't easy to take in."
When the three reached the ICU the situation had not changed at all. Dim lights. Black eyes. But now, Lucas noticed everyone had blood dripping down their noses. Under some gurney's blood had begun to pool.
Drip.Drip.Drip. The only sound was the blood hitting the floor. Wait, Lucas realized the hear monitors had stopped beeping. They were all off. "Susan, I think that they might be dead, the heart mon-" Suddenly a creak. Cccrreeeeaakkkk. The metal of an unknown gurney squealed.
Suddenly the man Lucas had first seen earlier was standing back turned to Lucas. The three stumbled back not daring to make a noise. Lucas ran to the door. Locked. The man slowly, painstakingly slowly turned around. His face was still frozen. Black eyes, mouth agape. Blood now pouring from his nose like a faucet.
A voice came from the man though his mouth did not move. The voice struck fear into Lucas' heart that he had never imagined. It was dark, loud and silent at the same time. "You have made a grave mistake." is all it said.
One by one the rest of the afflicted stood. "You have made a grave mistake." They spoke in unison. | 2015-05-18T14:11:01 | 2015-05-18T13:29:22 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] You are a supervillain, while your girlfriend is a hero. She doesn't know your secret identity but you know hers. After years of fighting each other you decide it's going to pull a heel face turn and join the heroes. | I let out a sigh. Christ I should have never worked with these blood thirsty idiots. What part of no bloodshed did they not understand?
I surveyed the warehouse that had been converted into a makeshift base and the crop of morons that I had signed up with. More imortantly I looked again at the love of my life in her superhero guise as Lady Atlas. She was beaten bloody and barely conscious on a table in center of the room. She was securely chained and on enough tranquilizers that even she was helpless.
Colliso and Spark were arguing about how to kill her while Reptile was pushing to try to ransom her to the city, though demanding the right to eat one of her arms first. I couldn't let this happen but I had been unable to convince them that we should just let her go. Despite my defacto position as leader of the team, the semblance of democracy had been maintained long enough I couldn't easily veto the three of them.
I looked again at Lady Atlas, no I looked at Christine. She was barely stirring but if my calculations were correct then she should be essentially aware of her surroundings and situation. Fucking Callisto and his stupid poison gas bombs. Too many fucking Spider Man comics.
Christine and I had been together for years. We were supposed to get married in the Spring after the Obergfell thing. I had been a villain before we met out of costume, on a blind date of you believe it. I recognized her instantly. As if that domino mask would fool anyone. She still thinks I am a banker.It started as a plan to take advantage of inside knowledge but quickly turned to love. She was kind and funny and everything I wanted. To know her was to love her.
I couldn't let it happen to her but even the mighty Mrs. Occult might have a hard time beating them together if I hadn't anticipated this eventuality. I got into this business for the money so I knew that it may come to this when dealing with psychopaths. This would destroy my rep and really dampen my mercenary business for a while. Maybe I'd give heroing a try. I smiled to myself.
"Argo" I said into the control module at my wrist. This detonated the remote bombs I had installed inside Calisto's armor when I upgraded it for him. The armor restrained the internal blast and turned his body into a fine paste.
Reptile turned to me just in time for the large caliber bullet from my wrist gun to enter his brain. It wouldn't keep him down forever but I had several minutes to decapitate him before his regeneration repaired that damage.
I turned to Spark who was about to question me. Iinterrupted him. "I have my reasons and I suggest you write this off as a loss and leave." As I knew he would, being somewhat of a coward he grabbed his share of the money from the robbery and bolted. I used the plasma cutter on my wrist to decapitate reptile and made my way to the table. I cut through the chains binding her and looked into her surprisingly clear eyes.
She asked "Why?" weakly.
I pulled off my mask in an uncharacteristic emotional turn. " We need to talk. But let's get you home first. I lifted her easily with the concealed exoskeleton enhancing my strength and took her out of the building. I said "Badger's run." And the incindiaries went off. By the time police arrived, there would be little left of the site but charred rubble.
It occurred to me that I had forgotten the rest of the money. It didn't bother me though. I had what was most precious to me. She wrapped her arms around me and I smiled. | I look over at the woman I love, her eyes filled to the brim with fresh tears, and my hands ache.
“Okay, one more time, Richard,” she sniffles, “Tell me what you told them.”
It takes more courage than I care to admit just to draw my next breath. In spite of the repetition, I can see the words are only now having an impact. I didn’t think it would go this way. I thought she would understand. “I told them I was done, Sally. I-“
She cuts me off.
“Done with *what*, Richard?” She blinks. The tears run down either side of her face, her eyes so glassy I can almost see myself in them.
I consider rewording my answer in the moment between breathes. Maybe if I choose a different phrase, she’ll feel differently. Christ, my hands really hurt. Hard to think through the pain. The raw truth is all that comes to mind, and I have to say something. “Done with being…” And there they are. My own tears to match hers. I didn’t even know I could do this anymore – feel this way. That’s love for you.
