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 Grim Reaper is your overprotective dad, Hades is the cool uncle, and Cerberus is the beloved family pet. What happens when your boyfriend comes over to meet the family? | All I could think of as I walked to the door was how fucked I was. How do I explain to my dad I fell in love with Time? No matter what I do I know he is going to go up the wall about "That good for nothing, over booking, miscreant". The only thing that could save me would be mom but she has been so withdrawn since dad had to take my brother Danny. She sobs for hours in her room not knowing how to get around the fact that dad didn't KILL Danny, hell, he put him out of his misery. We keep explaining to her that it is Pestilence fault for giving him lukemia, but she has never met Pestilence and she wants a face, or I guess skull, to assign blame too. As I walk through the door and call out I'm home the standard noises fill the house. Mom sobbing in her room, dad on the phone with Cutco arguing that his scythe has in fact dulled and he wants a replacement, and Cerberus whining at the door because he has to pee and if his lava piss burns one more hole in the rug dad just might kill him. Things are a little gloomy in the house of Death but the overall life isn't bad, or well, it wouldn't be if dad wasn't such a raging asshole. Once again I found myself wishing my uncle Hades was my father but everytime I say that he looks at me a sighs sadly and walks away. I looked at the clock and realized it was almost time for, well Time, to arrive. "Alright this is going to be fine. Dad can't scare off another one, nothing matters as long as I have all the Time in the world." Chuckling to myself I walk into dad's lair. Heaven forbid it be an office like every other deity noooo pop insists on it being called a lair.
"Dad I have something to tell you." I said, proud at the strength in my voice.
"Oh sure honey just give me one minute."
"Well I'm glad you brought up time because.... I'm sorta dating him."
Cold silence was my only reply. Several times dad s jaw opened only to close back up again. Finally dad laughed loud and long. When he finished he picked up the phone and hit a number on speed dial.
"Hey Hades I need you to come pick up your kid. This little bitch isn't good for much and just started dating Time. I'm done with her, I annul the contract saying you owe me your first born." | I’m from a little town located several miles below the surface of the earth—it’s called Hell and although it’s small, it’s growing. Our family home is in the town square since my father, Grim, and his brother Hades were founders. We get travelers passing through every now and then; like this one Italian guy who wrote a book about us. But for the most part, it’s just longtime residents. Everyone works for Bank of America.
The dating scene could be better. Everyone seems to have issues and be really into BDSM. We drip candlewax on each other, whip each others’ butts, and tie each other down. It’s unbelievably popular. My father hates that stuff and he knows young people do it, but he never talks about it. He always sabotages my relationships—that’s his way of advocating abstinence. So I was very nervous when I brought my boyfriend home from my out-of-state college. To be honest, he was actually my fiancé at that point but nobody else knew.
“His name’s Mahatma,” I said, introducing him to my dad. We were in the family room, with beige carpet and blue armchairs. There was a still-life on the wall showing a bunch of fruit and a dead pheasant. I always asked Dad to take it down, or at least put it in the basement, but it was a gift from one of his friends who was no longer with us, so he kept it prominently displayed.
Mahatma clutched his glass of ice-water nervously. He stood, and reached out for a handshake.
“Is that the hand you jack off with?” my dad asked, not moving. “You’re gonna be doin a lot of jacking off, I’ll tell you that right now, if you stay in a relationship with my daughter.”
“Dad!” I said, turning bright red. Mahatma quivered. He looked like he was going to cry.
“How can you say things like that Dad?” I said, “You’re not that kind of person.”
“Oh how would you know?” Dad said, sniffing. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. There’s a lot you don’t know about our town. Sometimes I feel like you only pay attention to me when you need money.” He looked hurt.
“That’s not true Dad,” I said softly. Deep down, I knew he had a point. I wasn’t the best daughter. I wasn’t even a good daughter. I couldn’t help it. Or maybe I could—I just wasn’t ready to put in the time and the work to learn more about him and his town. It just seemed kind of backward and boring.
Mahatma put his hand in his pocket and sat back down.
“Oh no no no,” dad said. “I’m sorry. I’m being very rude. Let’s start over.” He reached out his bony hand to shake. Mahatma uncomfortably brought out his hand and gave a quick shake. He gave me a weird look.
“So how’d you guys meet?” my dad asked.
“It was at a protest,” Mahatma said.
“For the death penalty,” I added.
“Oh,” dad said, pausing. “Are you for it or against it?”
“Against it Dad,” I said. “Obviously.” Mahatma smiled uncomfortably.
Dad let out a long, low whistle. “I think I’m gonna go lie down,” he said. “It was nice meeting you Mahatma.”
Mahatma nodded, his smile so tense that it almost broke his face. I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. My dad walked downstairs.
“See?” I said to Mahatma, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
He rolled his eyes at me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really sorry. Let me make it up to you. I’ll buy you lunch.” I checked my purse. I was out of money.
I stood up to go talk to my dad.
----
>>/r/trrh | 2017-03-08T18:29:55 | 2017-03-08T17:04:47 | 33 | 16 |
[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now". | He threw my wallet on the ground, and shot it until his magazine was empty, every shot made my head jerk back. He then threw the gun on the ground near my wallet, my eyes were narrowed, I was furious.
"Why the hell did you do that? Now I have to request a new ID and credit card."
The man looked up, the hood of his coat rendered a shadow on his face. "I'm sorry my beloved son. Fake leather produces rash on your skin."
"Beloved son? What are you talking about, who are you?"
He removed his hood and I couldn't believe my eyes. In front of me stood Gabe Logan Newell, the creator of Valve Corporation and Steam. "I'm so sorry..." he began to cry, "I'm so sorry that I destroyed your wallet."
| I stared at the man. His grizzled features only made his eyes more striking - this man had seen some shit. I felt myself shaking.
"What the hell was that?" I blurted out, looking at the remains of my wallet. There was a thick, purplish ooze bleeding out of the leather. Teeth lined the edges.
“Better if you don’t know,” he said, looking from side to side, gun still drawn. “I doubt you’ll even believe me, even after what you just saw.”
I stared at the creature that was once my wallet.
"Try me."
He sighed, putting his gun away. "Ok. But not here. It's not safe."
The man led us into a nearby bar, ordering two drinks before we sat down. I was still shaking, but he was as calm as an ocean breeze.
"Ever heard of capitalism? Consumerism?" he asked, not a hint of irony in his voice.
"I believe I've heard the terms, yes," I replied, trying to not sound sarcastic.
"We're living in a society that worships *things*. Ownership. Materials. Goods, that are supposed to make us so happy. Then why are we all so fucking depressed?"
I said nothing, motioning for him to continue.
"Well, they're coming alive. There's some kind of global consciousness that's bringing them into power - we're creating them. And they're feeding off us... more and more, they're feeding off our urge for *more*."
"How did you find out about this?"
"The hard way," he replied, taking a massive swig from his drink. "Never been a much of a buyer myself. Feels like I'm the only one that can see it, this virus that's feeding off of us. That's taking over us."
I took some time to process it all. I felt a fear deep in my gut, gnawing away at me.
"How did you know my wallet was one of them?" I asked.
He finished the last of his drink, then stared at me.
"Son, I'm not sure if you understand - *every wallet is one of them*."
****
Part II will come soon, if there's any interest <3 | 2017-07-13T00:49:55 | 2017-07-12T23:56:21 | 223 | 82 |
[WP] In the future, to pass college you no longer must pass written finals. Instead, you are simply dropped into a real life scenario related to your major, and left to fend for yourself with your new found knowledge.
*My first post on WP, sorry if it's a repeat and/or against any rule(s)*
Edit: wow, sincerely thank you all so much! was not expecting my first post on WP to go front page! | The stench of gunpowder hung in the air. I could hear the artillery fire cascading into a nearby town. I stood up, groggy and confused.
I looked down at myself. I recognized the uniform immediately from my history class. A red swastika covered my left arm.
"Why am I here?" I asked aloud.
A man accosted me from behind. I spun around, gripping my pistol.
"Easy there," the man said, whose voice I now recognized as my history advisor. I loosened my grip.
"You were the smartest student I had. I know you're capable. You have all the knowledge you need. Now stop the war."
| Not sure that this will appeal to everyone but hopefully some people enjoy it
---------------------------------------------------------
Helen was in the examination room with three patients in front of her: three people she was expected to save lest she forfeit her degree. Each was sleeping, deeply under the influence of general anaesthetic, while surgeons stood next to their beds. Helen glanced over to the four examiners, each of whom were holding clipboards, and easily read the fear on their faces - one of them even had tears in his eyes. The woman to his left, also upset but holding it together, spoke directly to her.
“Proceed when ready, Miss Clark”
Her friend Steven’s exam had been a cakewalk by comparison. The trolley problem was so elementary that even high schoolers had heard of it. When Helen quizzed him she found he hadn’t even had to deal with Thomson’s “Fat Man” variation; Steven had pulled a lever, watched a man die while five lived, then collected his diploma. Simple.
Sure Steven had been an extreme case – James had had to tell that poor woman that she would not be able to have the abortion she had wanted. He’d been visibly shaken all week afterwards. Helen had heard that the woman had tried to claw at his face before the examiners dragged her off him. It was a rumour sure (James had been completely silent about the whole ordeal) but she could believe it .
And Emily? She was still acting as a human dialysis machine for that violinist. She had another 8 and a half months in hospital to go.
Still, now Helen envied her. Being forced to navigate Harris’s survival lottery was a terrible price to pay for her Bachelors. One person would die because their organs were needed by more than one. They would be put to sleep, "humanely" slaughtered and then harvested to save the lives of, in this case, three others.
Helen was undeniably afraid. Walking away when she’d come so far though was unthinkable.
Helen moved quietly to the operating table. She lay down, put the mask to her face and counted backwards from one hundred. | 2017-08-10T05:16:53 | 2017-08-10T05:08:15 | 741 | 110 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | "Some tea, dear?" the little old lady asked to the dark and mysterious figure sitting at her kitchen table. She squinted at him having forgotten her glasses upstairs.
"Yes, earthling," the mysterious figure boomed and whispered all at once, careful not to burst her delicate eardrums with his natural voice as he had with the last earthling he'd met.
"Call me Grammy," Grammy said, and set about preparing the kettle to boil after setting a plate of cookies on the table.
"Yes, Grammy," the figure corrected himself. "Thank you," he added as a stilted afterthought.
---
Ryorek typed the word "dear" into his database.
"Dear: an affectionate term referring to one who is figuratively close to the speaker, such as a family member or an old friend."
Ryorek ran his hand through his tendrils and sighed.
"Agent from Earth sector 9 reporting," he whispered into his communicator. "Advise immediate shelving of phase two. I repeat, advise to abort phase two."
The response rang clear over the comm channel: "Report received, agent. Mission briefing in two cycles."
"Acknowledged."
"Did you say something, dear?" Grammy asked, turning toward him with a pleasant smile on her old and weathered face.
"Not at all, Grammy," Ryorek said. "Thank you for the cookies." | Gorestaff the Annihilator snuck carefully through the unfamiliar base. The holographics had shown him what to expect, but the smaller structures were like some sort of nestlings play area to the 8 meter tall Zaxarian, who's hardened carapace was festooned with the gilt of conquered worlds.
But finally he had arrived at the main complex. Angling up his disintegration staff he converted it to wide area and took aim at the wall for the inevitable slaughter that was about to begin. Checking to see if the other member of his team was in place, Gorestaff brought the weapon up and fired, the outer wall glowing green for a moment as 6 inches of reinforced concrete and steel were converted into nothing by the energy of the zero point converter in his staff.
A lone being from this world turned around like a startled animal, reached into its side and pulled out a weapon. Grinning Gorestaff watched as the small flash of the weapon answered, and felt the gentle ping as the weapon bounced harmlessly off of his null field.
"Gorestaff," came a voice from the meta communicator.
"Yes Slaughtermaster?"
"Have the enemy attacked you yet," asked the greatest warrior of the Zaxarian Race, who's mono molecular blade had claimed the head of the God Emperor of Halcyis.
"Yes."
"Have you noticed anything odd," replied the Prime Warrior.
Gorestaff considered as more shots bounced harmlessly off of his shield. It reminded him of a children's party actually, where his nest mates had 'ambushed' him with a bunch of Neutronic Emitting Refiring Field weapons. The pop and the flash was almost identical. The pop and the flash were identical.
"By the nine levels of the Sarlac, they are attacking us with toys!" Gorestaff's inner and outer eyes widened as he looked around. Another human had a small tube which launched some sort of small explosive party favor at them, as he could tell by the string it kept attached to the launcher, the bright flash was enough to shatter the nearby flimsily built structure.
As his horns retracted, a much larger squat vehicle rolled out on tracks, aimed and fired a super sized toy weapon at him. It even exploded on impact, illuminating the small humans as they attempted to look threatening and several made to charge at him.
Finally, Gorestaff got a good look at them. They were adorable as they attempted to drive small metal knives into his legs. A dry realization struck him, "Putressa the Puss Bringer would love one of these."
"Slaughtermaster, we shall not conquer a land that celebrates our arrival, grab several of these things for your mates. We will hold a proper festival here later," stated Gorestaff as he looked into the sky where his landing ship was being bombarded by nuclear missiles. The lights in the sky were glorious. | 2017-08-20T08:54:01 | 2017-08-20T08:37:27 | 1,619 | 96 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | Arganax flicked his antenna in irritation as he glanced around the conference room. The air was heavy as each multifaceted eyes twitched away from his stare.
"So," he clicked. "The decision to retreat was universal."
A brief buzzing filled the room as the augmented battle armor they all wore activated under the twitching of vestigial wing muscles.
Arganax growled, a low rumbling sound that echoed through the silent room.
"Sir... High Warmaster..." began Taraks one of the younger generals. "You have to understand, we tried. Disabled there satilites, even bombed a few cities but... The men sir... it was taking its toll."
Arganax regarded him silently.
"Troops were vomiting in their formations. Most of our medical service personnel broke rank immediately to say nothing of the reactions of the Queens."
"Do you know who we are?"
"Sir?"
"We are the second most feared race in the known galaxy, we have defeated more than four hundred worlds, turning them into brood-chambers for the next generation of our people. We defeated the Sarax, the night children and the upstart gods. I was told this was a level 2 technology world, barely above nuclear capability.
WHAT WENT WRONG!"
Taraks shivered before him, "they look like larve sir. More appealing even, like those little soft bodied cartoons we used to watch when we were young."
Chattering and warm looks of agreement went amongst the generals. "One of their countries leaders even looked like TurraTurra."
Artarak looked on astonished.
"Seriously sir you have no idea. They are all like funny little infants. And once you think you're ready for how appealing they look, you see something better. You haven't lived until you've seen something that looks like your child blown up into a pudgy ball, or clutching and playing with a living moss tuft; you know, like we all did back in the hives."
"Indeed," interrupted Neelza, usually famed for his use of bioweapons. "They even have miniature larva of their own, like ours, but even smaller. It's truly... Truly beautiful sir."
"Yes sir. They must be protected." Another of the generals chimed in.
"I agree. We all do. That's why we returned to the fleet sir. To convince you."
Artarak was dumbfounded... and strange for himself, curious. Just what must creatures that adorable be like. He'd yet to review any of the data that had been brought over to his ships, wishing to interrogate his failed generals first. He tapped a claw on the table.
"This species," he finally said. "Where is it located?"
-----
My first try at one of these. Hope you enjoy. | The first time Ravick the Ravisher stepped onto the green pebble, he knew that conquest would be easy. This would be nothing like the molten planet of Xera-2 where his soldiers had sunken beneath the ground only to be swallowed by fire. This planet, if it could even be classified as such, had a nitrogen rich atmosphere though most its inhabitants used oxygen. Because of this, life on this planet had never evolved to fully utilize its atmosphere.
He stepped through the wheat fields toward a red barn that housed the nearest form of intelligent life, if they could even be classified as such. They were still so primitive that they used words, scratching symbols into thin pieces of wood and smacking their lips together to communicate.
“Human,” his voice boomed louder than this planet’s thunderclaps. “Bow your head as your new God has arrived. I am Ravick the Ravisher, Conqueror of Galaxies, Destroyer of Stars. Resist and I will obliterate your planet with a single command.”
The human scurried through his wooden habitat and swung the front door open. “What in tarnation.”
Its jaw dropped and eye widened. The straw thing on his head fell as well as the one he had been chewing inside his mouth. Ravick’s jaw also fell. He had never seen such a pitiful and disgusting creature. Its limbs were sticks, disproportionate to its body, like The Creator had made its body and then ran out of matter to make the rest of it. Two front teeth protruded from its mouth as if The Creator had accidentally made one of its breathing holes too small. Surely, this could be the ugliest thing in the universe.
“Oh my Jesus,” the human jumped. “It’s an alien! My Uncle Richard warned me about you aliens. Said you probed him real good.”
“Uncle Richard?” Ravick muttered and then shook his head, clearing his thoughts regarding this pitiful thing. “Submit human or meet your demise!”
The human pressed its lips together and took a deep breath. “You landed in the wrong place, alien. This is America and we don’t buy down to no man. Much less some godless alien like yourself.”
The Conqueror of Galaxies furrowed his brow. “But I will destroy your planet.”
“Not if I shoot you dead!” The human reached behind the doorframe and pulled out a shotgun. He took aim and pulled the trigger.
A thousand metal pellets erupted from the weapon in a small explosion. They launched themselves into Ravick before bouncing off his armor and even his skin. He picked one up from the ground to inspect it. These humans were still slinging rocks to wage war!
“You like that, you foreigner!” the human screamed, reloading his fancy rock slinger. “First we got them illegals, now them aliens. All of you godless heathens!”
“Human, do you not understand your own predicament? Am I not communicating to you effectively?”
“You don’t understand your own predica-thing, ya green-skinned freak. Now you best get off my field before I put another buckshot into your ass.”
Ravick scratched the back of his head. “You can sling however many stones you wish, but it’s your planet at stake. The entirety of it. Don’t you wish to negotiate?”
“Americans don’t negotiate with no terrorists. I reckon the same applies to you aliens.” He finished reloading and raised up his rock slinger, his eyes narrowed and mouth scrunched.
Ravick could no longer deny it—they were adorable. They were the galaxy pugs, hideously malformed, quick to bark, and would sooner trip over themselves in a fight than cause any real damage. No being could have the heart so slay such creatures. He began retreating.
“Yeah, that’s right! Go back to your own planet, alien! Tell your friends about us too. America ain’t easy to mess with!” the human shouted after him. He whooped in the air, jumping for joy as if he had actually defeated the Destroyer of Stars.
“Oh my Creator,” Ravick muttered. It was too cute.
---
---
/r/jraywang
| 2017-08-20T08:54:15 | 2017-08-20T08:30:05 | 316 | 153 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | Arganax flicked his antenna in irritation as he glanced around the conference room. The air was heavy as each multifaceted eyes twitched away from his stare.
"So," he clicked. "The decision to retreat was universal."
A brief buzzing filled the room as the augmented battle armor they all wore activated under the twitching of vestigial wing muscles.
Arganax growled, a low rumbling sound that echoed through the silent room.
"Sir... High Warmaster..." began Taraks one of the younger generals. "You have to understand, we tried. Disabled there satilites, even bombed a few cities but... The men sir... it was taking its toll."
Arganax regarded him silently.
"Troops were vomiting in their formations. Most of our medical service personnel broke rank immediately to say nothing of the reactions of the Queens."
"Do you know who we are?"
"Sir?"
"We are the second most feared race in the known galaxy, we have defeated more than four hundred worlds, turning them into brood-chambers for the next generation of our people. We defeated the Sarax, the night children and the upstart gods. I was told this was a level 2 technology world, barely above nuclear capability.
WHAT WENT WRONG!"
Taraks shivered before him, "they look like larve sir. More appealing even, like those little soft bodied cartoons we used to watch when we were young."
Chattering and warm looks of agreement went amongst the generals. "One of their countries leaders even looked like TurraTurra."
Artarak looked on astonished.
"Seriously sir you have no idea. They are all like funny little infants. And once you think you're ready for how appealing they look, you see something better. You haven't lived until you've seen something that looks like your child blown up into a pudgy ball, or clutching and playing with a living moss tuft; you know, like we all did back in the hives."
"Indeed," interrupted Neelza, usually famed for his use of bioweapons. "They even have miniature larva of their own, like ours, but even smaller. It's truly... Truly beautiful sir."
"Yes sir. They must be protected." Another of the generals chimed in.
"I agree. We all do. That's why we returned to the fleet sir. To convince you."
Artarak was dumbfounded... and strange for himself, curious. Just what must creatures that adorable be like. He'd yet to review any of the data that had been brought over to his ships, wishing to interrogate his failed generals first. He tapped a claw on the table.
"This species," he finally said. "Where is it located?"
-----
My first try at one of these. Hope you enjoy. | “I don’t understand,” Beeble said, leaning forward, staring into a brightly colored monitor. “This just doesn’t make any sense.”
The ship was silent, for when their commander was upset, the soldiers knew to stay in their seats and pretend to do their jobs. The only person near him was his brother, Brox, for he was the only one who could control his temper.
“Neither do I, brother.”
Beeble gritted his sharp, serrated teeth. “They’re fleshy. They’re average. They’re insignificant worms in our conquest of the galaxy and yet they’ve created a fake reality in which they thrive. A fake reality in which we desire.”
“It *is* cute,” Brox muttered.
“*WE DO NOT FIND THINGS CUTE!*”
“Yeah, but if we did, I’d say that's pretty dang cute.”
They both continued to glare at the monitor, although one was enamored while the other was seething. It took everything in Beeble’s power to not rear his fist back and shatter the screen into a million pieces. Was this that “culture” thing his spies had told him about?”
“No,” said Beeble. “It’s not culture. It’s a plague.”
“A plague?”
“Look, see that island? It’s small. It’s forgotten. But within it they’ve quarantined this mess. They must know of its brainwashing powers, and maybe they even know of our arrival.”
“And you say that…why?”
Beeble rubbed head. Thinking and talking to Brox was like trying to open a door with a rock. You had to be blunt or it just wouldn’t work.
“I believe they’ve kept this brainwashing tactic as a secret weapon, Brox. They stuck it in that island, waiting for our arrival, and now that we’re here, they’ve unleashed it on the world. See that big hunk of land across the planet? It’s there, too. They’ve infected themselves just to stop us.”
“That’s ludicrous!”
“Ludicrously genius.” Beeble suddenly snapped his head to the side. “Cute. *Cute,*” he growled. “Slod, bring up the video from earlier. The first transmission we received.”
“Yes sir!” a little alien yelped as his fingers worked across the keyboard.
The monitor flashed a dozen times before switching to a new screen. This one was bright, and played upbeat music as a girl with brightly colored hair did inane things that made Beeble wish he was getting angrier and angrier by the second. But he wasn’t. He knew, despite how hard he tried, that this *was* cute.
He took a deep breathe, and when he looked over, Brox was dancing.
Frigging.
Dancing.
“Boogie-woogie, Beeble!” he cheered, clapping his hands as he began singing along in some cutesy language he didn’t even know. “Come on!”
Beeble took a deep breath. His feet wanted to move but he would not allow it to happen, and he dared not look back for a fear that the rest of his men would be dancing, and that he would have to slaughter all of them.
He simply hung his head and decided they needed to get away from this insane planet before they were infected any further. From what he saw of the humans, once this curse grabs you, it grabs you hard. Soon you’ll be buying pictures and clothes and books. Even pillows. They even turned *pillows* cute.
“What do they call this, Brox?”
“Anime, brother! Anime!”
Soon the entire ship was chanting *anime* along with him, and though Beeble tried to tell his pilots to get them out of there and get them out of there fast, they could not hear him, for soon *he* was chanting anime as well.
***
If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter | 2017-08-20T08:54:15 | 2017-08-20T08:22:58 | 316 | 151 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | "He's adorable!" the large, green abomination said, its hands ruffling the jet black hair of the household pet. The pet growled, showing well polished, white teeth. The alien chuckled, imitating the growl to the best of its ability. "You're so freaking cute when you do that!" it said, its eyes filled with affection and love. The pet's eyes held only resentment, but anger was a feeling aliens took as normal for their pets. In fact, it was told in their handbooks that humans' anger was actually a show of love towards their masters, so the alien was naturally delighted at the reaction.
"Come here! We need to get a picture!" the green monster callrd for its family, the adorable human cuddled up in its arms. It was so tiny, so cute...the alien couldn't help but coo at it. Other aliens poured down from the floor above, the entire family grouped together to witness the spectacle. "It's got a tiny...electronic in its hand?" one queried, looking at the new toy bought for their tiny pet. "Special edition 'smartphone', as they call it. Little guy seems to love it," the voice of the family's patriach was softened and sweetened from its usual stern tones. The human eagerly pounced on the device, interacted with it for a few seconds, and let out a howl of disappointment and despair.
"Did you...just hear that! OMG that was amazing!!" squealed the youngest of them all, a female almost at the age of 10. Photographic devices were already snapping away at light speed whilst the human looked, confused at first and scared afterwards, evidenced by its attempt to hide its facial features. It was to no avail, its image published and circulated everywhere. The aliens shrugged, smiling. What use was there to take over their planet when they could just own them? Land could come after adoration and cuteness. Definitely after.
On the richly carpeted floor, the human sighed once again, the blinding lights scarring his vision. "Maybe I shouldn't have treated my dog like this," he said to himself, his thoughts nostalgic as he reminisced his own, happy childhood.
"Maybe." | (I'm saying mah alien spoke like in Shakespearean times. Because honestly, that makes it easier for me.)
...Mine parents always spake unto me, uttering words of degredation in regards to those creatures we refer to as... 'humans'... Mortals.. humans.. writhing sacks of flesh... What have you.. Many a name hathe we inscribed upon them, and yet they insist unto us they be referred to as.. strangely.. 'children of God'.
Especially this small one before me..
"It would behoof thee to relinquish even touch from these creatures. They aught bring unto us naught more than pestilence and plague; upon which the cure is death.."
Oh how she writhed.. how she squirmed upon our first meeting; her very lifeblood had gone wintry as she had gazed upon mine visage; she pleaded unto me her life, seeking that I give her succor and solace; I hath no obligation but to acquiesce at such a moment, for at the time, I was loathe of these... humans.. thinking they brought unto mine kind diseases.
Ahah, but that was eons ago.. or so it seems.
A decade later, and here reside. I had found her status as an innocent waif too delightful to pass up.. Discovering mine beloved's history hath revealed unto me she had been abandoned following a family schism of the most vitriolic nature.. I posed unto her a query.
"Child.. hath ye any desire to leave this mortal realm? Heretofore gazing upon thee, I found you repulsive; but upon further inspection, I've nurtured a desire to keep thee.. Thy innocence and helplessness have in truth, attached me unto you. Bearing thoughts of abandoning you to this harsh world of Terra-Prime, now? Such thoughts threaten to split my mind unto twain with anguish... Thou art innocent.. dangerously so. One must not let such a precious creature squander itself in misery.
"Y...You can stop talking like that you know.. But.. I.. I wouldn't mind.. sir.." I heard the words course from her lips, quiet, in a basheful whisper, as if t'were ashamed.
"Ahah.. 'sir'! Woman, thy pure intentions and favourable disposition give thee power.. never hath I met such a polite little creature as you"..