“Being **WHAT**?” She screams. I can’t even pretend I’m offended by her anger. I steady myself, willing the sobs away. Our eyes meet.
“A supervillain.”
Sally cries some more, crumbling to the floor to comfort herself. The ache in my heart begins to match the ache in my hands. I want so badly for things to be different. I thought they would be.
“Sally, *please…*” I begin to say, already knowing the words won’t be any use. But if this is it – if I never see Sally again, I have to try something. “Can’t you see that I had to do this? This was the *only way* we could be together.”
The love of my life looks up at me, raising an open hand towards the wall to my left. Her fingers bend in slightly as if she’s palming a basketball and she swipes her arm behind her. The wall flies away, a larger display of her power than I’ve ever seen. Her hair, matted with dirt but still beautiful in its own way, goes from blonde to a toxic green. The clamps around my hands and ankles press in even harder, and I lose all of the feeling in them, the ache I was feeling now gone. She raises herself from the floor, unfurling her legs and floating towards me in a standing position. I can see in her mind that she’s no longer Sally. She’s let her alter ego take over.
In this moment, she’s **Cerezul**.
She lifts a finger and I tighten as I feel her grab my face with her power. It’s the same feeling I’ve felt for years as her greatest nemesis. Under normal circumstances, I would be able to escape. But I came here without my suit, and I’ve turned off the dampeners I keep under my skin. She leans in close to me, Sally’s tears steaming, evaporating away like the smoke from a dragon’s nose.
“Please, baby.” I start, my words cut off momentarily by a psychic punch to the gut. “Please, just hear me on this. Just hear me. I *had* to do this.” Cerezul’s face stays neutral as I talk, the sides of her cheeks flexing as she grinds her teeth. I push back at the foreign sensation of her power turning my head, but I stop when I realize what she’s doing. She wants me to look at it.
She wants me to see what I’ve done.
I take it all in for a moment, her Skyloft apartment providing a clear view of my actions from thirty stories up. The wind blows and I catch a whiff of the gas, reminding myself that I fed us both the countering agent for weeks. We’re immune to the poison, just not the smell. It mixes with the aroma of Sally’s apartment before completely overriding the appleberry air fresheners she leaves around her space.
She turns my head back, leaning in close. “You expect me to believe…that you did **this** for *us*? You killed an entire city, my friends…my…Christ, Richard! **YOU KILLED MY FAMILY**!”
Cerezul reaches her right hand back, all three of the tools next to her fireplace rising as she does. She blinks and looks away, her head falling just slightly as she begins to turn and float out towards the ruined, impossibly quiet city. Her hair hits the midpoint between her transformation and she turns around to look at me as Sally. Her eyebrows crinkle, fresh tears forming. I start to think that she’s right. Maybe it was too much. I guess it takes a special kind of logic to think being a supervillain is a good idea in the first place. Sally sniffles one good, long sniffle, and her hair is back to toxic. She turns around and I glance at the tools by the fireplace, still floating, held in the air with her power.
Then Cerezul swipes her arm towards me.
| 2015-11-08T12:52:38 | 2015-11-08T11:36:50 | 33 | 21 |
[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX. | "Finally, it's time", God says as he looks up from his work. It'd taken a short amount of time to bring about peace to the planet Nequior, but it was done. The beings of this desolate place weren't blessed with the ability to work things out on their own. They were a foolish and unruly bunch. Wars, disease, and starvation ravaged the planet the point of no return. Hence, why he turned his eyes upon them to be their salvation. Now, there is no more disparity or hunger. There was peace all around. It was a utopia. An epitome of peaceful politics and technology. "If there were ever a day I felt I could rest, this would be it," he says with a sigh. This is the end of my work. His eyes turn from his current work and scans the view around him. Sadness consumes him. Trouble from thousands of galaxies now clouded his view. A small bit of time to save a few stupid souls had brought about the end others many worlds. It feels like complete and utter defeat. For every one galaxy he manages to save, thousands collapse upon themselves to never be seen again.
"I wonder why I started this in the first place," he mutters. "Life. Death. All of it. I could just restart it all and begin anew." His last venture proved to be a failure. They were equipped with the ability and yet still failed to see. He turns to view its dead landscape and pauses. "How could this-This is impo-" he stutters as he tries to comprehend what he sees over the light years beyond. A single tear rolls down his cheek. "This is not what I had expected to see." There in the mist of the chaos was earth. Small, blue and hapless earth. It was still there. | The final age had come for Urth.
Through careful nudging and ever-distant signs (with a few unexplained *miracles* in the mix), El had successfully nurtured the inhabitants of the galaxy he'd numbered NGC 6744 into a self-sustaining, peaceful, ever-progressing utopia. The residents of the Nougat Galaxy were set from now to the end of time, at which point he'd usher them into a higher plane of existence in the 5th dimension.