The woman, upon reaching my transport vehicle.. Oh how she squirmed.. I held her within mine embrace as she wept tears.. Tears of freedom and joy... but of the most acidic, vitriolic anguish you could imagine. How she spake and quoth to me of freedom.. Freedom from torment from the people whose blood floweth within her.. And so she writhed... She writhed and squirmed, crying out, like a homunculus unto its creator when it hath experienced the first birthing torments and pleasures of life, seeking understanding and yet begging death to bless it with darkness.
How fragile her psyche was.. How helpless her mind and body.. t'was this that motivated me; surged my efforts further to give her reprieve and comfort..
" Now come.. thee and I shan't tarry here much longer. Bequeath unto this.. this Earth... your final partings and farewells.. I see thou art neither a quean, nor a quidnunc, but that thou art rathe-ripe. I commend thee for having disciplined thyself to such rigid standards.." I quoth unto her before we had departed, taking her hands gently to lead her away. A wave of my hand... and we had left this wretched plane of mortal torment... known as Earth.
Known as my land of birth. | 2017-08-20T08:02:57 | 2017-08-20T07:16:42 | 235 | 25 |
[WP] Your teleported to 44BCE Rome in your everyday street clothes. You're brought before Caesar and he believes you're from the future, hoping to bring him fortune. One day he questions you, asking "How do I die?"
Weewwww never knew my prompt would gain so much attention, thanks guys for all the interesting stories and comments | "My Latin no good much," I mumble, stalling for time.
Caesar's already implacable face hardens further. "Your Latin *good much* enough. Answer." The command is absolute, carrying death behind it.
The stab of fear rebounds within me, and a surge of anger answers. "Would you know things whose knowledge makes them inevitable? Would you surrender all power for the privilege of certainty?"
Caesar flinches. My retort had spoken both of his languages fluently - Latin, and *power*.
He recovers, but is more guarded. "What would you *advise*, without springing the trap?" he asks.
"Reestablish the Republic and retire to Gaul," I say.
Wry humor and resignation flicker across his face. "But you know I will not do that," he says.
"Indeed," I say.
He pours the wine, and we drink. A chill wind blows outside. | Scenario 1: "Oh. That's an easy question. You die an excruciatingly painful death, by the hands of those who you call friends."
This would probably result in him killing me in a rage. Oh, and would probably result in the history of the world since 44BC changing beyond recognition. But who cares about that last part.
Scenario 2: "You die by choking 5 years later. It was your dinner."
Again. He would probably kill me in a rage. The timeline would be preserved, but there's no point in the integrity of the timeline if I'm not around to see it.
Ah. What should I choose? Choices choices choices.
Ah hah! How about...
_____________________________________________________
(Sorry for the 4th wall break, but, for mobile users who can't see the underline, the perspective of the story has just been changed to another character.)
No way.
No fucking way.
I, Julius Caesar, would be the first person to achieve immortality?
If that foreigner, whose name I never caught, was telling me the truth, that my reign would last a thousand years, that the flag of Rome would be seen across the lands, as North as Gaul and as East as the Han's land, then by the name of Jupiter, I need to change my name to something more epic.
Something more "Holy shit". Something that incites the feeling of strength.
"How about 'Caesar the Great'? Sounds fitting." said the foreigner.
Not bad. I'll call in a meeting for the Senate to rename the entire place, as well as to notify them of my change of titles.
I can't wait until Brutus hears the news.
_____________________________________________________
(Again, sorry for the 4th wall break)
Well that was easy.
Seems like the integrity of the timeline was preserved. And to make it better, I'm now going home with about 100 kilograms of gold!
"Set course for Xiangang, China, on the 16th of February, 2018."
"I'm sorry I can't do that, u/dummie1138"
"What? Why not?"
"The area you call 'Xiangang' is neither called 'Xiangang' nor controlled by the Great Ming Empire. Setting course for the 16th of February, 2018 to Hong Kong(UK)."
Well fuck.
_____________________________________________________
If you didn't hate that, please suggest a good AI name. I could really use one. | 2018-02-15T21:12:07 | 2018-02-15T20:35:40 | 109 | 12 |
[WP] Harry Potter is dead; Voldemort is won. The Death Eaters invade the modern world, only to find out there is a reason muggles dominate the Earth and wizards live in hiding.
Always found it weird how muggles still managed to evolve if wizards have always been around. Give a story that explains why. | The trouble with magic, Hermione mused, was that it did not grow easily.
Oh, sure, the raids on the Ministry Archives had proven it did, indeed grow. One of her schoolmates’ friends, Mrs. Luna Lovegood, had a mother invented a local singularity charm, utilising some principles derived from actual Physics. It killed her, supposedly causing temporal issues where unlucky people’s flesh was out of phase with its current fourth dimensional coordinates, ripping them apart in time around the Yorkshire area for years, but still- a new spell.
If Luna wasn’t one of the new regime’s Inqusitors, Hermione felt that she could learn a lot by asking Luna for access to her mother’s notes.
However, muggle technology did change.
For as much as she was a witch, she had to admit she felt more kinship with peers secondary school than her brief few years at Hogwarts. The Boy-Who-Lived died, as did the Headmaster, and school went to shit in a handbasket until they expelled her. It probably was still shit.
She had to use de-aging potions and illegal paperwork to catch up, but she was amazed what had happened whilst, in her words, “I had been stuck up my own witchy bum focused on witchy shit and not seeing the rad things all around me back in Muggleland”
To begin with, the internet. Whilst as a child she remembered sitting on her Daddy’s lap as he wrote the HTML for his dentistry’s webpage, and doing it by hand, she recalled websites being slow, flat images and text, and generally rather ugly. Email existed, but bugger attachments.
As she logged into her gmail on her laptop and messaged her soon to be helpers, she pondered if any other muggleborn had ever tried to cast spells through the internet. If anyone else had used *chain mails* to ensorcell mass armies to obey her cause.
“Dear recipient, I am the leader of PUKE, and I am a witch. You may not believe me, but if you look at the image of a runic array below, your mind will know of magic and numerous secrets that I have gleaned from those that intend to oppress you. So unblock image attachments, guys!
Britain and Southern Ireland (they make no recognition of the Good Friday agreement) is secretly ruled by one Tom Riddle, a despotic madman with great power. All I ask of you is that you share this email with all of your contacts, and my spells will protect your computer from malware. We need to stop him, but the only way we can is if the idiotic 1498 Statute of Secrecy is over.”
The message is sent out, her mischief done, and Hermione Granger fell asleep.
When her radio alarm woke her up at 7.00, she was pleased to hear the first headline was about her information dump and the war against the panicked Death Eater organisation.
She picked up her long broken wand, got her robes on, her pointy hat, and got back on the computer.
PUKE had some more emails to send. | A lot of people ask me about my job. Actually, scratch that. Nobody asks me about my job. Nobody cares about he life of a lowly Death Eater. Even Lord Voldemort can’t take the time out of his day to think about the little people anymore. Not since he took over that measly highschool Hogwarts. Like anyone cares about a highschool anyway. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, next he wants to fight the muggles. Hah! What’s the point? The bloody dimwits fight themselves. Anyways we mobilize tomorrow, I was transferred to hufflepiff company last month. We are to be the first to enter the muffle world, and we start our offensive just outside somewhere called Las Vegas. One of our agents told us of all the gambling and wealth there, so it must be the muggle’s economic capital. Either way, the city should fall within the day. Hufflepiff company is nearly four hundred strong after the most recent troop assignments. Four hundred Deart Eaters against a some rabble of apes? It’ll be like taking candy from a baby.
I hate flying. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid of heights or maybe because I don’t like the wind and cold. But mostly it’s because of my bloody unreliable broomstick. Just last month I got the carburetor changed, and now it needs new spark plugs. Seriously if that crooked mechanic Weezlesnort charges me double for labour again I’ll turn him into a real weasel. Or maybe a frog or something nasty. You know maybe that’s a little unfair, frogs aren’t nasty. Sure frogs have warts and they’re slimy but I’ve never met a mean frog. When’s the last you were bit by a frog? Never. Frogs don’t bite. Frogs don’t even have teeth... I think. You know what does bite though? Children. Now children are nasty. Germ infested midgets that run around and—— Wait. I’m getting off topic. Now what was I supposed to be doing again? Tax forms... done. Clean the gutters... done. Take over the muggles. Oh shit! Take over the muggles, that’s it! Damn I’m twenty minutes late too, Voldemort’s gonna be pissed.
I lunge towards the newly opened portkey and find myself in the desert near the rest of my comrades. They are getting into formation, facing the glowing city that sprawls on the horizon. Even from here the lights are bright and vibrant, lighting up the night sky like the bonfires we used to have at my grandfather’s house. Until the house burned down, that is. My train of thought is interrupted by the Colonel in charge of Hufflepiff company yelling orders like he runs the place. Well, I guess he does run the place. Everyone gets into position and mounts their Death Eater issued broomsticks. The assault was beginning. I smile as wave after wave of wizards and witches weave their way towards the doomed city. It’s my squad’s turn next. Just as I’m about to take off a high pitched screaming fills the air. It is too loud to be ignored. My squad leader looks confused, as does everybody else.
“What is that?” I scream as loud as I can. “Anybody see anyth—“ My words are cut off when two mountains of fire erupt from the ground around us, followed by the two screaming objects flying directly over our heads. Looking towards the city I see explosions and glowing bullets fill my view. Death Eaters are falling from the sky. The screaming is slowly getting louder again, but it is a different pitch this time. I look down at my feet to see our squad leader squirming in agony in the ground. His face is bloody and half his body is burnt. And in all his pain and anguish he looks up at me with one open eye and sputters five words;
“We shouldn’t have come here.” He had barely finished the sentence when the expression on his face relaxed and his gaze drifted into the night sky. He was right. We never should have come here. Everyone knew what the muggles were capable of, but no one would admit that they were more capable that us. We were too damn arrogant for that.
Once again a high pitched scream fills the air. I knew what was coming, but I could do nothing about it. A fireball ignited not ten feet from me and I can feel my death coming. I look up into the starry night sky, but all I see is darkness. | 2018-03-01T21:02:19 | 2018-03-01T18:37:50 | 35 | 15 |
[WP] As we all know, Albert Einstein's last words were a mystery, as he uttered it to a nurse who couldn't understand his language. As a multilingual person, you time-travel to the moment he was about to say the last words of his life, and heard the most horrifying sentence you could ever hear. | The room is scarcely lit, a single lightbulb barely illuminating the face of a genius, as if in a mockery of his numerous "ah-ha!" moments. Nothing is left of the air of greatness I expected to feel. Just an old, dying man, powerless and hopeless in face of the inevitable. I catch myself wondering how little our accomplishments mean when death comes, everything turns to dust and even the mightiest legacies are one day forgotten.
Then the moment comes, a weak hand reaches out to the nurse. She leans closer; I listen intently. I spent many years learning every language Einstein could possibly speak. The silence is thick, you could hear a needle falling.
Weak lips tremble with effort. A historic moment not yet known to scholars. In this feeble whisper, I sense profound clarity.
>!"Bike is short for Bichael."!<
Then he's gone. I shed a single tear, then disappear. | “The nuclear bomb’s explosion… I get it now. Those mysteries… It creates a temporal vortex, it… it clones… it clones space and time. Everything touched by radiation… everything… This life… Oh, wow. A bright light… I’m afraid that… what? Oh. Err… ehmm.. errrrr… ffff… oooh…. ffff…”
And so he died. Albert Einstein’s last words, finally noted down for historical safekeeping. There was a lot of information in there, the genius apparently realised with his last breaths that nuclear explosions have so much power that it defeats space and time. In layman’s terms: it copies everything the radiation touches over the span of exactly 1000 nanoseconds. That copy spawns an entirely new universe where everything is equal, except the radiated matter.
That, and that alone, is reason for the multiverse and whatever it affects.
Interesting to know, but useless information. We can’t interact with those other universes. We know the exist, but it’s like things beyond our event horizon: it exists, but it doesn’t matter. So, does it exist? Philosophers can worry about that.
The bright light was just his brain cells not being oxygenated properly, and a bunch of neurons trying to soothe his mind. A bunch of neurological effects, the reward system exploding… it all makes sense. Everyone who dies goes through it.
The last part sounded like difficulty breathing.
End of report.
All of that was about 42 years ago. I time traveled to the death of Einstein. I wasn’t physically there, I just had a device setup to register the minute motions of everything near his mouth. From the vibrations in his nose hair I could deduct exactly what he was saying. He said it in about 5 different languages: German, English, Dutch, French, and even a little Latin.
I’m currently 96 years old. My report didn’t change anything. It can be found on Wikipedia and everybody knows about it.
Here I am. On my own death bed. I haven’t had any revelations whatsoever just yet, but the bright lights and the tunnel vision have appeared. They say there’s light at the end of the tunnel, but it’s just darkness.
Darkness. And a few blips of light.
`rm -rf`
Oh f… | 2018-09-14T04:08:25 | 2018-09-14T00:04:48 | 55 | 10 |
[WP] You have died and gone to Hell. Strangely it isn't as bad as you thought, maybe it is even nice. Turns out the Devil is super lazy and doesn't actually torture the damned. But you, being the compulsive organizer you are, have decide to change that. | "This place is a god-damned mess"
Steve looked around. It was clearly Hell - the fading, flickering neon sign clearly said so - but it didn't seem to fit his image of what Hell should be. Sure, there was fire and brimstone - and crowds of people just aimlessly shuffling about. A few demons, here and there. A few imps flying overhead, with no real purpose. Nothing was happening. No screams of the damned, no cries of the tormented. This was all wrong.
Steve marched up to the closest devil and asked "Hey, isn't this Hell? What's going on?"
Devil replied "Oh, most people ask that. Turns out it's a huge pain to torment the damned, and for what payoff really? We don't get anything for it, Satan stopped paying us ages ago. It's just the same thing, day in, day out. Not worth the effort, and there's no vacation or retirement."
"Hmmm.... Any chance I could talk with Satan?"
"Sure, just follow me!"
.....
"Hey Satan, I'd like to organize the place. It's a huge mess, and I volunteer to fix it for you"
Satan frowned from ontop of his throne. It couldn't really be said that Satan was sitting on his throne - more like he was draped over it.
"What makes you think you can do it?"
"People, and Demons, crave leadership and organization. By creating organization and routine, everyone will be happier. Perhaps we can even create our own slice of paradise here on hell - the wonderful paradise known as beer. Makes humans happy, and motivates Demons"
Satan smiled slightly at this. "Ok. I don't feel like arguing, go for it"
So Steve set to work. He organized the imps as scouts, to find the people needed. He recruiter brewers, for their knowledge of what was needed. He found farmers, who could grow wheat and potatoes, even in Hell. He found engineers, who could build the brewery. Miners were recruited to find the raw materials, while metallurgists and chemists were used to refine it to a usable state.
But the imps found it funny to change the message. The brewers kept fighting over what exactly to make, each insisting that their brew was perfect, and should be followed. The farmers worked hard, but were beset by people and demons not involved just strolling by and either walking over what they grew, or just eating it themselves. The engineers, no longer needing to be concerned about safety, came up with interesting contraptions that inevitably ended up slicing dozens of people to ribbons. The chemists were more interested in blowing things up than doing any real work, and the miners kept digging too deep and unsealing ancient horrors on the rest of them.
As Steve ran to and from each new problem, tearing his hair out, Satan watched, and a slow, lazy smile came over his face. Afterall, Hell is of your own making. | "Excuse...me? Uh, hello?"
I frowned. This may be a place of eternal torment and sorrow, but that's no excuse for skipping over fundamentals. As soon as someone comes in to your establishment, you need to make the mood of the place clear to them.
I walk through what appears to be a vast, dimly-lit warehouse until I notice sounds other than my echoing footfalls. Around a set of shelves near the back, I find him, lying on a sweat-stained mattress, Cheeto-dust encrusting his mouth.
"Yes, hello, Your Maleficience, my name is Stuart, Stuart Pennyloaf, and I believe I am to be one of your denizens here. I didn't notice any kind of greeting team, and there's no prominently displayed list or guide, so as far as figuring out where I -- are you watching HGTV?"
I glanced sideways at the television The Dark Prince was staring at. He was watching *Million-Dollar Properties*.
"'m a producer," he mumbled.
That...explained a lot, actually. I watched as one of the featured participants complained that the roof-top infinity pool got too much sunlight in the afternoon and then turned back to the Devil.
"So..."
It was not lost on me that his gaze had not shifted from the TV in all this time.
"If you could just gesture me to the...Tunnel of Torments, or the Swamp of Sorrow, or whatever, I'll be off."
He gestured vaguely to a door at the back of the room, and I nodded.
"*Thank* you so *much* for your help."
He froze, and I braced myself to witness the wrath of the Ruler of Hell. But all he said was, "You put an offer on *that*? The new freeway's being built there in 6 months!"
Shaking my head, I headed out through the back door.
***
The first area I came to was a bunch of people sitting on gravel, their bodies chained to tall polls. Once of them noticed me, and soon a series of wan, despairing faces were gazing in my direction.
"This..." I breathed. "This...is awful!"
As one might imagine, hope is a scarce commodity in Hell, but I saw its candle begin to flicker behind the eyes of the condemned as they watched me.
Off to one side was a rotund demon, a good head taller than I am, who appeared to be asleep.
"He's been like that for ages," one of the prisoners hissed. "Please...free us!"
I blinked. *Free* them? This was worse than when we started buying all those ergonomic desk components but didn't put anyone in charge of deploying them, so they just sat in a utility closet for a year. I just...I guess you don't expect Hell to be a model of efficiency but this, this was...
I strode over to the sleeping guard and poked him *rather* firmly in the back. A few more pokes and he was awake. "Munh...?" he growled.
I glanced back at the onlookers, who were watching in horror. One shook his head slowly, and I could clearly see him mouth the word "No..." over and over.
"Hey, *asshole*." I said. There was a collective intake of breath from the damned nearby. "What the *fuck* is going on here?"
The demon blinked at me wearily. His eyelids began to droop.
"No, *no*, don't fall asleep! I want you to stand up, and I want you to *do your fucking job.* You're gonna go pick her up, that's right, and use her to start beating him."
Slowly he complied. A pair of wails punctuated with wet, slapping sounds began to fill the area.
"Good start. Moving forward, I'd like you to start starving them, and have food be available inside the bodies of others. So, if they want to eat, they're going to have to dig it out of their companions - or themselves, I suppose. Now, can you tell me who is in charge of the next section?"
***
Back in the warehouse, The Devil watched the action unfold on his TV, grinning. *That human Sartre was right*, he thought, chuckling quietly to himself. Then he changed the channel so he could watch *Storage Wars*.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds | 2018-12-18T07:07:38 | 2018-12-18T06:49:06 | 34 | 12 |
[WP] A supervillain gets married, has kids, and retires. The hero doesn't know, and slowly goes insane without them | They say the best revenge is living well. I don't know about that; living well has been nice, but watching that shithead-with-good-publicity have a deliciously gradual breakdown has also been pretty damn good. My favorite part? The whole thing was facilitated by the forces of Law and Order he's always pretended to serve.
I mean, I know the Witness Protection program hasn't always been a fun (or even safe) ride for everyone who's gone into it. But for me? Absolutely fabulous. The FBI whisks me off to safety and anonymity, and from that nice cozy perch, I get to watch. And I didn't even have to do anything for the privilege. No hidden cameras, no spybots, no dopplegangers inserted in the personal staff he treats like chattel. Nope, he's hoist by his own publicity-hounding. The paparazzi record every scrumptious little detail, lovingly craft their own little catty commentaries, and broadcast them to the entire world.
I got to watch when he got shitfaced at his local bar and then crashed his stupid "supercar" into a freeway support at 3 am. Fortunately no one was killed, not that he'd care; for him, civilian deaths are just more grist for the publicity mill. And here's the thing; yeah, I was a thief. A criminal. That's not in dispute, it was all part of the plea bargain that got me into this nice little suburban bungalow. But I never killed anyone. And I never robbed anyone who couldn't afford it. But him? Man, the collateral damage alone, and the payoffs, and the "flings" with underage fans...I could go on. Probably I will. Expect a nice juicy tell-all at your local bookstore within the next eighteen months or so.
Oh, I know he's got his own memoirs out. Like five of them. All ghost-written, of course, probably by some poor desperate bastard doing it for "exposure" and overawed by celebrity. All totally sanitized. The scales are starting to tip, though, after the incident with the twelve-year-old and that railgun-on-a-leash he calls a grappling hook. That one I don't want to crow over, poor kid. Yeesh. He got reamed in the media for that one, and all the spin-doctoring consultants (and bribes, of course) in the world couldn't make it go away. Hopefully someone in the government will manage to find their eyesight and their spine at the same time and put the bastard away.
Or not. The really selfish part of me hopes he'll just have all his toys taken away and continues to deteriorate in the public eye. It's the most poetic justice I can imagine for him.
Anyway, I'm gonna go have a beer on the patio of my house out here in Undisclosed Suburb, then go have dinner with my husband and kid. John's been after me to quit checking the news all the time during meals.
But I just can't resist.
&#x200B;
r/Magleby | *Everything has gone quiet.*
*I don't hear anything - the screams, the cries for help, the battle cries. Nothing. Everything is quiet. For the first time in my life, I can enjoy the chirping birds, the wind flowing through the trees, the busy streets. It's relaxing, sitting on top this rock, staring at my city below me, in peace with the nature to comfort me.*
*Nothing major has happened yet but I still keep watch, as it is my duty. I wonder why I haven't heard of any disturbances yet? I'm usually not this free, perhaps my nemesis is planning something sinister.. whatever it is, i'll be here, on top this rock, ready to save the city one last time.*
*Radio silence. Something is wrong. I can't hear. Am I going deaf? No, I can hear the honking of the cars, i'm not deaf. But I can't hear any pleas for help. My hearing seems to be weak today. That's concerning, what if someone is hurt right now and I don't know? I should investigate quickly.*
*This feels off, I don't see anything happening either. Is my vision impaired too? What if that was his plan all along? Have I been infected with some kind of biological weapon? I wouldn't put it past him to stoop that low. It's definitely working, I can't use any of my senses properly.*
*I'm blind. I can't see from the skies. I need to fly closer to the Earth, yes, i'm just too far away.*
*I'm getting closer yet still, I see no trouble. Am I blind or is there truly no one to save today?*
*Should I go and rest? No, I can't afford the risk. I should stay and watch until sunrise. What if that's what he wants? He wants me to give up? Yes.. that must be it! No.. what if he wants me to wait until sunrise so he can attack at morning? I don't know.*
*I've decided to stay and watch, hours have passed. The city is asleep, the streets are dead, lowly thugs roam as is the norm. I may as well practice while waiting for my rival to arrive. One of them may even know where He is.*
*No answers, disappointing. I didn't break his jaw too hard, he should still be able to speak. My power is weakened and yet I still made short work of these punks. They're nothing compared to my rival, only he poses a threat to me.*
*It's almost sunrise, where is he? Why is he making me wait? Is he making me wait? Does he even care anymore? Did he give up?*
*Why is everyone so happy? He could attack at any moment, they should be anticipating his arrival at any moment. Why aren't you fools afraid? Why does no one need me? Do those birds ever shut up?*
*It's been two nights, where is he? Does he even care about me? I can't do this anymore. I've been sitting on this rock for so long, staring at that city, it's making me feel nauseous. I wish they would stop making such a commotion on the streets. I feel so useless. No one needs me..*
*What's the point of watching over these people? They aren't even grateful. When there is no more trouble, they just forget me, is this how you treat your heroes? I endured so much for these humans, for their city and all I get in return is a lowly wave or selfie request. Is that all I am to them? A chance for likes on some stupid social media site?*
*I've had enough. I no longer have any purpose. It's been months, I have only been dealing with low end crime. In fact, crime as a whole has stopped because I am no longer preoccupied with Him. I have nothing to do. Why am I a hero, how can I be a hero when I have no villain to compare myself to me?*
*I don't hear anything - the screams, the cries for help, the battle cries. Nothing. Everything is quiet. For the first time in my life, I have to suffer the chirping birds, the wind flowing through the trees, the busy streets. It's torture, preventing myself from just falling off this rock and ending it all.*
*Not that anyone would care if I did, anyways..* | 2019-02-20T12:29:46 | 2019-02-20T12:10:18 | 427 | 71 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased with your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell and we're the demons. You have just been summoned... | “Oh great unholy demon, I call upon you now in my hour of need.” The hooded sorcerer says. “I offer you, in exchange for the powers to defeat my enemies, my immortal soul to do with as you please.”
Kevin’s jaw practically drops to the floor as the sorcerer finished his sentence. “I…I…” he stammers. “I have…absolutely no idea what you are talking about, dude. I-I’m sorry, but I think you’re looking for someone else.”
The sorcerer furrows his brow and begins thumbing through the pages of his spell book. “You are Azazel, of the fifth ring of the inferno, lord of torture and the bringer of chaos, are you not?”
“…No.” Kevin replies. “I-I’m Kevin. Kevin Jones, of Sandford.”
“No, no no no that’s not right,” The sorcerer says as he reads. “You’re supposed to be the great demon Azazel, lord of torture and bringer of-“
“Chaos, yeah I heard you the first time,” Kevin interrupts. “I don’t know what to tell you man, I’m not who you’re looking for.”
“Oh by the divines, this is ridiculous!” the sorcerer says. “I summoned an unholy demon from the depths of the inferno; I did the ritual exactly as the book described. I sacrificed a goat and everything! And instead I’m left with…what did you say your name was again?”
“Kevin.”
“Instead I’m left with some nobody named Kevin!” the sorcerer brings a hand to his forehead and rubs his temples.
“Look I’m not exactly thrilled about this either, dude.” Kevin exclaims. “I was in the middle of warming up a hot pocket, about to watch the Office and then out of nowhere I’m standing in the middle of a pentagram with you! Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home, so do you think you could reverse whatever little summoning bullshit you did in the first place?”
“Well….” The sorcerer began. “You are not Azazel. That much is obvious. But you are still a demon. Perhaps you still may be of some use to me yet. Tell me, Kevin, what powers do you have?”
“I don’t have any powers you lunatic!” Kevin replied. “I’m an editor for a newspaper!”
The sorcerer looks to the ceiling and releases a hefty sigh. “Well…Any demon is better than no demon at all…”
EDIT: [Thank you all for the kind words on my first writing prompt response, here is another tale featuring Kevin in response to another writing prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/biapdl/wp_soul_mates_exist_one_day_while_showering_youre/em0w626/?context=0) | I just stood there and stared at him for what felt like a full minute but was probably more like three or four seconds. There were a lot of impossibilities for my brain to process all at once. First, I had been standing in one place one second and a completely different place the next. This had not, so far as I was aware, ever happened to anyone else in verifiable history.
Second was the, um, sorcerer? I was still having a hard time with that word, even though it or something like it was the obvious choice to describe the person standing in front of me. He was inhuman, that much was clear, and likely male, which wasn't; I had to guess based off body shape and voice, both of which were roughly man-ish. If you discounted the sallow green skin and weird orange eyes and total lack of a nose, just forward-facing nostrils.
Third were the candles, which he apparently thought would keep me inside the circle. I guess those weren't really impossible, but I was still having a hard time with them. On closer inspection, there were lines and symbols drawn between the little wax lights. Maybe those were supposed to be doing the heavy lifting.
"Ahem," he said. "Demon! You are summoned!" It was a pretty good show of confidence, but it flagged a bit as he added, "Ah, you can understand me, yes?"
"Yeah," I said, crouching down to examine the writing more carefully, "I can understand you. I don't understand anything else about why I'm here or what's going on, but I recognize the words you're using, sure." My own voice sounded dreamlike, faraway, maybe because I'd never heard it quite so dazed before.
"You must...you must do my bidding!" He coughed, then let off a long rattle of weird skittering words that seemed to sort of worm their way into my ears and along the full length of my spine. Something tingled at my temples, and I saw an error message at the edge of my vision. I rocked back on my heels and stood up.
"Dude!" I said, knowing exactly how absurd it sounded even as I said it. "What in Hell was that?"
"Hell? Hell?" he said, shaking his head. "You're the one from Hell, you should know! Now do my bidding! You may step outside the circle if you give me your binding oath!"
Again that sense of tingle, now traveling all across my scalp, and this time I had enough presence of mind to read the error message when it showed up.
ABNORMAL NEURONAL PATTERN DETECTED. CHAIN INTERRUPTED. PLEASE CONSULT YOUR NEUROLOGIST AT EARLIEST OPPORTUNITY. I lifted one hand and ran it over the synthskin covering one of my cortical implants. Had whatever brought me here screwed with my implants somehow? I put both hands in front of my face and moved my hands in identical patterns. The artificial left mirrored the mostly-biological right exactly. No problems there.
"What are you doing?" the sorcerer said, more than a hint of panic in his voice. "Are you casting a spell at me, demon? You cannot! I forbid it! The Arcane Circle will not permit your foul energies to cross! Look at me!"
Another tingle, another error message. I glared at him. "What are you doing with those commands? If you're trying to hack my implants somehow..." I let the threat trail off, mostly because I wasn't sure what to do with it. I wasn't armed apart from a self-defense taser in my left wrist. My military days were long behind me. He wasn't visibly armed either, but could easily be hiding something under the loose, elaborate fabric of his robes.
"Tell me you will obey my commands!" Okay, some definite hysteria there, and this time I got three separate error messages and a very small headache.
"Cut that out!" I yelled, and selected "YES" from the prompt asking if I would like a mild painkiller administered.
He screeched in obvious fear and turned to run out the door. I stood in the circle, blinking.
"What. The. Fuck."
Then I stood a little longer, because I couldn't come up with any answer to that question.
<continued> | 2019-04-25T12:53:02 | 2019-04-25T12:04:27 | 1,415 | 522 |
[WP]For hundreds of years your world has been under alien occupation. Your new job under your overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of your ancestors. One day you discover an ancient machine which upon activation shows a message. “Contact reestablished,Support will arrive soon.” | "I've activated protocol 597, we will send another signal when we're ready for you to return. Prepare until then, I've enabled the quantum anchor in bay 11 for you to lock on to."
*Understood. Syncing with bay 11, I will prepare.*
&#x200B;
**ALERT INBOUND SIGNATURE DETEC...**
&#x200B;
\*\*\*\*\*\*
&#x200B;
The Talnyvans had been on a recycling kick recently, wanting to salvage all the old technology they said was "safe" to explore now. I think they just wanted to erase what few reminders we have left of our former civilization, purge our history fully. It's not like I had a choice anyways to be here. But to find something that still works? that I never expected. I was just poking at the console to see if I could remove the glass, it would have just weighed a lot without being worth anything.
`Contact Reestablished. Support will arrive soon.`
&#x200B;
I just stared at it, dumbfounded.
&#x200B;
`Incoming request from anchor 11. Severe degradation detected, maintenance required. Bandwidth available at 3%. Voice and text only. Accept?`
&#x200B;
I just continued to stare at it for another minute before my thoughts were interrupted by the cheap communicator attached to my shirt, simple, but effective enough to get through the EM haze around the wreck.
&#x200B;
"HC415, you have not moved for several minutes! Finish what you are doing or I'm marking this as your break! Do you understand?!"
I hastily press the button to respond. "Yes, I understand, sorry"
&#x200B;
`Request accepted. Live feed enabled.`
&#x200B;
*Greetings commander. I am preparing the fleet for spatial translation. What is your status?*
&#x200B;
The voice was a pleasant masculine sound, but clearly artificial.
&#x200B;
"Uhhh, what? Who are you? The computer?"
&#x200B;
*I am an artifical node intelligence, code named KINGMAKER. My makers referred to me as Mac... I have received data that you are the interim commander as the ship has not been staffed in 341 years... that is unfortunate.*
&#x200B;
"Uhhh... yeah the Talnyvans won, everyone died or is like me, just picking up scraps. I don't think you can do much as a broken ship."
&#x200B;
*I should clarify, I am not located within your destroyed vessel. I am transmitting from another system. I was given advanced replication facilities and tasked with preparing for a reactivation signal. I have been preparing. My fleet stands by to liberate your world at your command.*
&#x200B;
"Uhm, don't be offended, but... please don't do that, the Talnyvans have hundreds of warships, there's nothing you can do. You'll just get the rest of us killed."
&#x200B;
*Then they should not be a significant obstacle. I have not been idle. I have constructed 79,248 capital warships, 518,433 Mid class vessels, and several million fighter drones. I have converted roughly 13% of the solid mass of this system, and several neighboring ones into a fleet, computational facilities, and battle operations centers. I have also constructed several dozen colony centers for refugees should they be needed.*
&#x200B;
The numbers boggled the mind. they shouldn't even be possible. But something flared within me that I hadn't felt in a long time. Hope.
&#x200B;
"... How long will it take you to get here?"
&#x200B;
*I am locked on to the quantum anchor we are using to communicate. I can perform spatial tunneling to your location with the improvements I've managed in roughly 11 standard earth minutes.*
&#x200B;
It could be a trick. This whole thing could be a setup. I'll probably die horribly. But if there's a tiny chance... just one chance in an infinite universe...
&#x200B;
"Do it."
&#x200B;
*Engaging drives. I will see you soon commander. Stay safe.*
&#x200B;
\----------
&#x200B;
Edit: I wrote a part two and three. I think these links work?
Part Two: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor\_hundreds\_of\_years\_your\_world\_has\_been\_under/eul2w0u/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor_hundreds_of_years_your_world_has_been_under/eul2w0u/?context=3)
Part Three: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor\_hundreds\_of\_years\_your\_world\_has\_been\_under/eumhyn7/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor_hundreds_of_years_your_world_has_been_under/eumhyn7/?context=3) | **Eternal Support**
Characters:
*James*
*Support*
**Open**
*(Scene opens to black. The sound of a pickaxe working can be heard)*
**James:** For hundreds of years my world has been under alien occupation. Our new job under our overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of our ancestors. I've been digging these holes for five years now. I probably only have ten left, until they work me dead.
*(The pickaxe suddenly breaks through something)*
**James:** Huh. This is not rock. (Beat) Could this be... drywall?
*(Lights come up. An old bedroom is displayed. The bed is rotted and in tatters. A wall is collapsed in, and the room is filled with dirt and dusty. To one side is an old IKEA desk with a computer and landline phone.)*
*(A pickaxe breaks through the wall opposite the computer desk. James steps inside, holding the pickaxe. He is covered in mining gear, disheveled but well built.)*
**James:** What is this? Living quarters? Wow, they're almost completely intact! Maybe I'll get an extra day's rations!
*(James messes around with objects around the room, poking the bed, flicking light switches, etc. He finally walks over to the computer and taps it. He slaps the keyboard and the computer boots up.)*
**James:** By the Humans! It is still operational!
*(James looks around and checks back in the hole to make sure no one is watching. He walks back to the computer and begins pressing random buttons and flailing the mouse. Suddenly, an alert sound is heard and the screen flashes. James jumps back, then examines.)*
**James:** What is this? The text of the ancients?
*(James takes out a handbook and begins consulting it.)*
**James:** "Contact... Established? Help will... arrive soon?" (Beat) It's a message from The Ancients! They seek to free us! I must read further! "Please... call... the following number?" Call? What does that mean? Hmmm... *(James looks at phone)* A-ha! The numerals on this device match the ones listed on the screen! I must activate it!
*(James tries his hardest to use the phone. After some finagling, he finally gets it. A dial tone can be heard. James stands stock-still, waiting with the device pressed to his ear. Finally, someone picks up.)*
**Support:** Hello? This is Microsoft Support Office.
**James:** You are... the support?
**Support**: Yes, hello sir. You are calling today because there is a problem?
**James**: Yes! Yes! They said the ancient resistance had all but disappeared, but I knew deep down that you were there all along, waiting to break us free!
(Beat)
**Support:** So you are having trouble using the computer?
**James:** The computer, oh Micro's Oft?
**Support:** Yes the computer.
**James:** What is a computer?
**Support:** The computer, sir? The screen where you saw the notice to call support?
**James:** Oh, sorry, yes, of course! The com-pu-ter! *(James turns to the computer)* Is this the key to our survival?
**Support:** Yes sir! The key! If you wish for your computer to survive, you will need to follow these steps.
**James:** Oh no, is the computer dying!
**Support:** Yes, yes, it is dying, it has many viruses.
**James:** Those damn aliens have been plaguing us with their insidious viruses for too long!
**Support:** (Beat) ...Yes sir, you cannot trust those illegals.
**James:** What must I do to stop them!
**Support:** You will need to go to your internet and type in an IP address. Do you know what an IP address is, sir?
**James:** To my shame, yes. We have all been branded with our Interstellar Property Address, so every alien can know which human is enslaved to whom. You need this number?
**Support:** (Beat) Er, no sir. I will tell you what IP address to type in. Please click on the white box above the alert screen you see.
*(With surprisingly little difficulty, James manages to select the URL bar.)*
**James:** I have done it, Micro's Oft Support Otis! Please! What numerals must I input?
**Support:** Eight.
**James:** Ah yes, eight. I have studied this well by candlelight in my cell! An ancient numeral, consisting of two circles placed one atop the other! *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Three.
**James:** Ah, three, the great sideways fork! Three was prominent in the folklore of the ancients. They had the Holy Trinidad! The Three Musketours! *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Five.
**James:** Five! The median number! Matching the count of fingers on a human hand-
**Support:** Sir, please just type in the numbers.
**James:** Yes Micro's Oft. *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Ok, now dot. *(Pause)* The dot key, sir. *(James presses key).* One. Six. Dot. Two. Five. Four. Dot. One. *(James presses all the keys).* Ok sir, now please hit enter. The key with the arrow. *(James presses key, the screen flashes)*
**James**: It's working! The image has changed to one of blue, with two rectangles of white! Miraculous!
**Support:** Very good, sir! If you would please now put your credit card information into those boxes, like we did the URL.
**James:** My credit card? I am only given three food credits a day. You require the number from my card?
**Support:** Yes sir, and the expiration date.
**James:** Well that I know! I'm scheduled for expiration on June 5th, 2572. *(James, now confident in his ability to use the computer, inputs his details with relative ease)* And... enter!
**Support:** Ah yes sir I can see we have recieved your details now! Thank you very much for cooperating.
**James:** Oh Micro's Oft, what do I do now?
**Support:** Please wait sir, we will clean out the virus from your computer in a few days.
**James:** I see! then I shall return in two days time!
**Support:** Yes sir, thank you, have a good night. *(Clicking noise)*
**James:** Micro's Oft? He must have left. (Beat) So, a com-pu-ter? What other marvels does this machine hold? *(James begins pressing random keys again. The screen flashes.)* By the Ancients! What is this? *(James consults his handbook)* A... "Ni-gerian Prince?"
**End** | 2019-07-22T14:04:19 | 2019-07-22T11:47:36 | 1,039 | 16 |
[WP]For hundreds of years your world has been under alien occupation. Your new job under your overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of your ancestors. One day you discover an ancient machine which upon activation shows a message. “Contact reestablished,Support will arrive soon.” | Clutching the transponder to my core as if cradling an infant, I dashed through the desolate plains surrounding the crash. My toes brushed against the yellow brush which peeked its head through the dirt. The purple sky shone over my head as the moons nearly aligned. In my haste, I tripped over myself, collapsing into the desert sand. It was better that I, a simple man, be damaged than this precious device. So instead of dropping the transponder to protect myself, I tucked it deeper into my chest, allowing my face to scratch against the coarse dirt.
I couldn't risk the machine. It was more than that. More than a message, and more than a valuable artifact found in the wreckage. In my arms, I held hope.
Shakily, I stood back to my feet, glancing over my shoulder with paranoia. They monitored every move, and I knew it wouldn't be long before their drones assessed that I was no longer at my station. I was to report any and all operational pieces of the ship back to the government. This, though, I knew was too important. This could change everything. So I ran.
Without a drone in sight, I turned and continued barrelling toward my homestead. Just beyond the horizon I saw it. The town wasn't much; none of the servants could live lavishly. We had enough, though. As long as we did what was required of us, they assured us a home and food. Still, I'd lived my entire life in the shadow of their town. The invaders had built a city of silver and gold, steel and copper. The quakes of our crying planet never demolished their homes like they did our huts.
That was why I had to get this message to my Elder. He may have the answer. If we could respond, if help was truly on the way, we may eventually have a better life for our children.
With the hope of my people in my arms, I ran. I heard the distortion of the air as metal approached. A voice boomed from the drone. "Return to your station."
I continued to run. All I had to do was get close enough that they would find the artifact on my body before the conquerors reached me to retrieve it.
"Labor Enforcers have been dispatched to your position. Discontinue your attempt at flight, it is futile."
My goal was in sight. As fast as my legs carried me, I pushed toward home. I heard a metallic whir as the drone lowered a weapon. My heart skipped a beat as I skidded to a stop. Death wasn't my concern. I was close, and I knew the enforcers would still take time. The overlords were as wise as they were cruel, though. They knew lethally wounding a deserter would affect their work force, so they'd armed the drones with tazers. Electrical weaponry.
*"What do I do?"* I thought, cradling the device. I had to try. I bent down and set the device down. *"Please find this."*
"Elder!" I yelled as I raced toward the town. I felt the bolt pierce my back and violently convulsed as I fell to the floor.
When I woke up, I wasn't at all where I'd expected to be. There was no cell - no bars. I was in a chair in front of a great throne.
"I'm glad you're awake," a man greeted maliciously. His accent was perfect, and there seemed to be no hindrance by his vocal cords to produce the sounds of the language. That meant only one thing. He was of their race, not my own.
"Who are you?" I groggily asked.
"You have heard my voice," he replied, walking up to me and crouching before me. "I am your King."
"Why am I here? Shouldn't I be in a camp?"
"You didn't run from work, child. You hid an artifact."
"What?"
"You didn't get far from it. My enforcers had no difficulty retrieving it." Tauntingly, he waved the artifact in front of me. All of my hopes had fallen into their hands.
"What did you think this would do?" He pressed for answers.
"I don't know," I admitted.
"You thought it would bring you help? A force strong enough to liberate you?"
"Maybe."
"Did you read the message?"
"I did."
"What did it say?"
"Contact reestablished, support will arrive soon," I answered, defeated.
"Yes. I read that as well." I didn't understand the point he was trying to make by forcing me to read it aloud.
"You've grown up speaking this language, but I know your kind has a native language as well. You probably didn't even realize that you weren't translating. It just felt natural."
Suddenly, the truth crashed down on me. There had never been hope in the first place. This wasn't from my people, it was from his. The language was not my own. The message had been left in English.
&#x200B;
This was a really interesting one, thanks for the idea! And thanks for reading! Please feel free to follow me or check my page out if you're interested in more of my writing! | **Eternal Support**
Characters:
*James*
*Support*
**Open**
*(Scene opens to black. The sound of a pickaxe working can be heard)*
**James:** For hundreds of years my world has been under alien occupation. Our new job under our overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of our ancestors. I've been digging these holes for five years now. I probably only have ten left, until they work me dead.
*(The pickaxe suddenly breaks through something)*
**James:** Huh. This is not rock. (Beat) Could this be... drywall?
*(Lights come up. An old bedroom is displayed. The bed is rotted and in tatters. A wall is collapsed in, and the room is filled with dirt and dusty. To one side is an old IKEA desk with a computer and landline phone.)*
*(A pickaxe breaks through the wall opposite the computer desk. James steps inside, holding the pickaxe. He is covered in mining gear, disheveled but well built.)*
**James:** What is this? Living quarters? Wow, they're almost completely intact! Maybe I'll get an extra day's rations!
*(James messes around with objects around the room, poking the bed, flicking light switches, etc. He finally walks over to the computer and taps it. He slaps the keyboard and the computer boots up.)*
**James:** By the Humans! It is still operational!
*(James looks around and checks back in the hole to make sure no one is watching. He walks back to the computer and begins pressing random buttons and flailing the mouse. Suddenly, an alert sound is heard and the screen flashes. James jumps back, then examines.)*
**James:** What is this? The text of the ancients?
*(James takes out a handbook and begins consulting it.)*
**James:** "Contact... Established? Help will... arrive soon?" (Beat) It's a message from The Ancients! They seek to free us! I must read further! "Please... call... the following number?" Call? What does that mean? Hmmm... *(James looks at phone)* A-ha! The numerals on this device match the ones listed on the screen! I must activate it!
*(James tries his hardest to use the phone. After some finagling, he finally gets it. A dial tone can be heard. James stands stock-still, waiting with the device pressed to his ear. Finally, someone picks up.)*
**Support:** Hello? This is Microsoft Support Office.
**James:** You are... the support?
**Support**: Yes, hello sir. You are calling today because there is a problem?
**James**: Yes! Yes! They said the ancient resistance had all but disappeared, but I knew deep down that you were there all along, waiting to break us free!
(Beat)
**Support:** So you are having trouble using the computer?
**James:** The computer, oh Micro's Oft?
**Support:** Yes the computer.
**James:** What is a computer?
**Support:** The computer, sir? The screen where you saw the notice to call support?
**James:** Oh, sorry, yes, of course! The com-pu-ter! *(James turns to the computer)* Is this the key to our survival?
**Support:** Yes sir! The key! If you wish for your computer to survive, you will need to follow these steps.
**James:** Oh no, is the computer dying!
**Support:** Yes, yes, it is dying, it has many viruses.
**James:** Those damn aliens have been plaguing us with their insidious viruses for too long!
**Support:** (Beat) ...Yes sir, you cannot trust those illegals.
**James:** What must I do to stop them!
**Support:** You will need to go to your internet and type in an IP address. Do you know what an IP address is, sir?
**James:** To my shame, yes. We have all been branded with our Interstellar Property Address, so every alien can know which human is enslaved to whom. You need this number?
**Support:** (Beat) Er, no sir. I will tell you what IP address to type in. Please click on the white box above the alert screen you see.
*(With surprisingly little difficulty, James manages to select the URL bar.)*
**James:** I have done it, Micro's Oft Support Otis! Please! What numerals must I input?
**Support:** Eight.
**James:** Ah yes, eight. I have studied this well by candlelight in my cell! An ancient numeral, consisting of two circles placed one atop the other! *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Three.
**James:** Ah, three, the great sideways fork! Three was prominent in the folklore of the ancients. They had the Holy Trinidad! The Three Musketours! *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Five.
**James:** Five! The median number! Matching the count of fingers on a human hand-
**Support:** Sir, please just type in the numbers.
**James:** Yes Micro's Oft. *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Ok, now dot. *(Pause)* The dot key, sir. *(James presses key).* One. Six. Dot. Two. Five. Four. Dot. One. *(James presses all the keys).* Ok sir, now please hit enter. The key with the arrow. *(James presses key, the screen flashes)*
**James**: It's working! The image has changed to one of blue, with two rectangles of white! Miraculous!
**Support:** Very good, sir! If you would please now put your credit card information into those boxes, like we did the URL.
**James:** My credit card? I am only given three food credits a day. You require the number from my card?
**Support:** Yes sir, and the expiration date.
**James:** Well that I know! I'm scheduled for expiration on June 5th, 2572. *(James, now confident in his ability to use the computer, inputs his details with relative ease)* And... enter!
**Support:** Ah yes sir I can see we have recieved your details now! Thank you very much for cooperating.
**James:** Oh Micro's Oft, what do I do now?
**Support:** Please wait sir, we will clean out the virus from your computer in a few days.
**James:** I see! then I shall return in two days time!
**Support:** Yes sir, thank you, have a good night. *(Clicking noise)*
**James:** Micro's Oft? He must have left. (Beat) So, a com-pu-ter? What other marvels does this machine hold? *(James begins pressing random keys again. The screen flashes.)* By the Ancients! What is this? *(James consults his handbook)* A... "Ni-gerian Prince?"
**End** | 2019-07-22T11:50:49 | 2019-07-22T11:47:36 | 98 | 16 |
[WP]For hundreds of years your world has been under alien occupation. Your new job under your overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of your ancestors. One day you discover an ancient machine which upon activation shows a message. “Contact reestablished,Support will arrive soon.” | Everyday was oppressive under the heat, the toil, and the “overlords”. We would work day in and day out. Our Gods, our saviors, promised everything we wanted to hear. They preached to us of the knowledge and mysteries that they had solved. How our overlords would show us “the way to enlightenment” if we just worked for them. By the long count it has been ages, our scholars gone, our culture built over. Only some of us retain a bit of the culture of our past.
They call me T’lok, it used to mean something but that has been lost us. We are merely the “sobrevivientes” forced to work for the overlords, nothing more than scavengers. Little more than rats. Some of these pale gods seem to care for us, but trust is no longer a part of our shared experience.
It wasn’t too long ago that I was relocated to a work camp, forced to dig in places that the pale gods did not want to go into. My brothers and sisters would carve the ground with tools searching for bits of metal for them to use. Such a lifeless thing created such a huge response for them. I could not understand the reaction, it did not foster life. To me it was just like pulling any other rock from the ground. It was too soft to make anything important out of it. They acted as if it was some sort of token that would change their lives, not ours. It was on one of those days, in the mines that forever changed me. Changed my impression of the overlords. And most importantly set us free.
While working deep in the mines, droning away at my task, I stumbled upon that which would make me understand. As my tools bit into the dirt something new, something different happened. Pulling back my tool fresh air came rushing over me from a hole that I had made. Cautiously I made the hole bigger while making sure the overlords did not see anything. Dropping rocks and dirt gave me the impression that I had discovered a chamber which was larger than just a small hole. Soon the hole was large enough for me to fit in, and I quickly dropped a light stick into it.
Looking in, the floor was smooth and well built. With strange but familiar inscriptions on the walls. I felt urged to explore deeper, something in my soul told me to inspect things closer. I squeezed through the hole, dropping down lightly trying to minimize the disturbance I caused. I picked up the light stick inspecting the area that I had just dropped down into. It was a tunnel that lead further down. I cautiously crept down the tunnel. Dragging my finger across the smooth walls as I went. The writings seemed to scream at me for comprehension but it escaped me.
I soon came to a door which was caked with dust and age. Still the writing tried to impart on me some wisdom that I could not understand. As I pushed the doors open a green glow assaulted my eyes. And from within on a dais made of stone was a small box that blinked green. My curiosity pulled me into the room. The knowledge promised by the overlords drove me to touch the small box, as I did text displayed, ”˙uoos ǝʌᴉɹɹɐ llᴉʍ ʇɹoddnS'pǝɥsᴉlqɐʇsǝǝɹ ʇɔɐʇuoƆ“. Now for the readers, I tried to write the text as best I could understand it. It is apparent to me now that it was written in the language of my forefathers. The text flashed, and I did not understand it, its blinking scared me. I yelled my frustrations at it. Cursed it for not revealing itself to me.
I heard someone call my name from the hole and turned to the sound. Quickly grabbing the small box, I wrapped it in cloth, and bolted back to the hole. By the time I got back I could see Zochi dangling her hand for me. I called out to her and I could hear the energy in her voice beckoning me towards her. I jumped up to her as she grabbed my wrist helping me out of the hole. I quickly filled the hole back as best as I could before the overlords came to inspect my work.
I turned to Zochi and told her, “Look! Look! At what I have found!”
I started to unwrap the cloth around the box, but Zochi wasn’t interested she was already pulling my hand towards the exit to the mines. I was odd I must say, but at that moment I held in my hands something that should have been the most important discovery yet Zochi was so frantic that whatever was bothering her was over riding her need to see my trinket.
I ran with her to the opening of the mine. We were almost to the entrance, I could see the light outside, then I felt the earth shake under my feet. Both Zochi and my own knees felt unsure, but the light in Zochi’s eyes drove me further. As we exited we both gazed upon a glorious sight. Our true saviors had returned.
From the skies fire rained down upon the overlords. Our people ran for cover in the mountains and water as the overlords in there protective metal suits tried to fire their guns and cannons at the ships in the sky. All Zochi and I could do was watch in awe struck glory. My heart jumped as I watch each and every conquistador fall as elegant eagle warriors leaped into battle, while fierce jaguar warriors tracked down the fleeing Spanish.
The old stories where true. It was happening like the old scholars had predicted. The 6th age, the Rise of the Aztecs.
*-Accounts of Aztec Scholar Tlaloc on the 10th day Itzcuintli, the return of Mictlantecuhtl and his warriors the Mictlán from Chicunauhmictlan* | You
"Where did you go?" It was dusk. I stood in the doorway of our narrow shack with my right hand gripping the rough-hewn silver-grey wood looking up at the citadel's red lights blinking as the day drew to a close. I rub my cheek with the heel of my hand and smear my tears. Our daughter was crying. I heard the crunching roar of a patrol vehicle and stepped inside, turning to pick her up and press my lips to the top of her velvet head.
"Time to get up," you murmur gently. I stir on our pallet, you watch nervously. You were woken by my screams last night. Fearful breaths of air, panting in panic, then slow warbling screams. You stroked my hair, wary of doing anything that traps me in frozen wakefulness. I gulp, weighed down, and begin to dress. We talk, swapping banal information about timings, locations, our daughter's bowel movements that morning. I wrap my shawl across my chest, you place our daughter on my back and secure her. You coo and pull faces, I smile over my shoulder at you. You raise the mug you hold in a silent salute. "Go get em tiger." I stop smiling, and hurry out into the harsh morning sunlight.
A few metres down the street I pause and look back at the shack. Shit shit shit. I clutch my shawl tighter around me and put my head down. Drab, nondescript clothes like everyone else. I weave into the crowd, hoping I could be anyone and you would still be you.
A patrol vehicle hunkers at the crossroads. The pedestrian traffic gives it a wide berth. I don't dare look at the blackly shining metal, the slits in the Occupiers' helmets. I've never seen one out of its armour, but you say you have (I think you lied to me).
I walk down into the river valley then up the hill to where the Citadel spreads. I join the queue, listening to the gossip. Someone you'd mentioned has vanished. Someone bumps into my daughter and she squawks. I jiggle up and down, trying to hush her. She begins to cry louder and I feel irritation rising like bile. My chest tightens. I grit my teeth. I clench my fists. I want to turn my head. I want to throw her on the ground. I want to snarl in her face. I want to jerk angrily to shut her up. I don't remember being her age, but I remember the lessons of fear and obedience my parents taught me. I try to remember your gentle words as I close my eyes. "She's just a baby, she doesn't know any better." I had bared my teeth in the darkness "She. Needs. To. Learn." "Jesus, woman call yourself a mother?!" "What would YOU know? YOU AREN'T IN THERE ALL DAY WITH THEM." Awkwardly I reach behind to the bundle on my back and try to stroke her to apologise. I whisper sorry to you, then pinch my arm with my nails until I can breathe easily again.