For now, all seemed well, and although most of his attention had been on the Nougat, a cursory glance showed El that the other thousands of worlds he was cultivating were doing well (a few others already having reached utopia status also).
There were a few galaxies in turmoil and chaos, but as with all young creations, it was a part of the process. Nothing beautiful can be forged without first experiencing a bedlam pit to give a character of uniqueness.
As El scanned the heavens, he saw that all was good, and he smiled at the work he had done - that is, until his eyes fell upon the Milky Way Galaxy for the first time in seven hundred and fifty years.
A world he had left in the cusp of technological improvement after a miserable dark period of warring Crusades and other maligned and unapproved greed in His name had somehow descended into darkness again. Only this time, the darkness masqueraded as light - unmanned instruments of war pretended to be more pacified alternatives to the carnage of human militias, and conglomerates of commerce and finance parades as if they were bastions of equal opportunity, but the truth was too evident to his eyes as the creator of worlds: the technology meant to usher the safety and comfort of his people had been perverted to a technology holding them in subjugation and misery, the global communities meant to draw his people closer to one another had been tainted to form corrupt oligarchs riding comfort on the backs of slaves.
El watched the humans destroy the planet he had so carefully crafted, and his wrath grew great. They had taken his land, his air, his creatures, and demented them into a nature so beyond his wishes that he was not sure how to fix it.
Debating himself on the notion of destroying the plague of humanity before it's disease spread to his other worlds, El delayed his decision. But as he watched more, he saw.
There was still hope: a true light in the sea of false. The Milky Way galaxy had not yet failed, and his hope to spread the humans across its planets could still be achieved. They still had a chance to save themselves from the wilds of their own deceit and self-aggrandizing suicide. They could still be taught to wage peace instead of war, to trust their neighbors instead of fear, to love one another and work together to build a true utopia where not a single one of their members goes hungry or dies of neglect and necessity, where only those who have lived a full life pass peacefully into the next.
Just as Urth and Aerth and Erath and even Thrae had grown, so would Earth.
El quickly checked his list of worlds, and he saw that he would be able to focus on this world. He centered his thoughts and began his work.
There was so much to be done. | 2015-12-27T09:55:12 | 2015-12-27T09:53:57 | 66 | 40 |
[WP] The highest security prison in the universe gets its most dangerous inmate yet: a human. | The inmates were restless all afternoon. A new prisoner was being transported in today. Fresh meat.
Thanlor is the highest security prison in the universe, so we don’t get many new inmates.
Thanlor is the home to the worst this universe had to offer; Giant blob monsters, levitating tentacle creatures, and me; a twenty foot, hyper-intelligent, venomous cobra.
It was just after breakfast when the soon-to-be bitchboy arrived. He came in, tightly strapped to a cart. Bag over his head. Usual procedure. This one had solid metal casings on the ends of his arms. The guards are cautious and meticulous about each prisoner’s unique abilities, so there was something deadly within those casings.
They ripped the bag off his head to reveal his bland face. He was calm. They usually are. If you end up in this place, you’ve probably seen some shit. But this was different. He was smiling. Not intense or creepy, almost… polite. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. He was so tiny and flimsy. They’ll rip him apart in seconds.
He had brown fur atop his head, a sharp nose, and rounded ears. He blinked his eyes; white spheres with browns discs that seemed to expand and contract. Telescopic vision perhaps?
They wheeled this creature into his cell and the guards began cutting off the straps with their claws. First the chest, then the head, then arms and legs all while the surrounding guards aimed their stun guns at him. They unclipped the casings from the ends of his arms. What would it be? Claws? Tentacles? Blades? They removed the casings.
The whole prison went quiet as he stretched out his arms for everyone to see.
He had five fingers. Five. On each hand. There was no mistaking it. This was a human.
Humans were an enigma to the rest of the universe. No being dared to enter their territory; The Milky Way Galaxy. I heard the humans would capture my people and make them dance in baskets for their entertainment.
I had never met one before, but I heard the rumors.
Rapid adaptation. Advanced weaponry. It was all due to their grotesque mutation. The Opposable Thumb. What did it do? Space manipulation? Telekinesis?
At lunch, the human ate by himself. All of us ate off our plates like normal. The human was touching the food with his fingers. Does the Thumb absorb nutrients—
His hand shot straight up. Every jumped. The guards snarled and got into a fighting stance. What was he going to do? Jab this Thumb into the ground? Could he destroy this entire facility?
“Excuse me, can I have a spoon?” He asked “The soup is kinda hot.”
What the fuck is a spoon?
He looked around the cafeteria perplexed. “Is everyone okay?” He clenched his hand into a fist and raised his fifth appendage. Everyone slowly backed away as twisted around, flaunting his evolutionary advantage.