I shuffle in, work at the Citadel is hard. Occasionally a heavy armoured arm slams into my head, petting an obedient servant. It is, of course, better than the punishment for a job badly done. Times like that, all I want to think is of you. Sometimes while you are asleep I try to imagine what a woman would have thought about before the Occupiers but I can't and my mind slips to the present and I ball my fist into my mouth and try not to scream and try to think of you until I stop thinking about the Occupiers with eyes wide open in the darkness, curled up next to you back to back.
You had a new job. I was worried at first. You haven't had as much contact with the Occupiers. You don't know their caprices, how to watch their body language out of the corner of your eye. You aren't flexible like me. Still, I was pregnant and we needed the food.
Months passed, the wet season turned into the cold season and lack of rains made us grimy and fractious. I, after weeks of poor sleep and surprise that I survived, gave birth. You blew raspberries on our daughters belly and kissed my temple. One day you went to work and didn't return. I didn't ask the Occupiers after you. Our number is uncounted and unmarked, just the Listeners to keep us in line.
After four days, you reappeared on my way to work. I passed you, leant against that wall. Brown boots scuffed as usual. The heavy grey trousers that you had mended with black, and I had re-done in green because, frankly, you were a terrible seamstress. Your hands, callused and scarred, hung by your waist. I tried not to pause but your blue shirt had brown stains on it and you had no head.
But I whispered your names into grubby ears while I queued for food. Bad breath washed the information I needed over my face. I swapped my rations for your workplace next to the fountain as I washed our daughter's clothes. One night I left her with a neighbour with three babies already for my roof and the good wall of our shack, the one with the window, until she was grown.
I followed your route. It wasn't easy, navigating by half-remembered furtive directions. Over the ancient barrier, between the collapsed heaps of rubble, down the passageway slippy with water and moss. I followed the passage, left, right, through the door. You loved the scavenging. Every night while I hushed you and told you I had closed my ears you told me of the objects you found in a franticly giddy whisper. Your eyes gleamed as you spoke of the intelligence you gathered. The devices in crevices too narrow for the occupiers, across rusting gangways too fragile for their weight. They were looking for something, you insisted. Wary of what they might find, scared of destroying the valuable secret with their clumsy diggers or bombs that could destroy a city.
The air smelt stale. I picked my way across the floor, the flashlight cool in my hand. The light danced, showing chairs and tables carefully moved out of the way to clear the path. Dull material reflected the light dimly. I saw a faint red glow, a faint line shining in the darkness. It must be dawn now, I thought. I didn't have much time. I carefully stepped across the floor and when I drew near to the glow I saw it was made of a number of different shapes. I pressed my cheek against the cool material and angled the light along the red line. You had rubbed the dust and debris of hundreds of years away across the red symbols with wide and fast sweeps of your splayed hand. I moaned and rolled my head so that my forehead was pressed against the smooth, cool material. I let the torch drop from my fingers and it clattered loudly on the floor. Reverently, I laid my hands on the smooth material with my fingers outstretched. I closed my eyes.
I didn't know what it meant, but you did.
"Contact reestablished, support will arrive soon."
ETA: edited for typos, clarity, to remove borderline rule-breaking, and because I wrote it far too quickly and realised I wanted to change a few things. I hope I'm doing this right. | 2019-07-22T14:00:32 | 2019-07-22T13:00:27 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] A medieval European knight somehow ends up in feudal Japan. With nowhere to go in the foreign land he decides to settle down in a forest. Outside this forest sits a village; and as years go by rumours start to spread of a tall metal spirit that roams this forest. | I can still remember the day i was excommunicated. A few fortnights prior to it, i set out to rescue the love of my life, who was admittedly from a small insignificant kingdom, and who my family disapproved of, but i had my mind set on her.
I heard from a beggar that she has been kidnapped by a wizard who took her west, and that was all i knew before setting off to find her.
I walked for many miles, until I found the tower in which she was imprisoned, and swiftly defeated the evil goons of the wizard, followed by the wizard himself. It was only later that I found out that in fact there was no wizard, and she wasn't kidnapped. What had actually happened was that she became the betrothed of a noble, who happened to be the brother of the archbishop, and the tower was in fact a form of church. Thus my actions were seen as an act against the lord himself, and while the killing was seen as just conquering a neighboring kingdom, I was still cast out of society.
&#x200B;
Embarrassed by my actions I made a vow to never go adventuring to the west, and thus, having nowhere else to go, I headed east.
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For months I just walked, mostly sleeping under trees and hunting for myself. After months i had made it to the northern kingdom. Since the religious order there was different i would no longer be forced out of cities, and who would recognize me here anyway? But after so many months of seeing new things and places, i was curious as for what lied beyond, so i continued my journey further east.
I trekked through the snow for years, seeing the landscape and the people become more and more nomadic. The further I walked the more the people seemed to resemble the ones in the books my father had in his study, with smaller eyes and soft robes. And so I walked on and on until i reached an ocean.
By that time I had picked up the local language a little, so it wasn't hard for me to board a merchant ship and sail across. When I arrived I continued as I became so used to do, and continued once again through the forest. While there i stumbled upon a pool of warm water, like the one I had seen in the place they called Baikal. It's been at least 3 years since i've been there, and i was desperate to wash myself off.
Taking off my armor I dove into the water, and my mind immediately started drifting, thinking about that bastard beggar who misled me and who got me into this mess. No, It was my own foolishness that got me here. Relaxing further I noticed how vulnerable I felt outside of my armor, how defenseless I had become from being so used to wearing it.
Suddenly I heard a rustling in the bushes. I only had the time to grab my sword before an arrow had implanted Itself in my shin. Somehow I managed to fight off the bandits that had attacked me, but i was bleeding profusely. On that day I made another vow, to never take off my armor again. Settling in a nearby cave, I managed to somehow nurse my leg back to health, but walking was still agony. I knew that my journey could go no further, but after all these years of living off the land I managed to get food despite my limited movement.
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The hardest part however was not physical, rather it was the ache in my mind from knowing that I would most likely die in this land, without ever seeing what lied beyond. On some evenings I would do nothing but wail in despair, regretting my own foolishness.
It was however this same foolishness that gave me all my wisdom, which I would sometimes share with those who were lost in the forest. After some time I had picked up the tongue of this land too.
One day, a young man came to see me. I had met him before, when I saved him when he was still a child, and he has been coming to me for advice ever since. While I told him that my name was Melfried of Scanthine, he insisted on calling me by another name, Tetsu no Kami. I let him, thinking it to just be a little nickname, until the day I made my final journey.
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Growing tired of my surroundings I had decided to venture out to the nearby village. Being now old and frail, I could not go in my armor, but it was refreshing to feel the air on my skin after all this time. Venturing into the village, I stumbled upon what looked like a shrine, but in there was a set of armor that looked oddly like mine, and looking around, using my limited knowledge of the local scripture, I could only read one insignia, placed at the front of the helmet. "Tetsu no Kami"
Confused and shocked, i turned around only to see the boy i saved, dressed in what looked like religious attire. He told me of a legend of the iron spirit, who lived in the cave to the south, about how he would wail on some days, but help lost souls on others; that the spirit was so prevalent that the whole forest was named after him, being called "the Iron Forest" | a red haze filled the night sky as the sound of crackling and screaming broke the nightly singling of the cicadas. the sound of foot steps and heavy breathing approached the forest. a small child, still barefoot and covered in blood dashed into the brush as the burning village filled the view behind him. now to deep into the forest for the light of the fires to light his path the young child began to stumble his way though the forest unsure of anything anymore. his life had just shattered like a stone thrown into a pond covered by thin ice. unsure what awaits him the boy keeps running. now less to hide and save his live, but rather to get far away enough for the screaming to stop. tears now, burying his vision worse now. suddenly he crashed into something. something hard as stone but sounded of metal. the moon just barley coming out of the clouds began to shine off of the smooth steel covering the hulking mass's body. far taller than anyone the boy had ever seen, though the figure was not that of a giant. clearing his eyes before trying to start running again the metal clad spirit starting to walk in the direction the child ran from. the boy ran anyway, mistaking it for an evil Yokai. the knight now upon the point of seeing the haze of the fires in the distance, for a second mistaking it for sun rise before having the truth hit him. with out thinking, before his mind could have any say in the matter, he body began to run. despite the heavy armor that would normally have a horse to carry its burden, the knight ran as fast as he could. something about the fire, dancing flames with the smell of charred flesh still ran fresh in his mind despite that even taking place years ago. though he was most proficient in the lance and war hammer, he was still relatively skilled in his sword, though not confidently. despite this he instinctively drew his sword as he got closer and the screams grew louder, yet at the same time, quieter. suddenly, wizzing sounds started to fly all around him. an all to familiar sound, however these arrows where not built to match the armor piercing arrows of England, however thats not to say it didnt cause the knight to tremble inside. the best shield in this corner of the world couldn't stop old wounds from resurfacing inside. the bowmen slowly retreating as the knight drew closer to them in his advance, he didnt waist time with range equipped opponents. disoriented in an unfamiliar village so alien to him that even despite the fire he would not find his way. nothing here was of his world. there where no more screams now. but that meant little to the silver clad worrier. a man exposed himself from behind one of the burning building. covered in head to toe in armor of his own, and a long curved single edged sword. everything about this guy made no sense to the knight. he was against someone with no knowledge of even the basic names of his enemy's items. 1..2..3..4..he began to count to himself as he side stepped closer and to the side as to get a better position. the opponent mimicked the movement. 5..6.. *piiiiing* an arrow hit its mark, bouncing off he knight's shoulder into out of sight. 7.. 8.. *ping* another arrow. 9... the knight slowed down as the other did. 10... the last side step, and the last chance to walk away, just slipped by them both. though, neither even considered it as the both rushed simultaneously to get to the other first and take the first strike. *shclink* their swords collided and for a second, they swear they could see sparks as the different steels smashed into each other at high speeds. the knight messed up, the strike hit the top of his sword, a hard place to leverage and push away from, but also where damage can be the most catastrophic. not glancing down to see the damage of their swords as they hit each other. both of them locked eyes, though both pairs being hidden under armor. both of them in the sharpest focus and heightened awareness that comes with battle. the man with the curved sword launched backwards as his long sword suited the distance. however with each slash it was countered with the knight's nimble sword raced to match each one. being on the shorter end, it was not well adapted for the encounter. but they made do. what is hours or minutes that just went by? neither could tell. *katuuuuuuuuun* one of the swords snapped, not being able to handle the other's powerful blows and hardened steel. neither of them looked down to see, the knight knew that that sound was the sound of the top of the sword flying off. and with it? his chance at winning. despite this neither stopped for very long, the knight using what stub he had left as a shield to parry and block attacks. finally, with a step back and a swing at full force, the little steel remaining on the knight's sword-turned-sheild had failed and the full force of the swing came falling down on the knight at an angle from above, a perfect blow to the shoulder joint that would have been a finishing blow to anyone of the same class as him. however the knight's armor did not give. there was no blood and barley a scratch on the armor. in the moment the sword shook and bounced off the knight, the man jumped back trying hard to stop the katana from shaking out his hands. he knew of no way to break this armor, and did not want to stay to find out. before calling out his archers to cover his back as he retreated, the knight stood still as they rode off on horses. in that moment the knight only felt jealous of their steeds before realizing he had won. however, the houses had already burned to red hot coals, and most everybody had been killed or bleed out. looking around in sorrow. yet another village was massacred under his watch. though this one alien and he didnt even feel the same kinship with its inhabitance like before, he still morned.
*snap* a coal was crushed by something, or rather someone as they ran into the dawning day. a child, though their silhouette to blurry to make them out. one child had survived, surly running to make it safe to the next village. did the child say something? before running off? the man looked at them run not knowing but having a faint report of something like that. a thank you maybe? or a curse meant for those who did this otiosity? he wasent sure. but the child was alive at least, covered in ash and suit with an arm limp as they ran, that was good enough for him. it was enough reason to have fought. | 2019-11-15T09:14:41 | 2019-11-15T08:01:37 | 18 | 11 |
[WP]A little girl makes friends with the demon sent to kill her. Feeling wanted for the first time, it decides to protect her instead | "A kid? Seriously? What's the universe come to... Thousand years ago, they'd have me killing sorcerers, warriors, and now, a child in the suburbs..." Xabreth muttered to himself. His form was hulking, standing ten feet tall, weighing half a ton, tight blue skin stretched across chiseled muscle, riddled with scars, burn marks, remnants of old curses, and occasional bouts of flame shooting from his pores.
This family was mundane; infiltration was effortless. He breathed in, taking the form of a deep black smoke, sucking in light around him as he slid into cracks through doors and windows, spreading himself around the house as he slipped in, only to re-converge once inside the girl's room.
"Okay, let's see..." he waved his large hand slowly over the girl's sleeping body, "yup, you're Jessica." He raised his arm up behind him, summoning a dark, wine red blade, jagged, asymmetrical, and spiked. But just before his muscles tensed to bring the blade down, the girl in the bed rolled over, rubbing her eyes.
"Whoa..." she said softly, her big, glistening eyes inspecting the behemoth in front of her. "You're really tall, mister."
Xabreth, hunched over in the room, nodded slowly. A spark of electricity crackled across his chest in the silence.
"Is that a sword?"
Xabreth cleared his throat. His English hadn't seen use in nearly two millennia. "It... is." His voice was a deep and rumbling one.
"Whoa. Are you a knight?"
"A knight?"
"Yeah, like Prince Charming! You know, a knight!" Jessica sat up, mischievously smiling, "Am I your princess?"
"My..?"
"Because, if I am, you know, then you're here to save me!"
Xabreth considered his options. It was unusual to leave any human alive after they had seen him, save for sorcerers and dark mages. But the energy radiating from this girl, it was... intoxicating. He felt warmth. But not the stinging, burning warmth of fire, nor the strenuous heat in his body from battle. It was a nice warmth.
Jessica leaned forward, poking Xabreth's chest, which gave little as his tough body tensed at her soft touch. "Wow, you're really warm!" She leaned in close, whispering, "Do you want some water? I'm not supposed to go downstairs, but you're a knight, so I think it's okay."
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Xabreth recoiled as he took a drink, feeling cold for the first time in his long existence. The water evaporated instantly from the heat in his throat, but the brief touch of the ice was exhilarating.
"So anyways," Jessica continued with her story, "her name is Rebecca, and she's really mean, and she calls me names and then everyone laughs at me."
"No!"
"Yes! They do! And it really sucks and it's stupid and I don't like her and she's mean..." Tears were beginning to well in Jessica's eyes before her lips curled into a small smile. "But you're my knight! So you can save me, right mister?"
Xabreth set the glass down, smiling with jagged crystal teeth. "I would love to." | An orchestra of melody journeyed to Dianna’s ears. She lay back, absorbed in the question of who he was, forgetting her birthday song being riddled by her folks. Dianna had had a secret-admirer for 6 years now. Each annual celebration she was gifted innate bouquets of thorned flowers and the finest chocolate. “Please,” chanted her father, “cut the cake, Honey, I’ve been waiting to stuff my face for what feels like centuries now.”
Dianna ventured to the table like a ravenous animal. The knife wooshed as it was flung into the air, getting prepared for using its fierce edge to slash the cake. Chocolate cake sponge, it was, decorated in her most cherished confections; patterns crafted from the mint-blue icing, and a huge ‘13’ candle in the center. Her mother dished the portions to her guests, while she romanticized about finally, after all of these years, meeting her admirer.
The little girl’s hair vaunted its beauty in the misty dusk air. Dianna’s gathering had ended now, and she was sitting on her squalid front steps, with her back hunched over and veins purple from the cold. A Stygian cloud waited in the far distance, motionless, perhaps to caveat the upcoming monstrosity she ought to endure. Perhaps to symbolize the unfair circumstance put on her. The faint crumple of gravel bemused her. Now she was staring blankly at a silhouette that was staring blankly back. She was staring at a silhouette full of misfortune and hate.
“I have waited 13 years for this moment,” it growled, its voice hoarse and possessed, “studied your language, battled my willpower so badly I am almost broken, I have not seen the underworld for years for this!” The shadow surged out from the dark. Somber wings, filthy and bumpy, rode on the back of a figure with fiery horns and a tail bigger than its body.
“You don’t mean to say you’re my secret admirer, do you?” Dianna said. “I mean, not that there's anything wrong with you.. it’s just that you don’t seem like the typical boy from my class..” The demon was bewildered. The girl didn’t flinch at all, and most importantly she spoke up to him. “I’m sorry..” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I suspect you are here to kill me, anyway”
“How do you--” “You’re a demonic demon, aren't you? I’ve read about those. They are sent tasks by their master to complete. You waited 13 years for the big reward, didn’t you? The longer you waited, the more skills and books you would receive afterwards.” “How do you--” Dianna stood up, and strutted towards it. “It’s not unheard of, is it? There’s novels on this, theories, near death experiences, articles, footage…”
She held out her arms as if she was reaching for the stars. “Come on then, kill me! At least do it dramatically, I’ve always wanted to die romantically, feeling hopeless, and oh, I beg you, please, take my body with you -- I don’t want mother and father to have to see me in such a state..” Dianna spoke. She fell on her knees, eyes shut, bracing for her soul to be crushed.
“You want me to kill you, just like that? You want me to feast on your dead corpse while you lay there lifeless? Why? Is this a trick? Have you been sent to distract me? What a vile, vile spirit you are!” The demon grieved. “No, I’m not guilty of anything like that -- it would be worthless for me to resist and you have a family in the underworld, right? I would never wish such burdens on your family if you failed this task. Your protection for your family is much more important than my life in the overworld.” Dianna expressed. “But, please, with the absence of my resistance - do not torture my folks”
It paused. “You have shown me a lack of hatred and angst you were perceived to have. Although this was such a time-consuming attraction, I could never take away a kindred-spirit from this world.” Dianna’s head turned and her watery eyes met its. “Without regret, I will try to protect you from the evil, you have shown me love and kindness, through your thoughtful words I hope that they have forgotten about you and will leave you tranquilly.”
Its body split and fractured, and its skin began to crumble. Its eyes oozed into nothingness. A layer of grief broke off the poor demon, revealing a soft, smooth-spoken figure, new, fixed wings and fresh, groomed hair. “Thank you.” its silky lips spoke to her. The fiery wings extended, and with that, the silhouette glided away. | 2020-03-31T09:18:33 | 2020-03-31T09:01:39 | 89 | 12 |
[WP] When the galactic council of gods decided to go to war with the humans gods the council trampled all but one. One cloaked figure weilding a sharpened scythe and not a single worshipper to their name and for the first time the council felt afraid. | The Gods where silent as they surrounded the last enemy. The Human Gods fought well, for ones so hopelessly outmatched, although that didn't seem to deter them from fighting to their last breath. Now, only the God that remained was the only one that abstained from fighting, although they where always close to the battle. It's tattered black cloak hide it's form from the light, a ancient scythe peaking through.
A man stepped forth, the silence growing deeper. He was clad in resplendent armor, a fusion of ancient plate armor and pulse gear. He gestured to the cloaked figure, his voice booming out, "My name is Mek'toth, leader of the Galactic Council, we have allowed you to speak your last, before death shall claim you and your humans. Speake your name, so we can engrave your name on our databanks."
The God didn't speak, only nodded slightly.
Mek'toth waited.
The God stood.
Finally, Mek'toth spoke again, "I am surprised you survived so long, with so little worshipers, so I ask again, what is your name?"
The God chuckled, but nothing more.
Mek'toth eyes sharpened and he questioned, "What amuses you so? Are you enthralled by death, the idea of nonexistence?"
The God spoke, it's voice deep and grating, nothing like Mek'toth's light and rich voice, "Do not speak of such things you don't understand, young one."
Their answerer struck a chord in Mek'toth, and he rushed forward, ripping the hood from the God's face, and froze. What met his eyes, was nothing, the void of nonexistence , covered by a pearly white skeleton. Those that saw it's form felt something primal, something that they never truly felt before, **Fear**.
**Death** spoke again, "I am in no need of worshipers, all will come to me soon enough."
The Gods finally knew what they saw, **Death**, and they became still.
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|Hi! this is my first time actually responding to a prompt, if you have any criticism, feel free to share! I feel that somethings don't fit, like Deaths final line, I hope you enjoyed it though.|
|:-| | Mex Ki'Toth gazed out into the abyss beyond. No lights of far flung stars, no brilliant bursts of wave spectrums to color the cosmos. The roar of creation as atoms smashed together, as electrons pulsed to tangible form? All of this was blotted out by the great shadow that Mex Ki'Toth stood within. Beside Mex Ki'Toth was a small rabble of their brethren. Those lucky gods of the galactic council who had already met the carrier of such a long shadow.
Salquetor the blue sun, his glow only a faint shimmer on his hair, whimpered into the echo less dark around them.
"Quiet brother, you know we are safe here. No fury, no rage, our sibling sees our innocence," Mex Ki'Toth tried desperately to counsel their sibling of the blue sun, the sibling that should have been the oldest and wisest among them.
Mex Ki'Toth was the middle moon. Neither young nor old among their pantheon, but one that assumed three forms for their duties. And it was upon the insistence of Mex Ki'Toth that their few siblings had survived the evisceration of moments ago.
Earth and the humans of it had many gods. But these gods had been weak, their mortals advancing a society that needed not to rely on gods and stories to thrive. The galactic council had learned of this, and felt insulted when only one had once shown up to the inauguration when humans joined the galactic stage.
The collective rage had set stars to boil their contents in fits. To make moons shudder and scatter debris on planets below. They crashed upon the Human Gods like hungry savages battling for discarded scraps of food in forlorn gutters.
They had forgotten who had arrived in place of these gods. They had forgotten the hollow eyes of those who had witnessed the horror, the pervading grief, the unyielding stiffness and cold, the rage of lost experiences, the melancholy of an inevitable force. They had forgotten about those who had met sibling Death.
And Death did not take kindly to these gods that had tried to assume it's role.
The bones beneath Mex Ki'Toth crunched as they tried to forget the powerful gods that has once been. They finally knew the reason sibling Death had no worshippers, because even these bones of gods held no worth anymore. No more or less than the specks of starlight Death caught with scythe blade as they walked towards the fleeing and screaming.... Gods.... Or perhaps they no longer needed to be called that. They resented Death, true. They feared Death, of course. But the faster they fled, the greater their struggle to escape, the quicker the shadow found them.
And Death reaped them in a fashion no different than the mortal souls that floated as starlight along the inscrutable path the steed of Death walked.
"Sibling Death?" Mex Ki'Toth whispered, but could hear no words escape their lips.
"You are heard," Death did not speak, but Mex Ki'Toth felt the words.
"The council, it is gone. Their mortals can feel their connections broken. Will this not cause panic and them to perish without your want?" Mex Ki'Toth was in their child form, the only one they could maintain in the presence of Sibling Death.
"You and your siblings will fill the gap." There was no discussion in the statement Death made. No hope or doubt, no command or question. Only words that spoke the truth of what would come to pass.
Mex Ki'Toth stopped trying to follow. Sibling Death was never far away. They had other duties as it were. As they stared into far flung galaxies, already Mex Ki'Toth could see humans offering aid to the great civilizations that relied on their beliefs to propel them into the galaxy. | 2021-06-02T20:56:16 | 2021-06-02T20:21:39 | 51 | 18 |
[WP] 30 years ago, you decided that humanity was a lost cause. After packing some supplies, you walked deep into the woods and haven't seen another person since. Now, after all these years, you are filled with nothing but regret for your choice and have decided to go back. | Walking towards the edge of the forest, I saw the sun obstructed for the first time in 30 years, no dust curtains breaking through the trees, no rustling branches in my way. The sun breathed life into my face again as I watched it cresting over the horizon once again.
I can't even remember what drove me to this. The violence? The prejudice? The injustice of it all? Well... I guess I do remember after all. It was all of those things. I had no hope left. I saw the world for what it was, as I'm sure so many before me have. But I felt too weak to carry on. As the trees thinned further, I saw a young chap some 17 years old, stood in the middle of a ring of mushrooms, by the side of the last tree before the open field rolled onwards.
I had no idea if I should greet the lad... I... I hadn't heard my own voice in some 30-odd years either, there was only myself to talk to, and I got boring after a while... I wonder what I sound like now.
"aHH!" My voice cracked as I tried to hail the lad. "Well, no difference there." I whispered to myself, cursing my new first words. "AHEM. Aye boyo! Hows the day?" He slowly turned his head and looked at me. Perplexed. I... must look a bit ragged. I hope he doesn't scare easy.
"Aye mister." He stood arms crossed, drumming his elbows with his fingers. "Are you alright there? You look a bit scragged, what happened to you?"
"Oh nothing much lad! Just went for a bit of a camping holiday is all, didn't feel like wearing me Sunday best for the trees." he smiled at that. My sense of humour never dulled, at least thats something to look forward to. Hopefully I can make a fella or two laugh down the pub. Make some new friends. "What about yourself there?" I continued.
"Oh, nothing much mister. Just wanted to get away from it all for a bit." He looked towards the sun reddening on the horizon.
"Aye I think I can understand that." The last 30 years shuddered in the back of my mind. So much lost time. I'd do anything to have it back.
"Aye, you do look sad mister." He uncrossed his arms and leaned against the tree.
"Do I?" He saw through it. Think I need to get my poker-face back.
"Y'do. Do you wanna get anything off your chest?"
Maybe I do. I leaned on the tree next to the lad. His face creased a bit. I might need a proper bath. "How's the world been recently?"
"The world mister?"
"Aye. What's been going on the last few years?"
"Well uhh" He rubs his chin. "Same old same old really. I'm trying not to think about the world right now, we're not seeing eye to eye. So I thought I'd come out here and take a long walk"
"I can't blame you there. I did the same thing, just ended up staying a bit longer."
"Can't blame you. How long have you been on holiday?"
"Long enough now I reckon, think its time to get back home, someone must be missing me, and I've had enough of talking to myself." I sighed a breath of fresh dry air, and lurched my back off the tree.
"Oh aye you wouldn't catch me doing that. First sign of madness they say." He joked next to me.
"Right then. Best be off." I steadied myself ready to set off. I walked a few dozen steps away, turned back to wave, and the lad was gone.
"o-OY" my voice broke again as I tried to shout out for him, "Lord save me" I cursed. "Don't run off without waving goodbye" I tried to scold him. Ugh. I must be old now.
I looked back at the tree we both leaned on, nothing. I scratched my chin, and felt bare skin for the first time in years. I looked at my hands. And saw clean fingernails for the first time in decades. I looked at my clothes, and saw logo's I remembered from my youth.
I looked back to the tree. And saw an middle aged man staring back at me from the middle of the mushroom ring. He smirked at me. Gave me a short thumbs up. Before he walked around the base of the tree, and disappeared.
I... need to get home. Someone's waiting for me. | The intense crashing of waves against the cliff was natures chorus. Salt-saturated, heavily moisturized air flooded Joan's lungs with nostalgia. Many years he'd looked out to sea, an enigma; so much to explore but nothing material to his eye. If he could have grown gills he would have, and happily jumped in the chilly ocean to swim away. He would make the reefs his kingdom, the sharks his knights, and the whales his vassals; but he'd taken the realistic option and escaped inland. What he got was a thicket kingdom, a mooching squirrel as his knight, and a grumpy old buck as his vassal. The creature's days were numbered, and so his disinterest in running away was the only reason they cohabitated. Joan caught himself smiling, he felt closer with these two animals than he had with the majority of humanity. There were only a couple who had been sad to see him go, and those relationships were the only thing bringing him back. Joan continued climbing the wall of rock in front of him, if he remembered correctly, the kings road would be just ahead. He lifted himself above the top of the outfacing, he could see the cliff's edge ahead, but no road?
Upon further inspection, he found it; though it was no road. It was a path, sure, but it was overgrown and unkempt. Swallowed whole by the advancing foliage, taking advantage of the lack of careful, plant plucking hands. Odd, Joan thought to himself. He curiously started to the left, eager to see if he could fill his village's gardening job. Joy began to well up in his chest, an excitement so intense he could sense the eruption of goosebumps before they came. Just over the hill it would be, at first a nuisance, then a fleeting feeling, until it had become a gilded town in his dreams. He would feel the marketplace bustle, rushing around him like an ever constant breeze. The smell of cinnamon mallows would fool his sleeping tastebuds, until he'd wake up in a sopping puddle of drool. Then there would be Sara, hanging clothes to dry, dropping the bucket as she would notice him. Collapsing to her knees, she would look up with happily soaked eyes. Joan, she'd say, welcome home my love. They would embrace, and Joan would never leave her again.
Just over the hill, it would be there, waiting for him. Just over the hill.
What he saw was desolation.
There was a vast black square where the village had been. Where was his village? He had heard it calling. Where was everybody? What had happened here?
He bolted down the mountain, desperation fueling his leg muscle. He nearly tripped, a fall that would mean almost certain demise, as the javelins at the gate still remained. It was a spiked landing, and a serious safety hazard. Why hadn't he noticed that before? He ran at the gate, expecting it to casually open when it met his crashing shoulder. He smacked into it with the force of his head start, but it humbly tossed him to the ground, a bastion. Joan gripped his shoulder, that one would make a very mean bruise, he decided.
"Traveler!" A voice called from the other end of the wall, "Leave now!"
Strange, the voice sounded rehearsed and garbled; an eerie pause between it's two words. It had that feeling of when a child only knew a few vowels, and so it's sentences consisted of only one or two words.
"Hello? Who is this? What has happened to the village of Amycon?"
A few mockingbirds chirped in response, but other than that, there was no answer. Joan had a terrible feeling as if he was being examined, as if he was being egged on by nature to move forward. Alright, he said to himself, have it your way. He'd gotten quite adept at climbing things in his mountain man days, and he scaled the wall with ease. What he saw as he stood along the garrison was ruin.
The village had been sacked and burned to it's foundations. Though, all life other than human was abundant. Shrubbery had began to thrive, snaking it's way into town square, growing freely. There was a group of rabbits, foraging along main street, biting plump blackberries from bush. Off in the shipyard there were docks smashed to pieces, and the silent masts of forgotten ships poked out of the water; An inquisitive line of seagulls stood along them, eyeing him from afar. He noticed that the background noise of nature had ceased, all but the crashing of the waves. Joan looked below him near the gate, trying to find the voice that had commanded him to leave. But there was nothing but a calypso mockingbird, bathing in the midday heat. It met eyes with Joan and hopped a few inches farther away.
He decided that he would examine the burned village up close. A crunching plop signified his arrival back to the ground and a few salamanders scurried away.
"Stop!" A voice ordered.
Joan spun around, shocked. The hairs on the back of his neck sprang, and a vulnerable feeling rose into his throat.
"Stop!" Another voice ordered, more high pitched than the one before. It was followed with another voice, deeper in tone. More voices yelled over the others, until nothing could be heard but an onslaught of voices. Joan clenched every muscle in his body, and dropped to his knees. He smacked his palms against his ears and closed his eyes, curling himself into a hunched position. He remained like this for what felt like hours.
-
When he came to, Joan was outside of the gates. The calypso mockingbird from before stood on his chest, its head tilting in examination. When it realized that Joan was awake, it made a gargling noise, as if one would clear their throat.
"You take home. We take home."
and with that, the beautiful bird sprang into the sky, it's royal blue, patterned wingspan shining in the expiring sunlight. | 2021-06-08T19:23:44 | 2021-06-08T18:10:55 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] "Don't miss me too much." they say jokingly. "I won't. I love you." *click* you hang up the phone and take aim from 2,500 meters away with tears in your eyes. | A familiar ring tone pounds through my Bluetooth headset as I calmly held my target through the sights of a G22A1 sniper rifle.
"Yes, honey?" I answer, knowing who it was on the other end.
"You left so early this morning, just wanted to wish you luck."
The figure in my reticle held the phone to their left ear as they poured coffee with the right.
"Thanks, I'll see you soon."
"Don't miss me too much." Came the standard reply. It was our thing to say.
"I won't. I love you." With two taps to my ear I hung up.
The figure 800 meters away put down her phone. She took a sip of coffee before picking up some papers from the counter. It was then that I saw the movement at the edge of my field of view.
A figure slid smoothly into view, crouched below the window base outside, unseeable from the inside. A glint of reflection by their hand suggested the presence of a gun.
Patience. I coached myself. Understand the bigger picture.
I zoomed out with my trigger hand, eyes searching for something. Anything.
A dark tinted sedan parked across the street caught my eye. Plates were foreign to me. A man leaned against it, smoking. The telltale bulge of equipment ringed his waist.
Was this a hit? Or were they after something else?
They were being too obvious, almost amateurish. They think I'm far away. My wife the easy target. Abduction then. A way to get to me.
The figure by the window had crept slowly past the window and had almost reached the wooden gate to the backyard. It had to be now.
Exhale. Fingers tighten. The powerful weapon thundered in response. The man near my backyard crumples, a mist of red decorates the stucco.
Pan left. The other man heard the shot. His hands had found his weapon but I was too far away for him to know where to look.
Exhale.
Another thunderous blast washes over me as I watch the second man fall. He doesn't move.
I stay in position for ten more seconds to confirm the targets are down for good. No other actors appear. Swiftly, I disassemble my weapon and store it in its case. Thirty seconds later I'm in my car driving home.
A neighbor had spotted the man in the street. They were in the middle of calling the police. I roll into our drive way. I park my car to further obscure the body of the man laying by my backyard gate. I pick him up and quickly toss him through the gate and throw a tarp over him. I grab my wife's gardening hose and quickly wash off the blood splatter as much as I can.
My wife had noticed the commotion in the front yard and had come outside to gawk like many of our neighbors.
I grab her by the hand and lead her back inside.
"Harry? I thought you weren't going to be back until Thursday?" My wife was shook from what she saw outside. Her voice quivered slightly.
"Change of plans. I decided to take you with me. I'd miss you too much."
Though frightened she still managed a smile.
"Go grab your things, we can still make the flight."
As she went upstairs to pack, I went through the well prepared process of breaking down my presence in this house. We weren't going to be returning. Pictures and stationary were fed easily to the stove. Documents and money stashed in my luggage. Within ten minutes my entire existence as Harry Kettleman was gone.
And Lara. She will be gone, too. Poor Lara. Yet another sacrifice, like Mary. And Sherry. And Beth. Another life given unwittingly to my mission. At least I will make it painless compared to what the men laying dead outside would have done. She will finally serve her purpose. My escape.
Another grave to lay flowers on until the day I die. | "You would love it here!" I heard the voice speak up over the phone as I chewed my lip and held back tears. "The mountains, the people, everything!""
Yeah?" I said with sorrow as I lined the scope up with the beautiful beach as I continued, "What about the beaches, do you have any plans to visit them."
"Reading my mind?" The voice chimed in playfully as I let out a soft chuckle, loading the massive bullet into the chamber. "We're heading over right now. It has some name I can't pronounce, but I was told that it's going to be amazing. Hoping to catch the sunset and then go grab some dinner to sorta' wet her whistle, you know?"
"Sounds like a really nice business trip." I added, making sure to click mute before clocking the mechanism to secure the bullet in place - ready to fire. I then click unmute to listen in.
"She's nice. Nice, but not *that* nice. She makes for a customer when it comes to making money for the company, but..." His voice trailed, going quiet. It hurt my heart as I felt the tears bud and begin to draw down my cheeks. All I wanted was the truth, all I wanted was to hear what was really happening. "... I'll wrap this up, then I got the flight back to the U.S. So, you won't have to go without me for long."
"I'm glad." I said on the verge of breaking down, drawing a hand towards my pocket to grab at a handkerchief to wipe at my blurry eyes. "I can't wait to see you when you get back - I already got our plans set."
"Yeah? That new Battlefield came out - ready to carry me through some matches?" He laughed again, and I laughed with a distant smile. "Oh, oh! And we can go see that movie you've wanted to see as well, the one that we couldn't see that one Saturday because of my sisters wedding?"
"That would be amazing."
"No, you are amazing." The voice said, before a sigh came from the phone. "Sorry for putting you through all of this... I know this new job isn't exactly fitting into our lifestyle - but it's going to fine." A moment of silence, as he clearly wanted a reaction that I wouldn't give him. "... We're going to be fine, okay?"
"We will." I said, sniffling before forcing a smile as I glanced out at the beautiful coastline before me. "Hey, uh, I gotta' go - getting blasted at work myself."
"Oh." The other person on the line said flatly. "Alright. Hey, sorry about keeping you with the whole time-zone difference. Again, you're amazing." Another bout of silence, before he spoke up. "Don't miss me *too* much, okay? If you wanna' chat, just hit me up on Discord."
"I won't." I said, with a bit of finality. "I-... I love you."
*Click*.
The first time I used the 'L' word with him, and I'm sure it won't be the last. The pain of losing your first love isn't exactly the worst thing in the world, but it is very close to it. The pain stung deeply at my heart, and I couldn't help but break down into a pathetic weep as I drew myself in to the scope of the grand weaponry laid out before.
Long range, military grade, expensive, powerful - well enough that *if* I land the shot I would be able to take his life in a matter of seconds. A few to have the bullet travel, and a half to take his life. It was already loaded, ready, and clocked to aim right at the end of a pier that overlooked a beautiful expanse of northern sea. After taking position and preparing myself in my somber state, I stared through the intense scope from the mountaintop to watch in a bitter impatience.
Minutes of silence aside from the howling wind as my own companion, my only friend as my worse nightmare had truly come to pass. Into the frame came two figures walking up to the end of the pier - one that I knew was my partner, John. The other was his supposed business associate, but my fears had already been confirmed. It wasn't a woman he was with, but another man, and he walked with an arm slung over his shoulders with their heads thrown back in a laugh. They were laughing at me, most likely, at how easily I was played off.
There was no business partner, just his hidden lover. His *other* partner - the one that was so much better than me in everyway that he travelled across the world for.
I muttered incoherent swears beneath my breath as rage overcame me - my finger moved to gently press against the trigger as I gently began to line up the shot once they came to a halt to admire nature and all of it's beauty. I watched them as they cuddled and held each other closely, whispering sweet nothings of the lies and slander of their charade and indifference of me and my emotions.
What he hadn't thought of was how easy it was to lie about my work, buy a high caliper long range sniper on the dark web, and travel out right after him once I started getting suspicious.
Extreme, but love was nothing but extreme, now wasn't it? | 2021-06-19T11:55:15 | 2021-06-19T11:04:44 | 40 | 27 |
[WP] you were a mighty hero in your time, until you were trapped under a mountain fifty six years ago. After finally escaping you discover that your grandchildren have become the villains. It's time to whoop some sense into them, grandpa style. | A paladin's service is never complete.
A skeletal hand burst from the ground. It scrapped for purchase before pulling the rest of its attached body through.
After 56 years of toil, Leon had finally risen above his earthen prison. He surveyed the landscape before he knelt to pray.
On this side, we live. On the other we wait to live once more. A guard, the horizon needs, in its service forevermore.
"Undead can't pray."
Leon turned to look. A man clad in muted gray armor with a black leather gorget stood nearby. His eyes seemed as if they were waking from an excruciating boredom.
But, importantly, around his neck was a clasp of the horizon.
Leon stood and approached the man, his bones clattering ominously with every step.
He took a defensive posture, hand on his mace.
Leon could feel the power calling. The Great Boundary sought him, and he would answer as he always answered.
The man made to swing, but he suddenly slowed his arm and relaxed his stance. Leon extended an arm and grasped the symbol of the Horizon.
Raw energy hurt. Raw, living energy from the other side was worse than any shock or fleshsearing flame.
This was his remaking, by the power of the Horizon itself.
Bones held together with willpower dissolved, and Leon became something else.
His skin was now healthy and glowing, his hair full and flowing, wrapped in all the vestments of life and yet he was anything but living.
His skin was warm because it was designed to. His eyes may have been open, but they were not how he viewed his surroundings. Whether open or closed, he could see his surroundings as he was not that which people saw. That was a shell designed. Leon was the energy, the will by which the shell moved.
Leon was an archon of the Great Boundary. A force of purpose.
"Incredible..." the believer said.
Leon sensed him. He felt his awe and fear. He 'saw' him, but didn't look.
"Where am I?"
It was strange, not drawing breathe to speak. Even stranger for sounds to spill from his mouth which exhaled no air.
The man stammered, "Braggart Hills."
"I've never heard of such a place."
"It was a mountain once." He gestured nervously to the rolling hills around them. "Until the great hero Leon Granich challenged the ones above all. Challenged them to open combat."
"Foolish." Leon remarked.
"Indeed. The brought the entire mountain down upon him as a reminder. An we have suffered their ire ever since."
"I was speaking of you." Leon stated. Willing his head to turn on the shoulders to face the man.
"I-" he started.
"I've no time. Does the House of Lions still stand?"
"The House of Lions? If you mean the band of marauders that plague the wilds, then yes. But hopefully they will meet their end soon, gods willing."
"What are their crimes?" | Deep beneath the eerie mountains, there lies a strange being, strange as to say, a forgotten phenomenona. Lost within the decades, a mystery yet to be revealed. Its descendants lay behind stains of its past, rumors are constantly changing of its own near distant legend, present facts doesn't convey its stature. A hero of might, or an enemy of light?
I.
Deep in the mountains there exists a village of good will and prosperity, living off by farming, live stock, and trading commodities to immaculate humble riches upon the land. A deprived young man has been seen fetching water from a communal well, struggling, seems out of strength and in dire need of hydration. Villagers were surprised and can't utter a word, it was a strange happening. Questions instill on their minds; for it is a rare occurence never been witnessed. One of the villagers usurped their initial instinct, and soon after, everyone who were present helped the man as he collapsed from exhaustion.
Days has passed and the strange young man never woke up from its slumber, villagers resumed to their ordinary aesthetic lives and never raised a question of possible hostility of the unsolicited visitor. Later on that day, when the sun is about to set, a caravan has been seen coming close without prior notice. A report told that they were fully armed and the emblem of Inoma Faction has been identified with distinct characters of villainy.
The Faction, promising security and well-being all across the borders of the continent, is within the village's premises. But their methods were observed as supremacist, fear to inspire obdience, slaughtering and burning down cities that opposes their ideals. Now, they wouldn't spare even a distant village in a deep valley. "*This is horrendous and deviating for the villagers of good will!"* The Elder uttered with conviction. They wanted to be left alone, they don't want trouble and would likely submit to their conduct.
"Open the gates before it will lead you to destruction!" Roared one of the Faction's superior.
The gates opened without delay and the elder confronted the Faction and said, "Our humble abode. What can I possibly offer the Inoma Faction? Maybe you intend to rest with your long tiresome journey?"
Without reservation, the superior bashed the elder leaving him fallen to the ground. "Slanderer! You don't open your filthy mouth without permission. This land is now the property of the Inoma Faction! Follow or death will be on your doorstep."
"The Inomas, you say...?" The visitor came to view, the villagers within their state of shock cannot tell how he came close with the Brute. "I am Sethos, the bearer of the Inoma emblem. I don't remember building a faction. Are you using my name for your own immoral exigency?"
"You insolent fool-" The Superior raised his hand but then inexplicably fell down.
"My deep apologies great grand pa, I am your great grand daughter and I am the one responsible with this commotion, I will ensue heavy discipline for his lack of respect, please forgive the man." Genuflecting, Rem gently conveyed the message suggesting respect.
"It has been prophesied that you will retseurn when the sun is in the constellation of Leo, late in spring where crops begin to flutter. Far east, in the mountains of Mengorha, you will rise and lead the Inoma Faction. I have come personally to escort you."
"I see, now leave!"
"If it is your command to leave, we will gladly do so." Rem, within the depths of her mind is in terror. She couldn't believe what laid in her eyes, the legend itself, her great grand father, Sethos. Without haste, she devised a plan. *If he really is what he claims to be, a young man where legends say was in a long slumber waiting to be awakened-- then we will surely be burned to ashes.* *My blasphemy was blessed by the Gods and we will leave unscathed.*
"I never declared everyone of your men shall leave."
Rem in shambles realized, with just a gist of the wind. Her men fell down, without agony, a swift death hammered by Sethos wrath.
"You dare to play an old man's game? Now leave before I change my mind."
\--------
"Father..."
"Say no more my daughter, so the old man found the forbidden catalyst that grants eternal youth, constraining him in a slumber. Selfish, impudent, hungry in power of a father. He doesn't doubt even the cost of his own son. I was never wrong." | 2021-11-18T22:39:40 | 2021-11-18T18:48:58 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity has discovered a surge of unnatural energy from the universe. Completely alien, but the translation is clear: "Goodbye." Hundreds of alien civilizations, each one saying "goodbye." | “Mr President, based on our translations we believe there may be a mass extinction event occurring near the galactic center of the Milky Way,” a solemn looking elderly woman on the screen said.
The President’s chief of staff, standing off to the side of the conference room, shifted uncomfortably, trying to catch the President’s eye. He made a show of exaggerating a look at his watch. The President didn’t notice, he was fixated on the dozen figures displayed before him on two large screens.
“Thank you Dr Holden," The President said, "and have you been able to ascertain how we have been able to receive so many of these transmissions from different sources simultaneously? I may not have paid much attention during my high school science classes, but I can recall the theory of special relativity and nothing being able to travel faster than the speed of light. Am I to take it that the mass extinction event has likely already occurred somewhere in the galaxy and we’re just waiting for the light show?”
A few of the faces grimaced at the President’s glib last remark.
“Mr President,” the Chief of Staff standing off to the side said, “it’s time.”
The President waved a hand dismissively, “they can wait, thank you Charlie.”
A young man on screen wearing a suit with a NASA pin unmuted himself.
“Mr President, if you’re asking whether these signals are a warning of imminent doom approaching from outer space, the truth is we aren’t certain. We think it’s unlikely though, given the wide array of solar systems from which the signal has originated. It’s possible that there is technology involved in these transmissions that we just don’t understand and something is impacting them all at once.”
There was a knock on the door and it opened. A Secret Service Agent leaned in. He looked at the Chief of Staff, who rushed over and they spoke in hushed voices.
“Right, and we don’t know whether we’re expecting to receive any other messages? Well, let’s keep working on theories everyone. I’ve gotta run,” The President said before standing and following his Chief of Staff out the door.
They walked briskly along a corridor, surrounded by agents in black suits.
“Mr President, John Jacobs is waiting outside your office," the Chief of Staff said as they walked towards the White House main entrance, "he’s here to talk about their request for a new oil permit in Alaska. We’re feeling a lot of pressure to get this over the line, so I suggest we go straight there now."
Just as they were about to turn into a secure area, gasps from excited children could be heard coming from the direction of the entrance. The President grinned and diverted off towards the young voices.
“Mr President,” the Chief of Staff said sternly.
“Five minutes Charlie,” The President replied over his shoulder.
A moment later he was surrounded by young children and a teacher desperately trying to maintain a semblance of order. They all stared at him with looks of awe. All except one girl. The President walked over to her and crouched down.
“And what’s your name young lady?”
“Jenny,” she replied as the other children crowded around to listen.
“And how old are you?”
“five and a half,” Jenny replied.
“And do you know who I am?”
“You’re the President, my mommy says you’re the one in charge. Is that true?”
“It is indeed, well of this country at least,” the President said, smiling.
“If you’re in charge, will you let us stay a little longer?”
The Chief of Staff was there now, looming over the group as if to remind The President about his pressing engagement with the oil executive.
“Stay here? You might have to ask your teacher that!”
“No,” the little girl said firmly, “stay here, on Earth."
The President frowned, "why do you say that?"
"Well everyone says that all the aliens are saying goodbye to us and I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.”
The President’s face turned serious, “don’t worry Jenny, we don’t have to say goodbye. Whatever's happening out there isn't going to affect us. And we have the smartest people in the world working to learn more about what's happening out there and they're not worried, so you don’t have to worry either.”
“But, we do have to say goodbye,” she said as her eyes welled up, “when I'm at my friends' birthday parties and mommy shows up to get me, everyone always says goodbye to me. It’s because they all know I'm leaving. That's what's happening now, the aliens know we're leaving. But I don’t want to leave yet.”
The President paused for a moment before standing up and taking in the scene. Everyone was silent now, watching him.
“Charlie, cancel the meeting. We’re going back onto the video conference.” | Deep from the universe is where the source of the message came from. Calvin had been stirring a cup of instant noodles whenever his terminal sprung to life, the dark screen going bright, scaring him badly enough that he jerked and spilled hot soup onto the top of his hand.
"Son of a-", he muttered, but the pain quickly subsided when his eyes locked onto the computer terminal.
**Signal Captured, Translation, Beginning**
"Translation?" Calvin asked, his brow furling. His station had only been equipped to capture transmissions. The lab he worked in wasn't designed to do any kind of translating.
Setting his cup of noodles down, he wiped his burned hand onto his shirt and called out to his workmate, Jeffrey, the only other person who had the pleasure of working the night shift along with Calvin. Jeff came over to Calvin's station, scooting over in his rolling chair, glass bottle halfway filled with Dr Pepper (*and secretly a shot of whiskey*) in hand.
"What's up boss?"
"My terminal captured something, but now it's attempting to translate it..."
"What?"
The two watched in wonder, and then sudden horror when they saw several command prompt windows spring up onto the screen, then quickly vanish.
"That.. That looks like a virus, boss."
"Shit, shit, shit!" Calvin said, grabbing hold of the mouse and trying to move the cursor, but the screen was locked. He smashed the escape key on his keyboard, but nothing happened.
Several more command prompt windows opened, gibberish being typed within them.
"Do.. Do I unplug it?" Calvin asked, turning towards Jeffrey.
"Maybe? Yeah, yeah unplug it."
As if on cue, the computer terminal *dinged*, and a new notification popped up on the screen.
"Translation complete, reading message."
The two watched as the computer terminal unmuted itself (Calvin usually liked to watch The Three Stooges during his lunch break, but Jeffrey couldn't stand the way Curly goes *WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP*, so Calvin usually had to watch the show muted), and then spoken in a tinny robotic voice.
"Goodbye."
***
Internally, researchers quarreled over what to make of the message. Engineers tore through the terminal, trying to determine how it could've been hacked, and how it was capable of taking an alien transmission and then translating it all in one go.
They began to call it the "Package Transmission" on account of how it downloaded itself and translated itself all in one neat little package.
Soon, word got out about this transmission. Someone got sloppy (*Actually, Jeffrey had one too many drinks and told his bar buddies about the transmission, even showed them a video recording of it from his cracked iPhone*), and now the public was aware of the alien transmission.
At first, the public was divided, with the majority claiming that it was a *fake* message, and that it was created by the government to distract the general public from other *ongoing* problems. That there was no such thing as an alien transmission that infected a computer and spoke itself into existence.
The public remained divided, until a second surge of energy blanked planet Earth, and the original alien transmission infested every single piece of technology on planet Earth.
Television screens sprung to life, car stereos turned themselves on, Playstations turned on, and bluetooth-enabled refrigerators lit up, and they all repeated the same message that Calvin and Jeffrey originally heard.
"Goodbye."
***
There was panic and hysteria, of course, but soon after, the world calmed itself and united, determining that there was some all powerful alien force somewhere out there in the cosmos that had the capacity to not only send messages across a great distance, but to send that message and infest every single piece of technology ever.
It was horrifying, really, the implications of it. How much advanced did these alien civilizations have to be in order to do something so complicated and terrifying?
The answer, was in the original transmission. On further study, engineers were able to reverse engineer the original message, determine how it worked, and through that, they discovered new ideas and ideologies when it came to communication and technology in general.
Planet Earth was undergoing another technological boom thanks to the Package Transmission, but it was difficult to enjoy the revels of these new advancements when the whole of planet Earth knew that there was still the original source of the transmission out there, somewhere.
***
The leaders of the world determined that they had to find some way to protect the people. A way to protect and preserve humanity needed to be devised. It was difficult planning for an alien invasion when you didn't exactly know what to expect, however, so the leaders had to come up with a fail safe plan in case traditional means of protection (big freaking guns) were not enough.
Thus, virtual backups of the human consciousness was invented. A virtual world where you could upload your consciousness and not have to worry about anything, as long as the physical media your consciousness resided on was not tampered with.
People stampeded in droves to have their consciousness uploaded. Having a physical body was old news. Residing in a virtual space was the new *it*. Nothing could harm you in the virtual space. Nothing at all. Soon, a shocking 99.9% of the world's populace had been uploaded into the virtual space.
And it was there, that everything clicked together.
All consciousness, residing in one space, enmeshed with one another. There were no boundaries. There were no secrets. There was no shame. Old quarrels that may have caused rivals to go for each other's necks were forgotten. How could you be mad at your neighbor when they shared the same space as you now?
How could you be angry at anyone?
How.. How could anything?
Humanity had melded into one being within the confines of this virtual space, individual personalities forming raindrops falling into an ocean of other thoughts and beings. With everyone together, humanity as a collective chuckled, now realizing what the original purpose of the alien transmission had been.
Enlightenment.
Humanity said a brief thank you to the Package Transmission, and then uttered their last word before transcending to the next plane.
"Goodbye." | 2022-07-16T21:06:58 | 2022-07-16T20:19:13 | 229 | 84 |
[WP] There is a purple door somewhere with a single key hole. It will open regardless of the key that is used. All keys can open this door, but what‘s on the other side, however, depends entirely on the key. | Little click out of one, two is binding. Click out of three. Bit of counter rotation on four, feels like we're dropping into a false set. Back to the start. Good click out of two, and we've got this open. Now, folks, that wasn't too hard of a lock to pick. Some skill required, but overall I wouldn't use this for doors requiring any degree of security.
For once though, the lock isn't why we are here. Let's open this door up and take a look at what shows up when we used NO key to open it.
- Audio transcription of the last known video recorded to YouTube before the Void Event. Significance unclear. | ##Purple Door of Necessity
*It goes wherever it's needed.*
---
Jim cries in his bedroom alone. Same as every night for the past twenty years. All he wants is a friend. When he looks up, he sees the answer to his problem.