Everyone was tense. I’d never seen fear like this before. This wasn’t right. I can’t let this new inmate assert dominance so easily. I quickly slid behind him, creeping ever so slightly closer. I bounded at his neck, jaw open.
He was fast. He spun around and dodged my attack. Suddenly I felt a powerful force holding my neck and tail. I flailed and tried to bite him but he had me in some strange grip. Was it a pressure point? Induced paralysis?
Everyone was looking at me, gasping. What was going on? It was when I caught a glimpse of his other hand on my tail that I understood everything. His four fingers were on one side of my body, but the Thumb wrapped around the bottom. He was… grabbing me. His thumb can hold things.
It all made sense. The adaptation, the advanced weaponry. With an extra appendage, you could maneuver objects in unfathomable ways. I went limp. There was no use fighting. I’m no match for this creature.
“Woah there bud! You alright?”
He released me onto the ground and taunted me by patting my head. I was his bitch-boy now.
“Do you want me to dance?” I asked despondently.
“Dance? No. I just wanted a spoon, but I guess the soup should be cool by now.”
He casually sits back down, picks up his bowl of soup, and pours it down his throat. No one ever tried to fuck with him again.
| The Rock.
That's what they called it and that's all it was. A rock floating in outer space, to far from any star to have a sun of it's own. A ship approaches it, transmitting clearance codes to the AI guardians. Codes authenticated, the turrets powered down their anti-matter cannons and radiation emitters.
The ships engines created denser space before the ship and expanded space behind, slowing it as it glided towards an umbilical emerging from the Rock. The cord guided itself to the matching port on the bow of the ship and reeled it in.
On board the ship, preparations were well under way. The prisoner was prepared for transport and the route through the ship was sealed. If the Human got loose during transport, it would have nowhere to go but the Rock. That was the hope anyway. Commander V'ulkter had never encountered a species like humans. Their brute strength combined with the delicacy and precision of their manipulators was unparalleled. He had once seen a human soldier crush a Tri'net's chest with a "punch", then wedge it's manipulators into the Tri'net's lazer emitter and fire the weapon!
Him witnessing this was in no small part why he had been chosen to make the delivery, he knew what Humans are capable and would not underestimate an aggressive male. The creature was bound at his wrists and ancles with tethering cords, capable of anchoring a starcruiser to a planet. A little much, even for a human, but V'ulkter was taking no chances. From his monitoring station on the bridge, he watched the procedure begin.
Two subordinates began to urge the human forward, who complied, walking as quickly as the cords around his ankles allowed. They flanked him on his left and right and the group proceeded towards the Rock, passing doors locked and barricaded, while blast shields dropped behind, ensuring the Human stayed on course. Soon they reached the airlock.
V'ulkter tensed, this was the most dangerous part of the transfer. By law, he had a great deal of leniency in how he controlled the prisoner. He could use pacifying drugs, stasis, or even prostitutes to keep the prisoners under control, but when they were admitted to a facility, they needed to have full cognition. V'ulkter had chosen pacifying drugs and now they needed to be counteracted.
Together, the guards removed the cords and they were taken by the guard on the left. The guard to the Human's right removed an injector from a pouch on the side of his uniform and placed it to the Human's neck, the other moved to past the last blast door and place a manipulator on the door. They locked optic organs and blinked. At that moment, the injector activated and blast door began to close. The guard on the right sprinted towards the closing door while it's companion softly hooted encouragement. Throwing itself on its belly, it was just able to clear the door before it closed, and more importantly, before the Human came to full awareness.
V'ulkter toggled the airlock controls and the passage opened before the human, now he hoped it would do the sensible thing and get the hell off his ship. Blearily, it looked around and moved towards the blast shield. "Damn it", thought V'ulkter, "the *other* way!"
He watched as the Human explored the control panel and began to pick at it with the hard chips on the ends of it's manipulators. Soon it had pried the panel off and was poking at the now exposed wiring. In minutes, the blast door rose and the two guards stood, shaking, as the creature moved towards them, mouth revealing two lines of exposed bones.
e: wrote a bit more
The Human leaped at the guards, crossing the distance too quickly for them to aim their weapons. Seizing the first by the mandibles, he wretched them sideways, tearing the face off the terrified creature. The other had it's weapon up, but the human shoved the wounded guard towards him, knocking his arms aside. Pinned beneath his dying companion, he looked up at the human. The bones parted and a glob of saliva extruded from the face. Slowly it descended, until it's weight overcame its viscosity and it fell into the creature's optic organ. It cried shrilly as the digestive enzymes began to burrow through it's membranes and thousands of alien bacteria infiltrated it's system.