---
*It welcomes all to its warmth.*
---
Bills are spread across the table, and Lindsay got fired from her second job. The world seems to be crumbling around her. A weight in her pocket keeps her grounded and guides her.
---
*Time and distance are not restraints.*
---
The plague bodies pile in the town square. With how everyone else is doing, Mary knows that she will be the only survivor. Who would take her in? She can't live on her own.
The purple door calls to her, but she hesitates. This could be the devil playing tricks on her. This door could've curse the town, but what choice does she have. She puts the key into the door and turns it.
---
*Hope is always on the other side.*
---
"Woah." Jim accidentally opens the door on a woman who falls.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry." Jim helps her up. She smiles at him.
"It's okay. We had to meet at some point." She brushes herself off and holds out a hand. "I'm Emily."
"Jim."
---
*No offering is necessary.*
---
The coats fell off the rack in the closet. Lindsay picks them up and finds a lock-box at the bottom. Her name is written on it in her mother's handwriting. She opens the box and finds a stack of one-hundreds inside with a note.
"Sorry I couldn't give you more."
---
*All that's needed is hope.*
---
Mary enters the house of the town doctor. He swore he could find a cure before he would pass from the disease himself. He was wrong, or was he?
At the table, Mary finds jars of ingredients and a recipe. Maybe he died before he could use it. She hears coughing outside. Looking back to the recipe, she realizes it's the only hope they have.
---
*The Purple Door of Necessity will always be there.*
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2022-11-23T19:29:11 | 2022-11-23T18:32:49 | 244 | 45 |
[WP] As the most powerful superhero on the team, no one believed you when you said you could quit the drugs, alcohol, and tobacco whenever you wanted. When the only friend you have on the team died on a mission, you sobered up for the first time in years. Now people will learn why you stay drunk. | Those who say alcoholism is selfish really didn't know how selfless it was for me to stay drunk out of my fucking mind.
The drinking made everything just a little too slow. Thoughts would trot instead of racing, memories would stumble gently upon my brain instead of hitting it full-force. Everything was a bit dim; and when all the thoughts your brain throws at you are incandescent, you learn to enjoy the dimness. Not the quiet—there hasn't been quiet in a long time—but the dimness.
Life had the glow of a camera film left in the sun, overexposed and blinding. Like glaring straight into a volcano. My so-called "bad habits" made it a bit more tolerable. It was by no means a perfect method, but it's what worked. Like walking in the rain with a half-broken umbrella.
The media salivated at my drinking. "World's strongest man finds solace at the bottom of a bottle" *is* a really catchy headline. My teammates, though, were less enthused by it.
"You're literally unkillable, Worldslayer," Thunderlord would say. "Why do you drink so much?"
"You can shatter countries with a punch," Vigilance cried out. "Yet you can't put the drink down for one moment?"
I'd tell them I could quit at any time. They didn't buy it. And in hindsight, I can't really blame them.
Malice was the only one that understood. She knew what it was like. She'd drink the first two drinks for fun, the next two out of social duties, and the next 20 just to drown out her voices. That was her superpower. She had these voices just warning her of every danger, every disaster, every incoming punch. The drinking made it worse. She was a paranoid drunk, and the voices would go into overdrive right after drink five or six. Drinks seven and onwards used to be just to calm her down. She tried to quit, but it wasn't that simple. She had too much pain behind the curtains, and the voices that saved her wouldn't let her forget it.
Lately, she'd been feeling the voices slip away from her. On one hand, she liked the quiet. But that quiet also meant she didn't think she had a place—not in the team, not in the world. So she'd just keep drinking and drinking. Just so the voices would stay with her.
I can't say I was truly surprised when she passed, but that really didn't make it hurt any less. One of the voices was just a little bit too late to warn her of a bullet going her way. She tried to dodge, but by the time she realized what was going on, the bullet was already lodged in her heart. It was the work of a paramilitary organization, a ultranationalist network somewhere in the Balkans.
I quit drinking cold turkey before she was even buried. Wine to water. Drinking reminded me of Malice, and that made the dim pain just as irradiating and incandescent as everything else.
I vowed to take revenge for her. Thunderlord though it was a grand gesture. Midas thought I was joking. But now that the booze isn't flowing, the anger is taking its place.
After all, you can't be Worldslayer if there is nothing to slay.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zx7kqk/wp_as_the_most_powerful_superhero_on_the_team_no/j21gmjz/) | The day I decided to remain under the influence was lost to my scattered mind, but I do remember parts of it. The screaming, the yelling, the destroyed buildings. The bodies.
They like you to believe that heroes are all-good, that they don't make mistakes, that they would never do anything to hurt anyone even the villain.
Well, I guess for most heroes, that's right. But some of us have a past, one that the greater world operates better not knowing.
Only one person really knew how un-heroic I could be when I wasn't under the influence. My body metabolises heroin differently than most people, so we found out when I was younger. Trish and I were junkies, on and off, for decades, but she finally got clean in 2019. I was so proud of her, but we talked, and we decided it was better I stay off the wagon. With the drugs, I was happy, I was caring, I was kind. People stayed alive when I fought them.
Before the drugs, I was... well, the people I fought can now be found at Rookwood.
When I was accepted into the Super Six, I disclosed my powers as part of the entrance application, as well as my use of substances to retain certain mental states. At 44 years of age, I'd spent maybe 10 years of my life sober; it would be impossible to hide from the others. So would Trish. So I told them.
Three days ago, the Super Six - minus me - decimated the area around Central Sydney, killing thousands. They returned to the Hall boisterous and pumped, knowing they'd just taken down a villain. POOR Animatronius, may his gears spin in peace.
It wasn't long before I got the story out of them, and I rushed down to George Street, desperate. Trish had only just taken a job there, had started 3 days ago. I could only hope she hadn't been -
*Calm, Cal,* I told myself as I arrived, crashing into the ground with a little more force than I intended. *She's probably alright, she--*
The building where she worked was gone. Half a wall remained standing, propped up by the building beside it. I stared in horror at the concrete, glass, rebarb rods - the blood - thrown carelessly around the area.
Holding my breath, I closed my eyes. I could feel the adrenaline wearing through this morning's dose, and I knew that couldn't be good for me. I breathed out, in, held... and opened my eyes.
The x-ray vision painted the scene well, the details standing out in stark contrast, in spite of the monochromatic picture it painted.
There were four people buried under the rubble. Three were alive, calling for help, clawing weakly at what pinned them down.
Between them all, Trish lay dead, her heart no longer beating.
"NO!" I dropped to my knees, tearing at my hair, trying to distract the pain in my heart with a new pain - any pain. I punched the ground, hit myself, threw my head back and screamed to the sky in a wordless bellow of pain.
My world narrowed. I didn't have super strength, but somehow I managed to shift two massive concrete panels to bare her to the uncaring world. I scooped Trish up, holding her to my chest, and flew away, heading for the Hall.
The other members of the Six were there when I landed, toasting each other in celebration of their victory. I laid Trish on the coffee table, kneeling beside her and holding her hand as I looked at her face.
The others drew quiet, watching me.
"Ey, man - Cal. I ain't never seen you with such clear eyes before. Whatchu doin' with that bird?" Megaman asked.
My vision remained on Trish. On the couch, Megaman put his drink down and dragged Spinderella close under his arm.
"There once was a villain who tried to be a hero, but he needed a little help. Between the drugs and his girl, he kept on the straight and narrow. Then, one day, some idiot superhero dropped a skyscraper on his love."
My eyes snapped from Trish to Megaman, the only person in the group with powers that could topple a building.
"What do you think happened to that man when he lost his love and sobered up?" I asked, standing slowly and looking around at Animarius, Naturegirl and Malmetal. "Do you think he would have the fortitude to remain a hero?"
I felt my eyes grow warm as the energy beam built behind my corneas. I looked back to Megaman, and the invisible wave of energy hit him in the face before any of them could react, melting the flesh from his skull.
"Because I don't." | 2022-12-28T08:49:46 | 2022-12-28T07:48:21 | 1,700 | 834 |
[WP] On your eighteenth birthday, you shoot a mystic bow that is said to kill whoever is destined to kill you, three seconds before they do. Eight years later, your arrow strikes your SO's heart, right as she says "I do."
Or he. Or It. Whatever. I'm a straight canadian guy, so it popped into my head.
Sorry.
EDIT: I did not expect this to get so popular. Honestly, I expected this to get maybe two or three responses, and a 5/40 Upvote/Downvote Ratio. But, 196/95.........
EDIT: We've passed 300 upvotes! I'm afraid now. Very afraid.
Edit again! 400!
But at the same time, the people that hate me finally found the post. I suppose it wont be long before i go back to a 1/30 upvote/downvote ratio.....
Continue writing though! I love your works! | I glanced at the gun leveled against my temple. She must have found it above the cabinet in the garage. I took a drink and went back to whatever it was on TV.
"I've had enough," she said with surprising calm. "I can't do this anymore."
Nothing good is on. "I can't say I didn't see it coming."
"You know, if you just listened more, we probably could have found a better solution."
"Mm hm." Channel up.
"And the drinking, the late nights out..."
"And the life insurance policy you took out on me has nothing to do with this?"
"At least you can do something good for me. And it's not as if anyone would question why you would kill yourself, with your depression."
I looked down at my glass and sighed. Empty. I was going to need a drink after this. "Make it look like a suicide?" It was almost amusing "Listen, you're not going to kill me."
"What?"
I turned to look at her. She was a mess, tousled hair, dried tears on her cheeks. Even with what she stood to gain, she must be going through hell. She may still love me just a little after 6 years of marriage. More than I could say of myself. "I said, you're not going to kill me."
She furrowed her brow, then laughed, a twisted, broken laugh. "You of all people should know that I mean this."
I closed my eyes and thought of that night with the spectral shaman, the tension in the bow, the heavy price I paid. Some birthday that was. "I don't doubt your intentions to kill me. I'm just saying that you won't end up killing me."
"Shut up! Shut up right now!"
I looked around the room. The window behind her seems like the most likely path. "Listen, it's been a real trip. We had a great few years, and then...well...you are wanting to kill me so it can't have been that great after that."
She closed her eyes, and shook her head. "Don't think you can talk me out of this."
"I'm not trying. Let me just say that I really hoped it didn't have to end this way."
"No more of this. Goodbye." She straightened her arm and pressed the barrel right up against my head.
"Do you really intend to kill me?"
"I do."
I sighed, and the glass exploded behind her.
Edit: grammar and such | It's summer, one of those days that feels like walking through someone's warm, wet breath. A gross day. Jess is wandering around the fairgrounds with Barry Binninger, who's the son of his mom's friend Linda and who whines almost constantly.
They're walking along the row of games. Jess only has a dollar, so he has to pick something he can win. The ring toss game is bullshit. He's seen probably twenty people lose their money on it since they got here. He's pretty sure the necks of the bottles are too big to toss a ring onto, anyway.
"Hey Jess," Barry says, "it's hot, man. We gotta find somewhere to sit."
Barry is also about 100 pounds overweight, so essentially he's the best fair companion you could ask for. A real go-getter. "Hold on, jeez. I wanna play a game," Jess says.
"Aw, man," Barry says. "I spent all my money on that pretzel. Can we split a game?"
"I've only got a dollar, sorry."
"This place is a total rip-off." Barry scuffs his way toward the nearest bench and plops down like a pillowcase full of sand.
Jess looks at the game next to him. The guy manning the booth is pretty sketchy -- red hair slicked back and a missing front tooth. He's holding a bow and arrow.
"Wanna try your luck?" the booth guys says. "Winner gets the best prize at the carnival."
"Yeah?" Jess says. "What's that? A teddy bear that doesn't smell like shit?"
The man cracks a smile. "It's a mystery prize. Fifty cents to play."
Jess is pretty sure he knows what a mystery prize is, and it involves twenty years of therapy after you leave the carnival. "No thanks, man."
He turns, and the man lurches forward and grabs his wrist. Jess turns to look at him. The man's eyes are so dilated that they're almost completely black. Jess' stomach lurches and he pulls his hand away.
"Take the bow," the man says, and Jess swallows. His heart is suddenly pounding, and he can't say why.
He nods and reaches for the bow. In the background, he can hear Barry whining faintly -- "hey man, don't spend all your money here" -- but the words are like waves lapping softly against him. He can only focus on the bow as the man places it into his hands.
"Aim at heaven," the man says.
Jess has only fired a bow in gym, and he wasn't even good at it then. But the arrow slides into place naturally. The pull of his shoulder muscle feels practiced and sure. He releases the arrow and watches as it soars up, up -- impossibly high, over the carnival tent and out of sight.
Adrenaline rushes out of him and he looks down at the bow. He suddenly feels like he's about to cry. It's the hollow, melancholy feeling of someone revealing the end of a book when you're halfway through. It pierces him cleanly.
"He who would take your life," the man says, "now take his."
"What?" Jess says.
"Now take his," the man says.
Jess can't breathe. He gasps, a few ragged breaths. "Keep the money," he says, and turns away. He stumbles toward the Ferris wheel, and then he's running, running hysterically, out into the parking lot.
Barry finds him bent double over a red Honda Civic, panting. "Hey man, not cool," Barry says. "You can't just take off like that."
Jess looks back at the fair. The Ferris wheel glints in the ordinary late afternoon light, and in the sky, the trace of an airplane's tail shoots northward. | 2014-05-27T20:16:44 | 2014-05-27T19:03:00 | 224 | 49 |
[WP] Make the saddest love story without involving any deaths, breakups, or separations. | They were perfect for each other.
They shared a favorite movie, favorite book, favorite meal, and favorite color.
She cracked up at the kind of corny jokes he loved to tell.
He adored violin music; she had been playing since she was six years old.
The two were compatible at every possible level.
On May 23, 2010, they met in line at a supermarket. She was out buying groceries, but let him cut ahead as he only had a few items and was in a hurry.
He thanked her, paid, and left. They never spoke again. | They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. All they ever did was question. Always the questions. But they never listened to my answers. And they never asked the right questions to begin with.
“Are you sure you want to stay with her?” They should be asking why she would want to stay with me.
She saved me.
People looked at her and saw what they wanted. A bad woman. A violent one. Someone who had beaten someone until his face resembled a decaying jack-o-lantern. But what they don’t see is that she loved him. She took care of him. She held him in her arms. She cried over his broken body. She nursed him back to health. She took him to the hospital. Told them someone had broken into the home to rob us and left me like this when I refused to comply. I had been so brave. And so had she. She took care of everything.
I know what they say. They say that I almost died that night. They say that nothing was stolen from the home. There was no sign of forced entry. No reports of any break-ins in the area. They say…I don’t know. Who knows. But people knew she got angry. Violent. They suspected. But they were wrong.
I was the one at fault. That night, she came back home only to find me sleeping instead of ready to wait on her. I should have been awake. She deserved to eat. She worked so hard, such long days. When she got home, she would need to have something to eat. She deserved that. She deserved to have someone ready to greet her at the door with something warm to put in her stomach. She deserved so much better than to have someone so lazy that they couldn’t make sure to be awake when she got home. What was wrong with me.
“Are you sure you want to stay with her?”
I don’t know why the lady asked me that. She just didn’t know.
“Forever. I love her. I love my mommy.”
| 2014-06-23T08:49:37 | 2014-06-23T08:46:22 | 295 | 27 |
[WP] You move into a new house that hasn't had a resident in more than twenty years. In the attic, in a locked safe, you find a dusty box with your first and last name scratched into it, as well as today's date.
Wow, this thing got pretty big, hu? I think that we have /u/samgalimore to thank for that. :) Thank you for your amazing story, and for continuing it for all of us to enjoy! | As I stared in disbelief at the words, my grandson came up behind me and asked what was wrong.
My trembling hands held out the box. "My name..." I said.
"Oh FFS, grandma!" he replied. "You and your dementia. You wrote that yourself just half an hour ago. I swear we're going to have to put you in a home one of these days."
| At first, I just stare at it. I'm sure my mind is wild, ticking away the possibilities of how such a thing could come to be, but at the moment it feels like I am somehow trapped in space, frozen in time, and absolutely nothing is moving.
When I come out of it my hands are already unclasping the lock and I'm opening it. The entire house seems to be holding its breath with me. I use both thumbs to push the lid up.
A single paper is inside, twice folded. It looks aged but not ancient - like something somebody had written years ago and forgotten about. I take it out. My hands are shaking. I unfold it.
There are only three words written inside. They're bolded, like someone had written them once and then gone over them again. "See you" on the first line. "tonight" on the second.
In an instant, the paper is back in the box and the lid is closed. I throw it to the other side of the room.
In the next hours, I walk through the rest of the house twenty times. Every light is turned on, every crawl space searched. It's a small house and there's not many places to check. My things are still in boxes.
I keep the television on as night falls. I try and laugh at myself for laying down with a knife next to my hand. Maybe it was just the realtor's idea of a sick joke. Or a local kid having some fun.
The sitcom I am watching comes back from a commercial break. It's mindless, but I'm tired and don't care. I think about the box.
The knocking starts immediately after. Three loud raps. I feel my entire body tense. On the television, the laugh track sounds.
| 2014-11-05T08:13:25 | 2014-11-05T07:37:43 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | Ever remember that scene from "The Sixth Sense", where the little kid says "I see dead people?". That was pretty much exactly how I first tried to tell people about my power. I was only six, and my parents laughed it off. My father is going to die in a car accident. My mother, a heart attack.
You see, I can see how people die. Their cause of death is shown in a little text box over their head. It normally shows something like my parents, an accident, or just old age. I tried to help people as I got older, trying to give people as much time as possible. I told cancers to get a check-up arranged. Car accidents to drive safely. Every goddamn one of them laughed it off. Said I was crazy. Well, Charlene died from a car accident a few weeks later. John has terminal cancer. Every single one of them died. I stopped trying soon after Sarah died from a drug overdose.
At first, there was no time. I couldn't tell when these deaths were going to happen, just how they were. Then, I noticed people's words becoming more opague. The closer they were, the more solid the words became. As I grew older, I noticed that they were cracking, shot through with veins of color. I started guessing how long they had, choosing the urgent cases, the brick-like car accidents and the tombstone murders. I couldn't interfere, just tell them to be careful. I examined them, carefully noting the color change. I soon had a system.
Blues, the long term people. Two decades or more, I'd guess. Greens, a decade. Yellows had a year, two tops. Reds, the next few months. Purples, a week. Blacks, a day or two.
I was sitting on a bus when I saw him. A boy, the same age as me, leaning his head against the window, looking out at the world passing by. Among all the other passengers, he was the only purple one, the rest a mess of greens and blues. There was a few yellows too.
Everyone else had the usual. Car accidents, cancer, one tiger, that was going to be rough. Nothing too bad. He had the word "suicide", surrounded by deep purple.
He lifted his head off the window, and glanced down at his hands. He seemed to have made a decision.
I watched as the colors shifted from purple to black.
I had promised myself not to interfere again.
I smashed that promise into smithereens as I got up and sat beside him.
"Hey, can I talk to you? My name's Nick... are you okay?"
He glanced up at me, and then back at his hands. I saw a hint of a smile...
Just on the edge of my vision, because I was too busy staring at the text box. It now read "old age", in the palest, most beautiful and perfect tracery of blue you can imagine.
**Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments. I had no idea how much of a reaction this reply would get. Thank you, thank you, thank you! <3** | A young lady at a loud coffee shop just can't seem get comfortable in her cushy leather seat. Every position doesn't quite work right.
~ Am I gassy? It must be the coffee. I think I've had a bit too much coffee.
She looks down at the nearly full cup of coffee.
~ Or not.
The bell at the door draws her attention. A balding middle age man walks in with AUTO-EROTIC ASPHYXIATION wrapped around his protuberous gut.
~ Nope. Not him. Thank god. Don't look though. That's rude.
Here eyes drop to her coffee. She dips a sugar cube in. The coffee runs up the sides and it dissolves in her hand.
~ Maybe I'm just a little anxious from the caffeine. That must be it.
The bell rings again. She jumps a little and wipes the sugar residue off on her skirt. She looks up to see a relatively good looking man beaming while he walks toward her.
~ That's him. Dont' look. That's rude. It looks big though. NO. Do not...
"Hi, I'm Sam" the man extends his hand across the table.
She jumps out of her seat, "Alice."
His eyes flick down for a second and his face freezes but he recovers quick enough.
~ Did he see it? Is he scared?
She looks down. Theres a large dark splotch where she wiped her hand. She smiles it off.
"O that, I spilled a bit."
"Of course."
"Do you want to grab a coffee?"
"No, they tend make me a little anxious."
She gives a quick nervous laugh, "I know what you mean. I barely touched mine and I feel a bit giddy."
He sits down and looks out the window, "I know I shouldn't ask... but I couldn't help but noticing..."
She looks down at her text. It says MURDER. "No it's alright, it's kind of hard to ignore."
He looks back to her, "Yeah, but I wouldn't let that kind of thing bother you. It could happen when you're 98."
"Still not the nicest prospect."
"It could be...euthanasia? Does that count?"
"You know, for a first date, you aren't really racking up points talking about my untimely demise."
"Who said it was untimely?"
She gives him a look and he knows he's taken it a bit too far.
"Well how about that guy."
He points at a nervous man about to jaywalk. Wrapped around his waist is written HIT AND RUN.
"Why don't we talk about his untimely demise."
She can't help but chuckle as the jaywalker repeatedly takes a step and retreats to the curb.
"You think he'd move somewhere without cars."
She joins in, "I can't really picture him with an Amish beard though."
"Don't joke about the Amish. I heard they're prone to down a few too many before getting behind the ....steer-ups? of their buggies."
"That's true but the horses usually DD."
She smiles and looks down at her coffee. She swirls it a bit. "I was thinking about trying to learn another language. I heard it would change to that alphabet."
"But what would be the point of that. You'd only be lying to yourself. And your friends would just look it up anyway."
She's a bit taken aback. "Oh, I never try to look at people I interact with."
"You don't?"
"No, that's rude. It's private."
"Not really private. It's in caps."
"But it's...intimate."
He looks down at her coffee with his brow furled. "Wait, so you haven't read mine yet?"
"Well...no. I don't like to judge people that way."
"But it's the most honest thing you can tell about someone."
"But what if it ruins my opinion..."
"Do it. I wouldn't feel comfortable otherwise."
"I'd rather not..."
The two sit in silence.
"Well if you don't want to I won't force it. Do you want to get out of here? My legs need a walk."
"Yeah, same." She smiles.
"Who'd think these chairs would be so uncomfortable."
"I know, they looked cushy!"
He stands up and stretches his legs. She gathers her things and for a brief second her eyes dart to his waist.
MURDER/SUICIDE. | 2015-03-31T11:10:46 | 2015-03-31T10:33:36 | 241 | 27 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | What was so unsettling was the *detail*.
He scribbled down the woman's death in his battered little book.
"Blunt forced trauma: Swelling of the cranial tissues: Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death."
Medication did nothing. His doctors informed him it was quite an unusual delusion. He'd asked how they were always right. They'd informed him that his delusion just adapted to what happened after the fact. His memories were somehow part of it all. Brains could be fucked up.
Still, it always ended the same way. Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death.
They were delicate little things. We are delicate little things.
He would have told people, so they could corroborate him. But that wasn't often the best way to keep friends, and he wasn't very good at the whole friends thing even if he wasn't asking them to remember lists of how people were going to die.
The natural conclusion was to write it down.
He gazed around the train's carriage and picked out another. There wasn't much point of course, he didn't know these people. He couldn't use them to prove himself when they died. He wouldn't know if they did. Still... It had grown into a habit. It helped him forget, once it was recorded.
"Severed femoral artery: Loss of blood: Cardiac arrest. Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Annother violent one. Usually there were a few cancers, spontaneous Cardiac arrests or strokes. He'd found an overall 12.3% chance of "accidental" death. He turned in his seat to glance back down the rows of people.
"Crushed Chest: Asphyxiation: Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Another. More Blunt force. Annother severed artery. Burns...
Everyone in this carriage. Every single...
*Oh.*
The train lurched. Jolted. His head cracked into the side. Trains shouldn't move sideways. The was a squeal of metal on metal drowned out the screams.
For a moment up and down were interchangeable. Cans, cups of coffee, bags of luggage and twisted figures were flung into the air and slammed into the wall in an explosion of movement.
He saw as the window burst inwards and a shapeless mass of steel slammed into him.
Huh. So it was one of those.
Didn't really hurt. But then, he'd never expected it to. Never sounded like it hurt.
He could feel the blood pumping out, warm down his side as the dust settled in a sudden eerie silence. His breath caught, fast and shallow. Which first, the blood or the air? Same thing in the end.
Lack of oxygen to the brain.
He could feel himself slipping away.
Death.
| Nobody sees the world in the same way. Some people see it as an adventure, others as a game. Me? I've never had the liberty of enjoying it.
Imagine knowing how something would play out before it happened. Imagine the surprise of life being taken out. Imagine the joy of living being sucked away because all you can ever think about is death.
That's what my life is like. I see dead men walking. Not literally. I don't mean I see zombies. I mean I can see how everybody will die before they even know.
Imagine seeing your newborn child. Imagine holding him in your arms. Imagine trying to smile at your wife when you see the words "measles" appear above his head. You know there's a vaccine. You know you can stop it. But your wife doesn't believe in vaccines. You have to struggle with your inner demons as you watch your child grow up in front of your eyes, only to be stricken down when you least expect it. You have to comfort your wife and tell her that "he's going to be okay" when you know the truth.
That's when you realize that the "suicide" that appears above your wife's head is indeed going to come true, and you can't stop it. No matter how much your comfort her, no matter how many times you tell her it's going to be okay, one night you still wake up and she's gone. The search parties never find her, but you know the truth.
When you finally get back to work, you learn that your boss died of a heart attack. You pretend to be shocked. "He was so young" you say. "How could this happen?" You know it's fate. You know you can't stop it.
The years drag by. Some people leave, others pass away. Cancer, heart attacks, murder, suicide, car accidents. The list goes on and on, each in the exact same way you knew it would.
You start taking mental notes of the most common causes. Suicide seems to be rampant, but murder is a close second. As people leave the office one way or the other, they're always replaced by the same one. Murder.
As the last "cancer" one dies, they are replaced with one that you are not very familiar with. "Electric Chair".
You find it strange. After all, the only crime punishable by death is... murder.
Perhaps fate can be changed. You realize this could be your chance for redemption. One day, he leaves work early, and you follow him into the alley. He looks back, and sees you following him. He tries to say hello. With no words, you pull the gun from your coat and shoot him in the chest. He falls to the ground, limp. Is he dead? You don't know. You've never killed a man before.
You look behind you. Is someone there? Did someone see? Nobody is around. Nobody saw... except the camera.
You forgot the office had CCTV cameras inside AND outside. You panic. You have to stop this. You're a hero, not a killer. You saved all your co-workers. You've stopped a murderer. You can't let anyone see the footage.
You get in your car and drive to the back of the building. You take the lighter from your pocket and spark it. You throw it into the paper bin outside and watch it burn. Before you can get back into your car, the burning paper has ignited the tires. You watch, helplessly, as your car erupts into flames. You run away as fast as you can, until the explosion rocks you off your feet. The burning car had ignited the gas lines. The whole building is gone. Nobody could have survived. My co-workers were all accidentally murdered.