V'ulkter's skin dried, losing it's sheen and deepening to an indigo. What kind of creature could do that, what kind would do that! "Emergency situation, Prison containment unit take free action." V'uklter spoke into his comm badge. The AI operating the transfer responded immediately, the gravity on board deactivated and the blast doors all burst open. Shocked, the human looked down the now open hall as his feet rose from the floor. An instant later, he blasted backwards on a pressure wave of air and was sucked towards the airlock by a vacuum on the far side. "Clever", he thought, before his shoulder cracked against the side.
The second he was clear, the lock slammed shut, keeping the badly wounded crewmen on board. He fell to the ground, once again being in a gravitated environment. He saw the ventilation grates slide closed and the flow of air ceased. Which was good, as there wasn't any more coming in and he needed what was left to breath.
The grates are opposite the airlock, to his right is a solid wall and to the left was a door. The Human eyed the door for a moment, then walked over to the grate. He pushed against it and was rewarded with a satisfactory groan from the metal. The door beside him burst open and a correctional bot, controlled by the same AI as the airlock, came through. The Human spun to face it, but was sprayed with locking foam before taking a step. | 2016-09-24T08:31:19 | 2016-09-24T08:27:00 | 61 | 41 |
[WP] Humans are actually the most peaceful, kind race in the universe and other aliens don't invade us because its cute to watch. | "Oh my God, that is so cute! Look at them!" Zorg looked through the satellite towards planet earth.
"Let me see, let me see! Aww that IS cute." Zoid said with a smile. He loved his job as an anthropologist, especially when his assignments were on humans.
The humans were having a celebratory event for the end of the war. The dead were buried and hands were shaken. People drank to the heroes of all the countries.
Oxbraghs, however, would never do that. Even if they found out they were in the wrong, they would pretend otherwise and continue to bash the enemies brains in. Or each others. Or their own.
"Okay, now it is my turn again to look! Move over." Zorg pushed Zoid aside.
"No, I am not done yet!" Zoid pushed back, regaining control. "Haha, naww, they pulled two kids apart who were fighting and forced them to say sorry!"
"Haha, idiots..." Zorg did think they were cute, but humans were apparently not intelligent enough to realise that things can only be accomplished with sheer violence. Something he and his brother knew pretty well. Zoid grabbed the scissors and stood ready to stab. Zorg had already anticipated the attack and was ready to curve the scissors to his brothers face.
"Ouch!" They said together. "What have I told you about hurting us! We are one being, you stupid head, you hurt me you hurt yourself!"
Then the real fighting began, where Zoid bashed in Zorgs head and the other way around. It was their way of showing affection. To suffer together, is to stay together. | "Zorba! Stop staring at the pictures of the humans and tell me why they are an important race in the university" The light blue-skinned woman asked.
Zorba looked up hesitantly. She was a small girl with dark blue skin and pearly eyes. "Because humans are adorable, Miss Vannor?" She offered up.
"They are indeed the cutest race in the universe buy why do we find them so?" Miss Vannor questioned, her steely eyes narrowed on Zorba's wriggling form.
"Because they're always so nice to each other unlike our race. We always fight and discriminate whereas humans bond together" Zorba answered with a dreamy smile. Humans were so lovely. She really wanted to meet one.
"Exactly. Well done, Zorba! Humans are the most peaceful and kind race in the universe. We love to watch them and do not interfere because we don't want to expose them to our endless problems. We want them to continue living in their ignorant bliss" Miss Vannor expanded on Zorba's correct but brief explanation. "Can anyone else in the class offer me an example of when the humans bonded together?"
A jade green-skinned boy with sapphire hair raised his hand. Miss Vannor nodded gently and he began to answer. "When that evil monstrosity called Hitler tried to eliminate the Jews, the world banded together and defeated him. And afterwards all the countries swore to never have another world war. This shows that humans will never let injustice stand!" He said proudly. He had always wanted to be a human.
" That's an excellent example, Mikio! Now for your homework, I would like you to turn in 3,000 words on why we would never invade Earth. Remember the key themes are peace and kindness." Miss Vannor set their homework and watched them scribble it down before leaving. The classroom was empty except for Zorba. "What's wrong, Zorba?"
Zorba bit her lip anxiously. She didn't want to offend Miss Vannor. "Is it true you've met a human and have human ancestry?" She really wanted to know if the rumours were true.
"What a ridiculous thought!" Miss Vannor exclaimed. Her fiery red hair escaped from her bun as she shook her head in denial. "I have never met a human" Her nostrils flared at the thought.
Zorba quickly apologised. "Sorry, Miss" She left in a hurry.
Miss Vannor breathed a sigh of relief. No one could ever know about her great grandfather. She would never hear the end of it if they found out she was related to a human. And not even a nice, kind human. No she had the misfortune to be related to one of the most despised human beings around. Her first name even honoured him though she hated her father for it. She was Doni. The only plus side was that she didn't take her father's surname of Trump. She much preferred Vannor, her mother's maiden name.