Before the sirens closed in, I took one last look back to make sure I at least took care of my quarry.
There was a trail of blood leading to an empty parking space. The murderer had still gotten away.
"I'll consider this your official confession." The police officer said to me as the dim lights continued to flicker.
"Yes. That's what I would call it." I replied calmly.
"You realize what the sentence is for murder around here, correct?"
"Yes." I replied once again. "Electric chair. I've been able to read my own cause of death for years." | 2015-03-31T11:46:09 | 2015-03-31T09:32:55 | 71 | 12 |
[WP] You are a basic video game enemy, guarding your boss' lair with your colleagues. Suddenly, the famous supersoldier hero, who gives your evil plans a hard time, shows up in your area. You quickly shoot him in the head. He falls. | "Shit." I said, looking at the bloody ruin where his head had been. "Shit".
The boss was not gonna like this. I had heard him rehearsing his evil monologue all morning. He had just gotten the cackle down as well. And the twist when it turned out he had been the hero's uncle? Classic. But it was going to go to waste.
"Shit" I said again, for good measure. Was I going to be fired? He certainly was not going to give me a reference. This was meant to be my first real job. I was hoping to work my way up to henchmen two, who was inevitably betrayed in the third act. Now it was looking more likely I'd become "henchman killed early on to demonstrate how evil the villian is"
"Shit" I said, hoping this would return the hero to life. It did not. His eyes stared vacantly at me, one of them where it should have been, and one of them by my foot. The one by my foot looked particularly accusatory. The boss really had been looking forward to giving that speech. It was a damn shame. For all his faults, he hadn't been a terrible boss. Clearly enjoyed what he did. It wasn't his fault his nemesis was so awful at being a soldier a grunt could take him out.
"Shit" I declared. Thinking about it, the hero's uniform was surprisingly unscathed. He had not been wearing his helmet, so that the enemy could see his chiselled jaw and flowing hair, so that was undamaged. Picking it up, it looked pretty similar to my own size actually. And, being a hero probably paid better anyway. Not like I could be any worse at shooting than him. I undressed him quickly, his uniform miraculously fitting me. At least the boss would get his speech.
With that, I strode into the lair, trying to get as much as a self confident swagger as I could. While I might never make it to the coveted position of henchman two, at least I made it past "Secret door guard one." | This probably sucks. Enjoy.
Two men are sitting at a bar in a elaborately ornate mansion. Clearly the owner is a fan of the 50s and 60's. As if the diner inspired seats and bar stools weren't a dead giveaway, the jukebox and restored neon beer signs are practically roaring for a time long lost. A chandelier made of old beer bottles hangs behind the bar. It gently rocks back in forth almost in unison with the Elvis song Return to sender playing quietly in the background.
A man with a smart black suit and a scar on his left check stares into nothing in particular, then his eyes drift into his 12 year old single malt scotch. "I mean look, you been here for god knows how long. I know I have, too but but I'm seriously starting to rethink my here."
The next man has a, now warm, beer in his hand. He has a gray suit and a pair of shades that have seen better days, and worse ones too. The condensation from the bottle drips onto his chin as he takes a swig. He wipes it off with his collar " No no look I get it, you feel like another cog in the bosses' machine. You're here to shoot a mother fucker or get shot by one. But we've made it here right?"
The scarred man takes a sip and says, "Yeah, but where the fuck are were exactly? Waiting for the next "mean" mother fucker to come in here and fucking die. Him or us, doesnt really matter which one."
"It fucking matters to me."
"Granted. But how much do you really think the fucking boss cares."
Shades swirls his beer and kicks back whatever's left of it. "Ahh shit, tastes like piss when you drink it too slow, ua know?...Look you're having a moment of crisis, which is fair. But what the fuck else you gonna do? I mean fuck the boss wants this most recent pain in the ass so dead he threw out a million dollar prize to the lucky shooter. Where else are you going to get that kinda dough?"
Gunfire is heard in the next room.
"Shit." Shades muttered.
The men jump behind the bar and ready their guns.
The door flies open revealing a grizzled man with blood spatter on half of his face. Droplets of red dew line his beard. His white t-shirt drenched in blood, impossible to tell how much, if any, belongs to him. As he aims for the men behind the bar a bullets lands just under his nose. As he falls to the floor his finger twitches shooting one bullet into the ceiling near the men under the bar. A bit of dust falls onto them.
Shades is a bit dazed. "Holy shit. Ya got him. This mother fucker has been clearing out the bosses' hideouts like nothin' and you fucking got him."
The scarred man takes another sip from his whisky. He turns to Shades, "Nah, fuck that, you got him."
"I didn't even get off a shot."
"Sure you did." The scarred man drops his hand gun on the bar next to his whisky and jumps over. He fixes his tie up and begins to walk out of the room.
"You're fucking nuts! You're walking away from a million bucks!" Shades screamed at him.
The scarred man looks over his shoulder back to Shades, "If that's what it costs..."
The chandelier falls right next to Shades, barely missing him.
The scarred man turns around with an almost imperceptible grin and keeps walking. | 2015-06-08T08:06:52 | 2015-06-08T05:04:01 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone wakes up with a number and a RPG-esque classification (e.g., Thief, Warrior, Cleric, etc.) tattooed on their dominant arm | *This is my first time responding to a prompt because this one just looks so fucking cool. So, without further ado, here goes:*
Day 1: The tattoos appeared. It was a normal day for everyone, except we woke up with a tattoo on our dominant arm. It was just our names; nothing more, nothing less. Of course, the internet went crazy. The tattoos shared the same font and were in roughly the same place (albeit different arms). However, there was also some spidery text underneath our names, but nobody could figure out what it meant. Some people suggested it was a government plot, others said it was the rapture. Truth be told, nobody knew what it was.
Day 2: A ship sinks off the Russian coast. The last fragments of the mayday message mention humanoid figures heading towards the ship, Russia accuses the American Navy SEALs. After all, who else could take down an aircraft carrier? There are also reports of green-skinned apes roaming safari reserves in central Africa, along with mention of giant birds flying around the mountain ranges of the world. No change in our tattoos.
Day 3: More ships sink all over the world no matter where they are or who owns them. Russia retracts their accusation after it is revealed they all met the same fate as the first ship. Many countries begin mobilising their militaries in response to this unknown threat. A video is uploaded to YouTube and gathers breaks a billion views in a few hours. It shows shaky footage of dozens of green apes wrestling with wildlife in Africa, even showing them taking down a herd of elephants. It is taken down only twelve hours after it was uploaded. The second line of our tattoos is revealed to show a number. Everyone shares the number 1. Nobody knows why.
Day 4: A helicopter is sent to the summit of Mt. Everest to investigate these “giant birds”. After mere hours of watching the white expanse, a scaly white beast flies at the helicopter and brings it down. The media reports it as volcanic activity that launched a plume of snow. The internet reports it as a dragon.
Day 5: A new video is released on YouTube. The green apes have captured a reporter and the video contains graphic imagery of a brutal murder. At the end, a deep and guttural voice proclaims “We are the Orcs!”, a chant that is taken up by the crowd of green creatures. At the same time, mutant fish-man hybrids approach the shores and claim the ocean for the races of Mer. The third and penultimate line of our tattoos is revealed. According to the D&D buffs of the world, it is our alignments.
Day 6: The President of the United States of America gives a speech about patriotism and sticking together. People riot. Giant winged lizards approach each major city, claiming them as their own and forcing the residents to pay tithes for their protection. All work ceases, except for the most vital of jobs. Planes are grounded by decree of the dragons, and any who take off are immediately immolated in a plume of flame. Some people wait for their tattoos to be revealed, others take their lives into their own hands.
Day 7: The wildlife of the world drastically changes. Trees come to life, animals mutate in strange ways and some gain speech. Giant stones come to life, and even the air around us seems to live. People run into the streets and wait for their gods to take them, others sit and wait in their own homes. Dogs turn into bloodthirsty wolves and wolves become even larger. Some animals become larger than humans and even rats can bring people to the brink of death. A video is uploaded to the internet by a person from America. It shows several people fighting these new creatures. After a short while, the tallest man’s tattoo changes. His number is now two. Mere minutes after the video is uploaded, the pieces fit together for the world. The world leaders step down as the dragons assume control, and the races of man all unite, using the internet to co-ordinate their plans. A small group made a website, they called it “The Ragged Flagon”, a reference to a popular RPG. Many similar websites are formed, and soon they all form different communities based around the last line of the tattoos.
Of course, if you’re reading this, you’d know that the last line of the tattoo refers to your class. There is everything from barbarian to paladin to wizard and druid. However, there are also the “NPC jobs”, like innkeeper, mechanic, chef and heck, we even have lawyers! As for me? I’m the only Loremaster in the world.
*What did you guys think? I might make a part two of this, or even turn it into a story if I'm not too busy. I cracked this one out in about half an hour, so I could probably do a lot better. Also, how do people make the line thingy to separate stuff on reddit?* | "Hey, Aika! What did you get?"
It was like one of those lunch breaks. One of those fun days where the two of us would sit down and do quizzes until we categorised ourselves sufficiently. We'd always loved roleplay and fantasy, so when we woke up we immediately freaked out. Chester ran up to me, smiling and pointing at his italicized writing. It was on his left wrist, showing off to the world how wonderful he was, "Cleric." He'd already checked with his friends - as I had with mine. Assassins, Bards, Thieves and Rangers. The kind of class I'd always loved. Only one or two had "Paladin" written across them, only a few with "Warrior". I shuddered at the thought of battling up close, and envied the writing on Chester's wrist.
"Wait, let me guess! Ranger, right? Wizard, maybe? So far only a few people have that!"
I smiled at him, glad that at least he would guess that. The things I valued most, intelligence, precision and flying under the radar. He, at least, knew me. "Wait, you're ambidextrous, aren't you? Which arm is it on?"
Sighing, I lifted both of my sleeves, and just below my shoulder on each side it was written.
"Berserker," He read out loud, and looked back up at me, blinking. For the next few minutes the sound of his laughter echoed though the hallways, drawing attention from all the other students piling up to converse. I groaned, and dragged him by the sleeve into my room, slamming the door in the face of onlookers. "Look-," I began, cutting myself off. "Stop laughing, would you?"
He wiped his tears away. "Going to go into battle with a claymore, are you?"
I rolled my eyes, and sat on my bed.
"Has anyone else got it?"
"Nope! You're the first one!"
"There's got to be-"
"Not one."
Out of all the classes I could get, I got the one *least* suited to my personality. That's saying something, considering how many there are. "Well, that's just wonderful, isn't it?" I mumbled, burying my face in my hands, "I can barely win an arm-wrestle with a five-year-old and I'm a *Berserker.*"
It wasn't long before the entire boarding school got called forth. We stumbled forward in the crowd of teenagers, government officials waiting at a large auditorium before us.
"I'm sure you have all noticed," One of the men wearing a military uniform began to speak into a microphone, "That each one of you will have had a classification branded on one of your arms. This word will suit you well, no doubt, and will be useful in the war to come."
I snickered at his words, 'will suit you well.' The crowd began to whisper to one another, "War? What war?" They all began to mumble, followed by the man's prompt controlling voice. "All will be explained to you by your Classification Captains. Please listen." The crowd began to hush itself, and I saw nine military leaders enter the stage. All decked out in gear as if they were preparing for a battle *now.* So, after all these years of learning, we were simply in a farm for soldiers? My heart was beating fast, fear spreading in my body. Surely they wouldn't send so many teenagers to the front lines. And a war with whom? Surely this was simply a bad joke, or training for any future wars. And how did they give us the marks? I had so many questions unanswered, and I had a feeling they would remain unanswered for a while.
"I will call each of the ten classes out. When I call your class, please begin to move outside."
The crowd shuffled, whispering to each other and grabbing onto friends with the same class. Now I *really* wished I had "Cleric" branded onto my wrist.
"Rangers. Please step outside of the building and meet your leader." A surprising portion of the crowd melted away, as well as one of the women standing on the stage. She was wearing light green armour and it wasn't made of anything I could recognise. Somehow it didn't weigh her down. A compound bow was tied to her back. Surprisingly, it didn't shift at all as she walked outside. It took a few minutes for them to organise themselves, and I saw through the clear windows that the rangers began to walk away.
"Clerics, please begin to move outside."
Chester winked at me and began to move away, and I chuckled. Even though fear was gripping at me and I didn't want him to go, he still made me laugh. He was confident as he walked away with the crowd.
Next, the Bards, Thieves and Assassins all walked outside, followed by the Paladins and Warriors.
Soon there was only a handful of people left and three men standing on stage. "Berserkers and Wizards, please move outside now." He began, smiling.
I moved away, and one of my friends linked arms with me, obviously assuming I was a Wizard, "Aika, we're in the same boat, now!"
"I'm a Berserker, Sophie," I laughed at her reaction as we passed through the doors to the outside. A heavily armoured man and a slim one met us and a few others outside, and to their command followed them away.
"You few are the lucky ones to have tier-two classifications. Congratulations."
Sophie and I exchanged glances. We both thought we were unlucky.
"If you pass the training, you Tier-Two's will become a team. Believe me, this is something you want."
"And what about the others? Tier-Ones'?" I interjected, and he froze. "If you wish to speak to me, address me as 'Captain Hearth' please," He continued to walk, and continued to speak.
"The others will go through training, as will you."
"Captain Hearth, sir?"
"Yes?"
"When will we get to see them?"
"Never."
I frowned, and Sophie gasped.
“Welcome to your new family, Wizards and Berserkers. You have a long road ahead of you.”
(I got way too carried away with this prompt.) | 2015-07-14T01:01:26 | 2015-07-13T23:04:45 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | She’s so beautiful.
The second I see her my mind darts back to that little dinner party anecdote my uncle would always spout. “Well I had to travel to France,” he’d start “when your *words* are in French, you have to take the plunge. Six months I studied the language, six months I saved money for a ticket, only to find my belle chou was a stewardess on the flight!” I hate that story. He always smiled and winked at me after telling it, never knowing how much it hurt me. How was he to know, I’d never told him. I have no *words*.
Christ, now shes smiling at me.
My stomach lurches as I pretend to look past her, knowing I can’t put off going to her forever. Theres nothing like spending your life knowing youre destined to be alone. I’ve learned to avoid conversations when *words* come up; I feign insult and cite taboo if anyone asks directly about mine. I’ve had flings; girls have seen my unetched skin, but even when they mask their shock and dissapointment, their pity still shines through. I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve also learned they never call back afterwards.
Still, I don’t get paid for standing around moping my own misfortune. I take a deep breath and start to walk over to her table, trying and failing to look anywhere but her stunning face. I feel the colour rise in my cheeks at the same rate my stomach is sinking. Am I sweating? God I must look like an idiot to her. I clear my throat. “Good morning maam, how can I help? Coffee?” She pulls a cute appologetic face while raising her fist to her chest and moving it in a circle. I am confused. This is confusing, right? She points to her ear before theatrically shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. I don’t see which beverage she’s pointing to on the menu, instead I just grin as I realise what’s happening. She has no words either.
EDIT - Thanks guys, thats an amazing response and Im so glad you guys liked it. Cheers to u/Josh_is_a_lazy_lump for the admittedly purloined suggestion. For those wondering, I was aiming for deaf with muteness as a symptom but I wasnt well versed in the issues and particulars. In that vein, if anyone (rich) was touched by the story, please consider donating to www.deafchildworldwide.info who help spread awareness of deafness and support deaf children in third world countries. | *32* A seemingly insignificant number.
*32*, The temperature that signified the roads would be icy as she tripped back home for winter. The number of years she had gone through the insufferable monotony of people consumed by the goal of finding their soul mate. The number of people she had unfriended on social media just last month out of spite and loneliness. The number of karats in the diamond her former best friend received from the man she was sure would speak the *words* "we had a good run, see you soon"....
...it was also the number on the speedometer as she accelerated past the last light, on the corner of the only road that lead to her mother's home.
The trip back was haunting. Again, she was stuck alone in a car for the holidays. Again... she had failed another round of hook ups from tinder the previous week. Again....her eyes grew progressively more dull and listless, just as her hope for children did. The fact she was single bothered her more and more as she grew older, and she couldn't get over it. Again... she had realized she would never find her soulmate, seeing as her soulmate didn't exist. The words that everyone coveted so much were absent on her at birth. The affirmation of an eventual death alone was more than most could handle. Suicide was not an uncommon occurrence for the "textless", "wordless", the "bare armed"... whatever you chose as your epithet... those without their soulmates' words seemed to live the most lonely of lives.
She arrived home for the first time since her father passed. Her mother had done well. The house was as it was, as it had always been. A rickety porch, hand-built by her father, creaked as she ascended it. She took a moment and surveyed her yard. Her breath hung in the air as the somber light of a 4pm snow set cloud cover shaded her. The single oak of her childhood stood in the distance, standing leafless and naked. The grave marker of a beloved family dog rest near it.
However there was one detail that she could never shake. As the snow began to fall she focused on an empty space. Under the space lay a patch of dirt, oddly devoid of foliage. Above it, a branch with no defining features outside of a worn area of bark. These two the only vestiges of a rope swing her father would push her on as a child. The same rope swing she was yelled at on when she asked him what his *words* were... The same swing she was riding as he apologized to her as they both swore to never speak of his *words* again.
A single tear welled up in her eyes as she exhaled a last frost formed breath, and approached the red door of her childhood home.
Her mother stood in the door's stead... with a smile that was only too appropriate; a sun to contrast her worn somber cloud covered visage.
For a minute they hugged and entered the home.
They spoke of life... love... lottery aspirations and gift ideas. They spoke for hours. They laughed. She told her mother of the 32 karats and wondered why she had been born wordless and bare armed.She sipped her tea. She cried.
"Why me...?" she asked as sadness took the place of anger. "you got a beautiful poem...". She said as she referenced her mother's *words*: "I never knew I was the lucky one, I'll miss you."
Her mother smiled. A smile that was only too appropriate; a sun to contrast her daughter's worn somber cloud covered visage.
"Because you're the lucky one." her mother replied, in a way only a mother can.
Confused, red eyed, and flustered she stared at her mother. "well... what did father's arm say?"
Collecting the two empty tea mugs and with a smile that could shine light even in the darkest of snowstorms she replied. "My love, you know better than I, what your father's arm said." | 2015-08-08T11:29:36 | 2015-08-08T10:26:02 | 1,771 | 21 |
[WP] You live in a society where justice is truly blind. The judge and jurors are not allowed to know the name, gender, race, religion, or appearance of the defendant. | "You can't know!"
The challenge came from a younger woman. She was naive, but she wasn't afraid to call the man out.
"You're making an accusation on an educated guess, there's no witnesses, no video, no pictures. It could be anyone," She shouted.
"Yes, but it's not anyone, it's him. I know he did it, I have everything I need to know," he retorts.
She pleads with him, "You don't get a second chance, if you make this call, that's it! You can't take it back"
The man reaches for the envelope and repeats himself "I accuse Professor Plum, with the lead pipe, in the conservatory."
Edit: fixed dialogue confusion | Twelve angry people sit in a room.
"The knife isn't that rare." Says Juror 8.
"I don't think that witness could see the scene clearly." Says Juror 4.
"That public defender didn't really care." Says Juror 8.
"No, he didn't." Says Juror 4.
"Let's vote. Just to see where we stand." Says Juror 1. Everyone murmurs agreement.
The foreman counts the votes. "Eleven not guilty. One guilty."
"Now wait, just a second." Says Juror 3. "This punk kid killed his dad. He's clearly some poor punk with an attitude who deserves to be punished."
"You're making assumptions that are biased. We know someone killed their father with a knife. The neighbor without her glasses on claimed it was the defendant, but we have testimony the defendant left earlier muddying that claim. The old man couldn't have seen the defendant, at least not if the defendant was a young man, again contradicting his claim. His hearing was also poor, and what does 'I'm going to kill you' really mean? People say it all the time. What hard evidence do we have?" Says Juror 8.
"Fine, we can vote by secret ballot. If it's 11 not guilty, I'll go along." Says Juror 3.
The foreman counts them. "Eleven not guilty."
"But, he lives in a slum. He's a punk kid. No respect for his father." Says Juror 3.
"It happened in a slum. You assume he's poor because of that and his public defense. The defendant may have done it, but I'm not going to send him to his death over this."
"Fine. I hope you can live yourself when he kills again." Says Juror 3.
"Honestly, we wouldn't know if they did or didn't." Says Juror 8.
The jury submits their verdict, and the person goes free.
***
If you like this story, I also have a subreddit [r/nickkuvaas](http://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/)
| 2015-09-05T18:53:44 | 2015-09-05T17:13:21 | 740 | 73 |
[WP] Write a story based on your favourite song. Other people have to guess which song it is.
Can be inspired by lyrics, backstory, or anything else you love about the song | A 43 year old Jamaican-American man appeared in court today, in an attempt to overturn a divorce ruling, despite his partner submitting photographic evidence of his infidelity.
The pictures show the defendant, butt naked, banging on the bathroom floor. The ex wife also claims she saw the pair kissing on the sofa, before making love on the counter and subsequently, in the shower.
The man said he had forgotten giving an extra key to his apartment and denied that he had been caught red handed, creeping, with the girl next door. | The heavy chime of church bells always comes a little before 5 o'clock, muffled by the thick slabs of stone that imprison me here. The sound rattles in my skull though it is faint. Today is a different day. The cold air still smells of mold and memories of a past life. But now I am jostled to my feet by big gloved hands, chains dragging behind me like extensions of my arms.
The priest's voice is rough from years of spitting out the truth into people's ears. After he drags out the last verse, he tells me sinners are punished. But I am too busy watching birds from in between iron bars. Perhaps they are the souls of people like me, willing to fly out of sheer spite for the ground. I don't usually think of things like that, but like I said. Today is a different day.
"God be with you!" one prisoner jeers. There is no god. The guard's grip feels stronger than my shackles. Three years they feed me bread crusts and wilted cabbage. I have the strength of a weasel. Concrete beneath my feet gives way to alien soil. I turn my face away from the first sight of bare sun in years. I will not bask in god's small gifts.
Every step towards the courtyard grows heavier. I realize I am scared. I want to curl into my mother's arms. Any mother's arms. But the only embrace that greets me is the dry itch of a rope. Am I so weak that simply passing from one world to the next has me shaking to the core? It is not the end. It is never the end. God, please let this not be the end.
God, oh god. I am nothing. The wooden platform becomes an illusion. Everything is an illusion.
A bird perches on the gallows's pole, undeterred by tragedy and by the last shudder that aches out of a man who convinced himself he will never truly die.
Side note: i don't usually write so excuse the general shittiness
| 2015-09-13T07:25:48 | 2015-09-13T05:52:19 | 67 | 29 |
[WP] A new drug let's you live a lifetime in one dream
I have a recurring dream. It's interesting to me because i've been going through the motions of life within this dream; I live a second life every night so to speak. So I put this here to see where people's imaginations can take them.
EDIT: I can't edit the title now, but the title should say "lets" instead of "let's" :( | The first night on which Isaac awoke he was overcome with an insurmountable feeling of anxiety. He had been pressured into trying Nod by a friend, using the term loosely, and was already beginning to regret his decision. He had never abused drugs (save perhaps for nicotine), but peer pressure often breaks even the strongest of men. Isaac never stood a chance. In his old life he had been nearly thirty and still a bagboy for the local supermarket; now he was four years old and named Ibis, if the birthday cake’s icing was any indication. He tried desperately to think of what kind of name Ibis was… Egyptian? Maybe. As his newfound family circled around him and urged him to blow out the candles he realized that the hype was real. Nod had worked. ‘An entire life within moments! Leave your old failures behind!’ The campaigns for Nod had been fierce, the opposition fiercer, but Isaac had always doubted it really worked. How long could it possibly last?
At five years old, Isaac started school. He could read and write far better than any of the other students and was quickly labeled as gifted. By seven he had proved that he grasped the basic concepts of Algebra and Biology and quickly ascended to the ranks of wunderkind. Days became months and months became years and soon Ibis’ mind was filled with proofs and theorems. Gone were the memories of playing on the playground, gone were the memories of being ‘discovered’ in kindergarten, gone were the memories of his fourth birthday. Soon Ibis met the love of his life. She was young and he was young, as lovers so often are, but they knew that there would be no one else. Ibis worked hard to create a better world for his Jessica and, within six months of their marriage, their daughter.
The diagnosis came as a surprise for everyone. Ibis didn’t want to leave earth, not yet, not with so much left to be done. He needed time to think. He needed time. The treatment was relatively new, as he understood it. Typically prescribed to the critically ill. He agonized over his decision, sleepless nights and tear soaked tissues littering his home. Eventually Ibis and Jessica concluded that it was for the best. He would take Nod.
The first night on which Ibis awoke, he was overcome with an insurmountable feeling of anxiety.
| If it comes to me, I'll write a story response as well but this is a slam poem written with this kind of prompt in mind. Hope you enjoy; I want to get into /r/WritingPrompts more; criticism appreciated.
EDIT: Changed the ending's imagery just a slight bit.
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Gold has been revered as a precious commodity since before recorded history.
Mansa Musa distributed so much gold to the poor on his pilgrimage to Mecca
that the entire Mediterranean suffered from a massive
depression for the entirety of the following decade.
Three hundred-thousand gold-greedy men and women converged upon California from all over the world;
in the first five years of the Gold Rush, three hundred and seventy tons of
gold were excavated from the Sierra Nevadas.
Before they could all reach paradise, though, some died miserable deaths
drowning in shipwrecks,
boiling alive with typhoid fever,
vomiting their life out from cholera.
I compare myself to a Californian gold miner of the late forties.
I go to sleep every night an expectant miner.
The rush to stake a claim deep within the mysteries of my dreams
overpowers my better judgement, my life’s current complacency and safety,
all so boring.
I get one taste and I rush to dig deeper, stay longer;
fools’ gold still gives you that same rush when you first find it.
Every night, I select a song that ferries me towards my claim; it takes me downriver, but the river’s not as crystal-clear as it was
when I first began.
I go to sleep every night an expectant miner.
When I arrive at the mountains of my dreams, the horizon fills with the
deafening explosions of dynamite and monotonous clanking of
pickaxes that mark a thrilling uncertainty at the
prospect of discovery.
Is tonight the night that I find gold?
Will I find a small, gleaming nugget; will I rub it between
my silt-covered fingers; will white teeth gleam against a soot-blackened face as
I savor a moment of pure ecstasy?
Or will I find enough gold to ruin the economy of my own body’s Mediterranean, will it wash the beach of my consciousness a faint gold as it
flows in and out, leaving the imprint of dreams forever lost;
the waves stain deep, a tag reads “dry-clean only”.
I go to sleep every night an expectant miner.
Sometimes when I wake up, I can't dam back the tears; they wash over the tangible as I lament the most recent cave-in;
that dream’s lost forever, I’d best cut my losses and find another claim, but
how can I move on when sleep with her is more real than
any waking moment?
How can I leave any of it behind when in the rubble sleeps the
only incentive for me to finish the day?
She’s only available for those scarce six hours, if that;
sometimes my hands bleed as I scramble to uncover her at night,
free her from the prison my alarm clock traps her in every morning.