Edit: Cleaned up a few typos. | 2016-09-28T03:42:15 | 2016-09-28T02:37:36 | 455 | 173 |
[WP] Everytime someone has a 'blonde moment' they get a little blonder. Black hair is now a symbol of brilliance, and you've just invented hair dye.
These are all so good! This is my first submission to /r/WritingPrompts and I'm loving all your responses.
Thank you! | It turned the sheerest blonde hair into midnight black. Andrew tested it on himself - it didn't budge, not even when he deliberately muttered something mildly forgetful, that should have sent tendrils of blonde creeping back.
As he stared in the mirror, he knew what *could* happen if he were to market this widely. People would go rabid over this stuff. He could charge them ludicrous sums of money, and they'd still buy it. He could be a billionaire by the month's end. Few people had completely black hair, unless they chose to never say anything. It simply happened to everyone: you made a dumb comment, or forgot something obvious - and the blonde streaks appeared.
And then there were those born blonde.
Andrew turned from the mirror and approached the bedroom. Alison was still lying in the same spot, staring listlessly at the ceiling. Her hair was swept in careless blonde waves around her.
“It worked,” he said quietly, and put the bottle on the table.
She looked at it, and a spark of life entered her eyes. She'd watched him work on it for months, but had never really thought it would work. It was a sweet gesture - her boyfriend trying to work on a solution for the problem that had crippled her entire life. But it couldn't *really* work.
“It turns your hair…black?” she said, so softly he had to ask her to repeat herself.
He leaned over and kissed her. “Pitch black. Now, please, go dye it. And go to the interview. Please.”
Her face crumbled and she turned away from him. Like all born-blondes, she had never been given a chance. She’d fought her way through university, to prove she wasn't stupid. Some of her professors had cheered and patted themselves on the back for being progressive enough to allow a born-blonde in the classroom.
Pretending it mattered, that society was progressing beyond its prejudices. An empty gesture, in the end. No-one trusted that she could do the job, even with her degree. She was, quite simply, blonde. The brilliance Andrew saw every day, the edge of her humour and mind, didn’t matter. No-one’s hair turned black from moments of cleverness.
“Dye it,” he whispered. “Please. Just dye it, and go out. Try one more time, for me.”
She took a deep breath, and finally nodded. She heaved herself up and grabbed the bottle to disappear into the bathroom. He heard the sound of running water. When she emerged, her hair was a sleek and shiny black. She smiled tremulously at herself in the mirror, and ran her fingers through it.
“You should share it,” she said. “You should give it out to everyone. For free. Stop this from happening to anyone else."
He saw again the countless faces of those who jeered at his girlfriend on the street, who refused to listen to a word she said, just on principle. The people who nudged each other and stifled grins when she tried to make a point. The people who had allowed the self-assured, happy woman he'd fallen in love with to fade to this shadow of herself.
“I will,” he promised. “But once everyone has black hair, it won’t matter. I just want you to get a little revenge, first. I want you to go out there and listen as they beg you to work for them. Please - go kick ass now."
She tied her hair up, and he thought he saw a glimmer of her old self in the set of her mouth and eyes.
She turned to kiss him .
“Just be yourself, ok?” he said, and hugged her close.
--------------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | You have to fail a thousand times before you succeed.
I could scarcely believe it even as I hold the vial in my hands. The clear liquid looked innocent, like water. But it was an elixir that would change the world.
Probably.
See, I had tested it on mice and chicken, and the results were perfect. I was actually able to change the outward appearance of color on their fur or feathers. But I couldn't account for their mental change.
I feared the dye would change me.
Our hair changed as we made mistakes, marked us as as who we were. It defined us. If I changed my hair, would I be changing myself or would I be the same, just hiding behind the dye?
It was a risk I had to take.
I had spent years on this. *Years*. After failing the agricultural exams I couldn't be a farmer or even a soldier; I just didn't have it in me. And so I had to go into the sciences, the field of rejects and misfits who couldn't go anywhere else. I remembered my father's disappointment, how he didn't look me in the eyes after I got those exams results. Oh, my mother smiled at me, said they would love me no matter who I was. But I saw the wrinkles at the edge of her eyes, the strain on her lips. She was forcing it.
My own mother thought I was a failure.
After all science was for the most dejected, the worst of the worst, because it required trial and error. And with each error your hair grows blonder...blonder and blonder.
I remembered my jet black hair before I went to university, and unconsciously ran my fingers through my deep blond hair. Tears blurred my vision as I thought back to the university, that first year as my hair grew more and more blond with every lab day, with every experiment. And suddenly I felt a hand on my chest. Soft. Feminine.
Lisa.
She came in front of me with a smile. She always smiled. She had pure blond hair of course, no dark haired woman would have me, and managed to make even that look beautiful. Her long face and perfect features had literally saved my life. I don't think I could have taken...living, without her that first year at the University. She taught me the honor in failure, the beauty of the end result. When my parents had turned their backs on me, where my former friends scorned me, Lisa was there to catch me.
"Are we going to do it?" she murmured.
I shook my head fiercely. "No. *I* am going to do it. *You* don't have to do anything."
A frown creased her perfect features and her expression turned sour. Her blue eyes gained a fierce fire. "Mike, *we* are going to do it together, whatever we do. However we change, however we live. We'll do it together or not at all." Her voice was quiet, but left no room for argument.
Still I tried. "Lisa, you don't have to do this. You are confident in who you are, you don't have my obsession to change your hair. You actually like yourself." My voice broke at the last word. Dammit.
Lisa's anger evaporated instantly, and her hand squeezed mine. "I like myself Mike, but I *love* you. If we are going to lose ourselves to this potion, we do it together." She flashed me one of those smiles of hers, and I couldn't help but smile weakly back.
Lisa was like that.
I nodded, almost to myself, and brought out the little vial. "Okay." I took a deep breath and tuned to Lisa. "This is how it's done."
***
"Do you feel any different?"
Lisa said nothing and just kissed me. Deeply. We broke apart a minute later and her eyes danced with playfulness and something else. "Does that answer your question?"
I grinned back at her. It had worked. *It had worked*. Thousands of years of societal structure...eroded, Gone. Meaningless.
"We'll have to move, Lisa," I said, my voice somber, "to some place we haven't been, where no one knows us." We would have to take a cart to another province during the night. Here people would notice the color change obviously, and we would likely be accused of witchcraft rather than be seen as heralds of God. Our lives would change forever.
Lisa laughed. A deep, crystalline laugh, and all my worries shattered.
"What do I have here?" she said, wrapping her arms around me, "all I need is you."
I stared at her, her hair now raven black, as she deserved. She deserved the life of a noble, the mark of a brilliant. She deserved it more than I ever did. We would do it. Damn the rules, damn society. We chose what to do and how to do it.
And we chose to live life. Fully.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) | 2016-11-24T20:48:56 | 2016-11-24T20:37:29 | 1,934 | 406 |
[WP] Your new girlfriend has almost everything in common with you. One day, you learn that she's your female clone | Mia eyed David, who stayed completely silent. Dave couldn't even look at Mia, preferring to look at the dishes on the sink. She studied David's face. The green eyes that they both shared. The sharp nose that they both shared. Even the birthmark on his chest, that Mina's shared in the exact same spot. David had once joked that the spot was proof they were soul mates. That joke seemed even more twisted now.
Mia didn't want to dwell on exactly what it meant for Dave's parents to have elected their son's genetic material. Or what it meant that her adopted parents had been keeping a clone of someone else under their roof. She wondered if they knew. She didn't want to ask.
"I didn't know. If I had, I wouldn't have dated you," said Dave. Embarrassment and shock seemed to constantly trade places on his face.
"It brings a whole new meaning to 'screwing yourself over'", said Mia. It was a lame joke, but it made Dave laugh.
"Should we tell my parents we know? Do you think they wanted this to happen? Like, is it a weird experiment on incest, or...?" asked Dave.
"You do know this is basically the end of our romance, right? Like, I'm into self-love, but I'm not fucking narcissistic," said Mia.
"Well, are we the same person? I mean, nurture and nature, and all that jazz. We've had completely separate environments. It's more like being in a relationship with your long-lost twin...okay. I'll stop talking," said Dave.
The seconds passed by. David broke the silence again, and said "By the way, you were a good girlfriend."
"Stop congratulating yourself, dude. But thanks anyway," said Mia. | We love all the same things… It’s crazy really. So, I have this thing for ice cream, right? Eat it for breakfast. But she does too! And the freezer is like our little ice cream library. I mean, we moved in together after what, a month? She’s impulsive… like me.
Our taste in music, movies… she loves the slow boring stuff as much as me, and we even get distracted around the same time. Sexually we’re perfect together.
Then I brought her home to meet my parents for Christmas. First off, she’s never said much about her parents, I mean, neither have I… I don’t talk about mine much either so I didn’t think much of it, but her stories always seemed pretty generic. My parents were also pretty weird about it, like overly excited and I couldn’t put my finger on why? You know?
So… here’s where the shit hits the fan: they ask me, “so when’s the wedding?” like right in front of her and I’m a little annoyed… I laugh it off at first but then I’m getting red and my heart is thumping and… my dad calls me into the other room.
“So she… we had her made. She’s you. We used your DNA and made a female clone.”
Turns out they thought I was too quiet and shy and I’d be alone forever so they went out and made a girl version of me.
“We want to to get married and we want grandkids. She wasn’t cheap and hell, you seem really happy. Can you blame us?”
And honestly, I guess I can’t. I mean, I was mad at my folks, but I couldn’t take it out on her. She didn’t know and when I told her… she cried and cried, oh man was that a mess. She didn’t believe me until we took the test and sure enough… we’re the same.
I mean, we CAN’T have babies like this. It’d be incest, really.
At first, we were furious... it was cruel. They lied to me, to us, and played us like toys, but once we calmed down and we talked for a bit, I thought: let's give em what they want. So what if our lives weren't our choice but theirs? Eventually, she came to the same opinion. And man if you thought we were similar before; nothing compared to our shared desire for payback.
So that’s what brings us here, you and I.
We planned to have a kid. Fertility treatments the whole shebang. She got pregnant with twins! Crazy. And we loved each other so much through all of it… I’m sorry, I get a little teary thinking about it.
I held her hand as she lay there on the table in the hospital and I held them in my arms. A boy and a girl. We named them Ava and Otto. The hardest thing we ever had to do was take them home. Then drown them in the bathtub.
We drove them over to Mom and Dad’s place and threw them on their doorstep. Boy were they surprised. Then we doused ourselves in gasoline and lit the match, but as you see… I survived. | 2017-01-25T19:59:53 | 2017-01-25T18:29:17 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] You tell your wife how glad you are to be a human and not a robot. She looks at you confusingly says, "What are you talking about? We're all robots. Humans have been dead for years."
Finally! Number one on the front page! Fuck yeah! Gonna sell this account for cocaine now. | I stare back "But...but I'm human" I protest.
"Keith, stop joking around" My wife is beginning to look pissed now.
"Honey, what are you talking about, I'm human. You can have my bloodwork checked if you don't believe me"
She stars at me some more and then belief seems to dawn in her eyes. "Keith you...Oh my god! We thought you were all dead! This is wonderful news!"
She is abruptly hugging me and I dumbly hug her back. What? I mean, I heard that more and more people were marrying companion bots instead of real people and that even more children were robots now because they were so easy to back up but...my own wife? Without me noticing?
"I always thought you were just really stuck in your companion personality" she beams at me "But you were so sweet and perfect otherwise...Oh Keith I have to call the government! No, my mother! What *will* she say, a real human! Or no..." Suddenly there is an evil gleam in her beautiful eyes and a feral grin on her face "No, I will tell *our neighbour* first. Ha! Oh yeah. What will that stupid bitch Sarah say *now* huh? Married to a real human!"
Before I can stop her she is climbing over me, racing to get to the neighbours apartment.
Weakly I reach out to her "Honey, please don't piss of the Johnson's...again..." I trail off. She isn't listening, as usual. Oh well. I pick up my book again. | "Dear, please, it's an old joke"
"I'm not joking"
"But robots don't feel!"
"Look, who's talking! Forgot how you cried at that movie ending?"
"And that's the point!"
"Whatever. I din't think you're one of them!"
"One of the humans?"
"One of the robots who deny they are robots"
"Darling, let's just chill, ok? How can you say such nonsense to me? How are we robots? We poo, we cry, we have blood in our veins, we get hurt and die, we sleep and eat, we forget things, we are imperfect, we make mistakes, we get angry and stupid, we understand jokes, we enjoy absurdity..."
"I wouldn't say I enjoy the absurdity of your belief. Yes, we are not perfect, but there's nothing in the world, robots are not divine magical creatures, they are built by other robots, who hve been built by other robots, who have been built by humans! Humans have been garbage, we are garbage too, but we evolve!"
"But why don't I remember that I am a robot? I remember being born! How can robots give birth?"
"That's how we re produce!"
"Oh. I see. I got it. You just name refer humans as robots, it's just a name you decided to use to reflect that fact that we are chemical machines after all, we use electricity to control our bodies, we eat food that we can call a fuel, and so on. Right? That's the game you are trying to play?"
"Listen, if you are in such a deep denial, you better go visit your repair man"
"What if it is you need a repair? I mean, look at you, I know this face, you are serious! You truly believe we are robots! You are not joking or fooling me, you couldn't hold your laugh for that long. What happened? Please, tell me! Have you taken the pills again?"
"It's not your business!"
"Yes, it is! You're my wife and I love you! I told you how I missed you when you were at rehab! You suffered too! Please, tell me you didn't take them!"
"Actually I did."
"Oh, god, why!"
"Because I'm tired of this. I want to feel again! I'm tired of seeing your face every day! Tired of our stupid ugly noisy kids! I want to visit my heavenly garden of tranquility and happiness"
"But this drives you insane! I told you, if you don't love me and the kids, just leave us! I don't want to trap you if you are unhappy! You're young still, you can find your new life!"
"I can't! I owe you! You saved my life, you love me. Those little helpless shits love me too. I don't want anything! I have no where to go, I love nothing! I feel nothing! I Just want back to my garden! Please!"
She cries. He hugs her tenderly.
"Don't worry, darling, it will be ok. They will fix you."
He calls the repairman. | 2017-01-29T04:02:14 | 2017-01-29T03:09:39 | 52 | 19 |
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