I go to sleep every night an expectant miner.
Tonight the river ride’s full of thick, dark-red silt. I squelch through slowly, worriedly, but when I arrive, the pile’s still there.
With a deep sigh of relief, I heave away the first rock and the rest crumbles away, I know the routine and yet
I wait with bated breath as the dust clears from before me.
As it settles, there she stands, perfectly flawed;
that small scar still rests upon her delicate face, those beautiful emerald-green eyes pull me closer.
Unharmed, she beckons me forward and I breathe her in as she washes over me; she’s just as I remember.
“You won’t have to leave me ever again”, she tells me.
I smile, because I believe her. | 2015-09-24T22:00:30 | 2015-09-24T21:44:04 | 74 | 15 |
[WP] The founding fathers come back from the dead to check up on America, and boy do they have some asses to kick. | Reporters pushed their way through the crowd, and cameras flashed like firecrackers. The five men had formed a defensive ring, alternating their confused looks between each other and the crowd before them.
"Jeanne Larsen, New York Times," one reporter shouted, thrusting her microphone into the tallest one's face. "Can you confirm your identities as the American Founding Fathers?"
Thomas Jefferson glanced at the microphone, then down at Jeanne. His frown deepened, and he pushed the microphone towards the man next to him.
"Uh," John Adams said, and flinched as his voice was amplified. "I suppose? I'm Adams, John Adams - this man is Jefferson, this is - "
"John," one of the men whispered loudly, elbowing Adams. "John. You have to see this."
" - Franklin," Adams finished with a sigh, turning away from the reporter. "What is it, Ben?"
As an answer, Franklin waved a small rectangle in front of Adams' face. "This!" he said with a wide grin. "It's called a *phone*. You can communicate with people in instants!"
"How do you know that?"
Franklin indicated a young boy in front of him. "This man lent me his!"
"I, uh, kinda need that back," said the boy.
"In a minute," Franklin said, flapping his hand. "Look! He showed me this one site - it's called *Red-Dit*." The boy winced at his pronunciation, but said nothing.
John frowned at the small writing on the screen. "What does that mean?"
"Perhaps it's French?"
"It's not French," Jefferson said, glancing over. "And it sounds ridiculous."
"Oh, of course you would know - "
The smaller man next to Jefferson coughed loudly, and the three of them looked over at him. (The final man appeared to be occupied.) "Could we focus, please?" James Madison asked. "We're obviously far from home, although I don't know where, and - "
"You're in New York City," one reporter interjected. "Oh, uh - Scott Shaw, Washington Post."
"What?" the final man muttered, speaking for the first time.
"Not you, George," Madison said, pulling out his handkerchief. "I think it's his newspaper." He coughed again, then leaned over. "What on earth are you doing?"
Washington looked up at the woman in front of him. "What is this again?"
The woman smiled, an almost wicked gleam in her eyes. "This year's first presidential debate," she said.
"It's atrocious," Washington said. "I was expecting the two-party system, since my colleagues are a pigheaded bunch - I could never make them work together - but this is another disaster all together."
"What are they saying?" Madison asked, poking the screen of the tablet. The video paused. "What even is this?"
The woman leaned forward and unpaused the video. "Here's the other headphone," she said, passing it to Madison. "Just put it in your ear."
After a moment of fumbling, Madison put it in correctly and listened for a minute. His frown grew more and more pronounced, until he finally yanked it out. "Good God," he said.
"Don't worry," the woman said. "It gets worse."
"Impossible," Washington muttered.
On the other side of the ring, Adams' arm was repeatedly nudged. "John, look," Franklin whispered, holding out the phone again.
Adams broke off what he was saying to Jeanne and Scott ("I'm really not sure what you're asking; who are the Red Sox?") and looked at the phone. "Is that a cat?"
"Yes," Franklin said, beaming. "Look at it! Isn't it adorable?"
"What is it doing?"
"Being a cat," Franklin said, replaying the video. "Just look at it!"
"Look, man," the boy in front of Franklin said, "I really need my phone back. It's getting late."
"Hang on," Franklin said. "I just want to watch this again, give me a moment."
A loud holler went up at the edge of the crowd, and all five men turned to see the cause of the commotion. People began to shout, turning their cameras to the intruder as he forced his way through the crowd. "My good men!" he shouted, waving a pamphlet of paper. "I bring wonderful news!"
"*Wonderful*," Jefferson echoed sarcastically. Madison made a sound that may have been a laugh.
"Alexander," Adams greeted, ignoring the glare he got from the younger man. "What's the news?"
Alexander Hamilton tossed the pamphlet at him. John caught it with a distinct lack of grace and unfolded it to see the words *Playbill* and *Hamilton*.
"They've written poetry about me!" Hamilton said. "Singing odes to my talents! Look!" He gestured to the silhouette on the cover, his grin as wide as the sky as he said his next words. "I'm *famous*!"
Adams stared at the playbill, then up at the clouds. "God help us all," he said. | It was the most hotly anticipated press conference in centuries. All these great men that people had only ever read about in history books were here, in the flesh, about to address the entire country on television. A solemn expression was on all of their faces, betraying a simmering anger. Finally Benjamin Franklin was the first to speak.
"I once told a young lady, once we were done putting together the Constitution, that the government we had crafted was 'a republic, if you can keep it', and today I find that you have done nothing of the sort," he stated. "You have thrown away all of the values we tried to encode in the Constitution and in the process proven all the reasons we held those values dear in the first place."
The others took turns explaining what he meant. "We fought a war to be rid of the rule of a king and now your Presidents fancy themselves elected kings." "We sought to limit the passions of the people from unduly affecting government, and now every Tom, Dick and Harry - even women and the descendants of slaves - votes for both houses of Congress and the Presidency, in blatant contradiction to our clear intent laid out in the Constitution, and expects them to follow the people's every whim, and now a number of you plan to vote for someone who has gotten where he is by appealing to the passions of that mob despite his clear lack of qualifications for the king-like place you have elevated the Presidency to." "You shame science and education, force your children to go to school for twelve years yet teach them only empty platitudes in place of a true civic education, and then expect them to cast informed votes for your government, and now your government has been bought and sold by the elite monied class that actually know how to work the levers of power, that have perverted the meaning of free speech to drown out all but their own voices, and that have ensured that no matter who you elect they will be the only winners, and you have let yourselves be so uneducated, even taking it as a point of pride, that you have a chance to elect that demogogue and won't do anything to curb your own destruction of God's creation." "We feared the influence of political parties and factionalism on government, and you have descended into the worst elements of factionalism, forming two great factions that do not even understand each other, and that have narrowed down your options for such an important, pivotal position as your President to two choices that few right-thinking Americans among you like but which you are resigned to choosing the lesser of the two evils in front of you."
After these and many more condemnations, they fell silent and many of them shook their heads. Many of the reporters and others in the audience struggled to process everything they had heard. Finally Franklin spoke again.
"We are not entirely surprised, and in fact we are somewhat understanding, of how you got here," he said. "We were not certain our nation would last even a hundred years, and indeed we did not dream that it would become far more powerful than any of the great powers of Europe. Your nation has achieved many, many great things over the 240 years since we placed its foundation. But you are now throwing away its greatness, and if you elect that man who claims he wants to "make America great again", you will ensure it will never be great again, and even if you elect that woman you will continue to be blind to the great issues facing you and that threaten to undermine your country's greatness. But we understand how you got here, and we even recognize our own role in it. We have studied the past centuries of your history and sought to figure out just where you went so wrong. It is our great regret that we could not be revived a decade earlier and so potentially saved you from coming this close to the abyss. But we will seek to do what we can to stop you from going over."
At this point, James Madison chimed in. "In particular, in retrospect it is clear that many of the assumptions we made when crafting your government were naive," he said. "Therefore we are calling for a new Constitutional convention to craft the government we should have made the first time, one that will seek to limit the negative impact of party and factionalism to a greater extent than the one we actually made, one that will place harder limits on the power of the Presidency, and one that will better insulate government from the passions of the people. We intend to return to Independence Hall this coming summer with your best and brightest minds to create the government you need and deserve. You have needed to give our Constitution an overhaul for some time, but you have not been able to step up to the challenge, so we will do so ourselves. Hopefully you will keep this new government better than you did the old one."
With that, the men got up and walked off the stage, with some of them trudging off with the help of canes, while everyone watching, both in the room and on television, struggled to process what they had just heard and just what the implications were, struggling to form coherent opinions about it. The men had just condemned everything about the nation, and it was hard to tell just what message they should take from it.
"Some very strong words from the founders of our country," said Chris Wallace, finally. "They claim that Americans have thrown away all their values and are about to throw away America's greatness, and they had particularly strong words for Hillary Clinton, before announcing a new constitutional convention. Sean, your thoughts."
"I was absolutely appalled at everything I just heard," said Sean Hannity. "How dare those men be so unpatriotic as to attack America, are they with us or are they with the terrorists? How dare those liberal elitists claim the American people shouldn't have a say in government, that's undemocratic! Do they want us to be North Korea? This is just another piece of the liberal conspiracy to shame Donald Trump supporters and scare everyone into voting for Hillary Clinton. And attacking those good, hardworking, job-creating Americans, I have to tell you, Chris, I got a distinct whiff of socialism from that, and they even went to bat for that liberal conspiracy of global warming too. And then the height of arrogance, and Chris, I couldn't believe when I heard it, that they want to throw away the Constitution, one of our country's core founding documents, and start over. For people with such un-American values to take it upon themselves to unilaterally radically change the foundation of our government, Chris, it's not only unbelievably arrogant and elitist, it's downright dangerous and un-American. The Founding Fathers would be utterly shocked and ashamed if they had to listen to what I just heard today." | 2016-10-17T11:50:20 | 2016-10-17T11:48:02 | 427 | 18 |
[WP] You were born with Heterochronoia - one eye can see 5 seconds into the future and the other sees 5 seconds into the past. | "So what's it called again?" She asked as I shrugged my shoulders. It feels like I've had to explain it a thousand times now during this blind date alone.
"It's called Heterochronia--my left eye sees five seconds in the past, and my right eye sees five seconds in the future."
She nodded skeptically. "Right. But if that's true how are you, you know?" She gestured with her hands going back and forth, "Like talking with me right now."
It was a vague question, but I took a stab at trying to answer her question. "What do you mean? Like how do I avoid getting temporally disoriented?" She nodded and shrugged. "Well one eye sees five seconds into the future, and the other sees five seconds in the past. So when I have both of them open one sees five seconds into the future of the past and the other sees five seconds in the past in the future. As long as I keep both my eyes open it kinda just evens out." Her face changes to a look of confusion.
"So really you just see in the present?" She said with a smile on her face.
"That's what the opthalchronologist told me." She laughed shaking her head. I must have sounded insane to her. Just to check I closed one eye, but then quickly switched to the other.
"So what's it called again?"
Geez, sometimes it gets hard to tell whether I'm seeing seconds in the future or reviewing something in the past.
| I never cared enough to know his name. But everyone knew who he was. He arrived a few years back in our town, with nothing but well worn clothes and a full gym bag. He was just unusual and harmless enough to be mocked by us children. We mocked his slow demeanor, his inability to dodge our balls, but most of all, we mocked his eye-patch.
I won't lie, I was just as bad as the others. Cruelty is such fun when shared with friends. And yet as the others scattered, bored of torment, I often lingered, fascinated. All the adults I knew cared about their jobs, their jobs, and "making it work". But the man with the eye-patch seemed detached from our reality. I imagined him seeing the world like an old computer, reacting to each button click five seconds too late.
As I was lost in these thoughts, I was startled by the sight of him staring at me. For a moment he kept his gaze fixed upon me, then seemed to jump in surprise, mirroring my reaction.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you"
His courtesy surprised me. We had been so cruel to him, at least it seemed so to me, so why would he speak with such kindness? In my confusion, I forgot all my manners and blurted out the question that was most on my mind.
"Why do you wear the eyepatch?"
His single blue eye looked me up and down, then looked far behind me.
"Tell me, do you think anyone can know the future?"
I hesitated. Was he testing me? Making sure that I was not so childish as to believe in magic? But surely you could tell some part of the future. You can always tell that the sun will rise and the tide will rise. Or can you?
While I hesitated, he continued, "that's right. Nobody knows for sure. We can remember what has happened, but what will come will always be a mystery. Or at least it should have been."
"You mean it's possible to see the future?"
He looked at me sternly, "the future doesn't exist, boy. If someone tried to see it, well... it's not something he could describe in words. Maybe if he was a poet, which I'm anything but." His eye shone with a tiny speck of humor.
I was confused and ready to write the man off as a lunatic. But I had a smaller mystery I had to unravel.
"Can you take off your eye patch? Just for a second"
All the light once again left the man's eye. "I will take this off only once for the rest of my life, and after that it stays on as long as I draw breath. When I take it off it will be either the greatest or most hideous moment of my life. Sorry kid, but chit chatting to you isn't either of those"
"But how can you be sure? How will you know the moment is right?"
"Oh, I'll see it coming" | 2016-12-19T12:14:40 | 2016-12-19T11:40:44 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title. | I stood in the line, awaiting the elder to call me in, I had turned 21 today, first thing I thought of was the title I would receive and what that title would be. Glenda, our elder, was the current elder in a long line proceeding her.
Normally, Glenda was usually very kind and warm to the other villages but when it came time for me to reach the front of the line I had noticed that she seemed...irritated.
"What troubles you, Elder?" I asked. The Elder had an interesting if not mundane title, she had, at one point in her life, managed to devour 53 chicken nuggets in a single sitting. Thinking on it, the title was quite impressive, normally consuming any number of nuggets in excess of 20 in a single sitting would be enough to kill an adult human being, Elder Glenda must be made if iron.
She looked me over, silently ushering me into her home. I obliged, following her to a seat by her fire before taking a seat she had offered. "You have reached your twenty first year on this mortal coil, John." I nodded along, beginning to grow inpatient. "You have performed many deeds in your short life, but which amongst them is your titular achievement?"
She pondered a few moments, leaving me to my own thoughts; as the seconds ticked on, a realisation dawned on me. "Oh...oh no." I spoke out loud as the Elder hushed me.
"From this day forth, you shall be known as John..." she sighed deeply before continuing. "...Devourer of fifty FOUR chicken nuggets in a single sitting."
An awkward silence filled the room, before the Elder spoke once more.
"Go fuck yourself, John." | I kissed my mother goodbye, as I headed off to begin the trek that would surely mark the end of my life. She was trying, and failing, not to cry. So was I. We lived a mile away from town because of her 'gifts', close enough to be within reach, far enough away to keep seperate from the'decent folk'. "She lived", I mentally corrected, there was no way I would be allowed to return. I pondered what would happen to her briefly, then I shook myself of it, sure she could heal, even bringing people back from their deathbed, but there would always be those, like on THAT night. I turned away, unable to bear the thought a moment longer I shouldered my bag with the day's provisions, and strode off trying to ignore Mother's strangled sob. As I walked I briefly considered her name, and the horror story that she told me was her titling day. Miranda, Summoner of the Spirits, she told me it was an accident, she had been apprenticed to the bookseller and she had peeked in a book she ought not have and next thing she knew she had passed out on the floor, it wasn't for another five years on her titling day that anyone had realized that she housed a spirit of healing. Despite it's purity and usefulness, she was cast out as a witch, even through she was engaged to and pregnant by the mayor's son. One day we had hoped to move to a castle city, where 'gifted' people were welcome, but that's the funny thing about poverty. No one cares what money you could make, only what you had. It was about noon when I stopped to eat my lunch and take a swig of water before moving on, I was nearing the edge of the village. I wondered briefly what they would have done if I had not presented myself, probably brought the old coot to my, although it wasn't really necessarily required that my prescence be there for her to announce my title, I really didn't want them to send soldiers out to my mother's hut and put her at risk. I was at the door now. I took my last breath of pure, clean, free fresh air, and stepped inside. Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets in One Sitting, was hunched over asleep. I prodded her cautiously. She sprang up, grabbed my face and looked into my eyes. I was reliving THAT night. A man. The smell of alcohol. The door swinging in the wind. Me, running in. Him, over my mother. Her blacked eye. I saw red. Then everything faded, I was looking at Glenda, the crazy old coot, as she wrote my title down in the pages of the registry. I saw her lips move and I ran out of the building, down the streets. I reached the hut by nightfall, I've never run so fast. I burst in, Mother was at the table. "Micah...", I gasped inbetween gulps of air, "Micah..... Bringer of Justice". For the second time that day we both shamelessly cried. | 2017-04-27T18:09:07 | 2017-04-27T17:59:03 | 2,949 | 188 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title. | Glenda was a grim looking lady. She was a slow starter and didn't have much purpose in her younger years, but her naming ceremony lit a fire under her. She simply went by Glenda the Destroyer now.
I had a few ideas what my name might be. Maybe I'll be Matthew the Unmuggable for that time I fought off two muggers in Central Park. I could be called Matt, the Master of Mountains for that summer I climbed all the 14,000+ peaks in the Rockies with my brothers.
My father, Sweet Pete, Destroyer of Ladies and Breaker of Hearts stood behind me, hand on my shoulder, waiting for my name to be declared. By his naming ceremony he had seduced over 50 women. My mother, Maria, Pete's Keeper, tamed my father and married him before she turned 21.
Glenda approached me. She wore the battle scars on her face like a badge of courage. She was an imposing woman, standing well over 6 feet tall and built like a warrior. She stopped before me, and my heart nearly stopped with it.
She reached her hand out to me and closed her eyes. The center jewel in her tiara began to glow a deep purple.
She put her thumb to my brow.
I could feel her mind searching mine. Her presence loomed large.
"You shall be Matthew, Father of the Chosen One."
My father was bewildered. My mother was furious. They accused me of hiding their grandchild from them. I swore I wasn't a father.
I could feel a vibration in my pocket. It was my girlfriend.
"I'm late. We need to talk. Call me." | I kissed my mother goodbye, as I headed off to begin the trek that would surely mark the end of my life. She was trying, and failing, not to cry. So was I. We lived a mile away from town because of her 'gifts', close enough to be within reach, far enough away to keep seperate from the'decent folk'. "She lived", I mentally corrected, there was no way I would be allowed to return. I pondered what would happen to her briefly, then I shook myself of it, sure she could heal, even bringing people back from their deathbed, but there would always be those, like on THAT night. I turned away, unable to bear the thought a moment longer I shouldered my bag with the day's provisions, and strode off trying to ignore Mother's strangled sob. As I walked I briefly considered her name, and the horror story that she told me was her titling day. Miranda, Summoner of the Spirits, she told me it was an accident, she had been apprenticed to the bookseller and she had peeked in a book she ought not have and next thing she knew she had passed out on the floor, it wasn't for another five years on her titling day that anyone had realized that she housed a spirit of healing. Despite it's purity and usefulness, she was cast out as a witch, even through she was engaged to and pregnant by the mayor's son. One day we had hoped to move to a castle city, where 'gifted' people were welcome, but that's the funny thing about poverty. No one cares what money you could make, only what you had. It was about noon when I stopped to eat my lunch and take a swig of water before moving on, I was nearing the edge of the village. I wondered briefly what they would have done if I had not presented myself, probably brought the old coot to my, although it wasn't really necessarily required that my prescence be there for her to announce my title, I really didn't want them to send soldiers out to my mother's hut and put her at risk. I was at the door now. I took my last breath of pure, clean, free fresh air, and stepped inside. Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets in One Sitting, was hunched over asleep. I prodded her cautiously. She sprang up, grabbed my face and looked into my eyes. I was reliving THAT night. A man. The smell of alcohol. The door swinging in the wind. Me, running in. Him, over my mother. Her blacked eye. I saw red. Then everything faded, I was looking at Glenda, the crazy old coot, as she wrote my title down in the pages of the registry. I saw her lips move and I ran out of the building, down the streets. I reached the hut by nightfall, I've never run so fast. I burst in, Mother was at the table. "Micah...", I gasped inbetween gulps of air, "Micah..... Bringer of Justice". For the second time that day we both shamelessly cried. | 2017-04-27T21:31:34 | 2017-04-27T17:59:03 | 349 | 188 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | She pulled the trigger, apologizing under her breath. The shot rang out, causing her to flinch, the body falling limply to the floor.
Blood on her beautiful dress.
She waited for him to come, preening herself, making sure she was perfect for him.
A glint of the scythe.
"**You need to stop doing this.**"
She pouted, crossing her arms.
"You never visit otherwise," she said, staring at him sullenly.
"I do it because I love you."
"**Love is a human construct,**" he said, swinging his scythe in an arc over the fallen body. There was a sound, like the fizzling out of a flame, then silence.
"**I feel nothing for you. For *anyone*.**"
He began to leave, and the girl felt the moment leaving her.
"Wait!" she cried, running towards him, hopping over the body. She grabbed his robe.
"I won't stop, you know. I'll kill every day, just for a glimpse of you. I *love* you."
He turned to face her, his skull betraying no emotion.
"**And yet,**" he replied, his hollow eyes gazing into her.
"**You love Life far more than Death; else I'd be here for *you*.**"
He turned and left; the silence proving it true.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
| I remember the first time I saw him. It was love at first sight. My uncle was dead on the floor, and he came. He pulled back his hood. I was terrified, but he had the face of an angel. His voice was calming and sweet. I vowed to see him again. There was the easy way, but it only guaranteed a brief visit with him. So, I plotted another way for us to date.
As I grew, people around me had accidents. He would show up. We would talk though not for long. He told me to move on, but I never listened. I only wanted him. I wanted his icy hands all over my body. I was persistent. I kept after him. Though over time, his discontent with me grew.
I could not stop. More died to feed my need for him. I wanted him in the deadliest of ways. On my 25th birthday, after my 33rd victim, he appeared. I threw myself on him, but he pushed me away.
"Abby, look, you're a cute girl, but I'm the Grim Reaper. I don't have genitals."
"That's okay. We can make due."
"Okay, fine, I was trying to be nice, but I'm going to come out and say it. I like men. Ted and me have a quite a life together."
"Ted?" I ask, tears welling in my eyes.
"Bundy. Yeah, great guy. Don't feel bad. You're not the first to do this to win me over. I mean, Gacy, what a nightmare. Thought dressing up like a clown for me was sexy or something. And then there was Ed Gein. Sweet guy, but a little off. But, Ted has been a dream."
"Aren't there other Reapers?" I ask, "Maybe you weren't the only one."
"Nope, I'm it. Look, I have to go, but I'll see you in a few years."
"A few years? Why?"
"Oh, do you want me to spoil it?"
"Yes," I demand, "I need to know."
"It's going to be a shocking conclusion to your life."
"I get the chair?" I ask.
"Yep, well, happy birthday!"
He kissed me on the forehead. I don't know if it was to add insult to injury or what, but, like that, he was gone. The police arrived soon thereafter. The trial and sentencing were quick. It took a few years, but I saw him again, hoping something had changed. But, Ted hugged him as soon as we arrived on the other side. Ted was a dream. That was much was true.
***
If you enjoyed this, I also wrote a prompt about a serial killer ending up on a jury. [Here it is.](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/3vqslq/wp_you_a_serial_killer_just_getting_started_have/) | 2017-06-07T17:26:56 | 2017-06-07T16:55:56 | 9,304 | 392 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | The first time I saw Her was an accident. Mr. Johnson just tripped, struck his head on the table, and didn't get back up. And there She was, pale and perfect in black... and then gone.
The second time wasn't an accident. I had to see Her again, I *needed* to. So I slipped a little something extra into my wife's morning coffee. And there She was, pale and perfect in black... this time, She caught my eye before She vanished.
The third time, I figured out how I could see Her longer. I wandered into a hospital and meddled. And there She was, pale and perfect in black... four times that morning I saw Her, each sight a little gift.
The fourth time, I was making a plan. I knocked off old Jack from down the street, it's so easy to mix up sugar and rat poison. And there She was, pale and perfect in black... I caught her eye, a silent question in my eyes, and she nodded.
The last time, I was ready. I dressed myself in my nicest black dress, lay on the bed, and swallowed the pills, ready to be with Her forever. And there She was, pale and perfect in black... and so was I. | The dead white walls seemed to hum with excitement along with her. Tonight is the night. She trekked from room to room, waiting on nightfall. It wasn't required, but it just seemed fitting. The cart she pushed from room to room squeaked quietly along in front her. She seemed not to notice the front right wheels resistance to her every move. She was effervescent.
The fluorescent tubes in the ceiling did a poor job of illuminating anything at all, and she was grateful for the darkness. Most of them were asleep already, and it wouldn't be a hard sell to anyone that they had stayed that way.
Finally she arrived. This is the one. She was smiling ear to ear as she pushed her cart into Mr. Johnson's room and shut the door behind her. The shades on the only window were drawn, and the room descended back into darkness with the small click of the lock. Small red numbers flashed on the screen of the machine attached to Mr. Johnson. She crept slowly to his bedside. His eyes were closed peacefully, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
She went back to the cart, and grabbed the prepped needle from the bag resting on top of it. This was the worst part. She held the needle in front of her as she stepped forward.
One prick is all it takes.
To her dismay, the man started.
"What are you doing to me?" he breathed in alarm.
"Shh, Mr. Jonson." She looked up at his eyes, now wide. "I was trying not to wake you, but you need your shot."
The man seemed to relax a bit, but he still looked confused. "Oh." he replied uncertainly. "What are you putting in me?" he asked, with a slight smile.
She hesitated, looking back down at the needle. "Potassium." she replied, almost nonchalantly.
"Couldn't have just given me a bana..." the man started to trail off.
There.
"This is more like a thousand bananas." she whispered as she watched the light in his old eyes shine for the last time. The last carbon Dioxide the Mr. Johnson would ever produce seeped from his lungs unwillingly, and it was done.
She turned away. All that was left was to wait.
___
The room danced in the light of several candles. Orange light fought the shadows back into their corners, and then was fought back in turn. She watched their struggle silently, sitting on the uncomfortable chair.
Suddenly the light lost ground. There was a chill in the air. She knew that he was near.
She stood just in time to see him.
___
/r/Periapoapsis | 2017-06-07T18:09:30 | 2017-06-07T17:27:32 | 75 | 48 |
[WP] An undercover police officer has managed to infiltrate a particularly ruthless street gang. It begins to become apparent that every other member of this gang is an undercover operative of another agency. | We all stared at each other in shock, we were all cops - county, city, state, feds. The original gang members had all left at some stage.
This had gone on for months, but no one had the balls to call a stop to it.
My chief trusted me to shut down this gang, so I knew I had to take those drastic steps. Some sacrifices had to be made.
I gathered all of my courage and stepped up to the plate. I knew the words that would end this gang today.
"So... it's cool with everyone if I do the reports for this?" | Frankie paced back and forth. He was worried. He was hands-shaking, muttering-to-himself, about-to-cry worried. I couldn't blame him; I was a little distraught myself. I mean, he was holding a sawed-off shotgun. If his trigger finger shook any more, I'd be sporting a new chest hole. As soothingly as I could, I tried to talk him down a bit. "Put down the shotgun before you blow a hole in something, you idiot!"
Frankie gulped and took his finger off the trigger. "Sorry man, sorry, I just... I mean... oh man!"
I sighed. "Sharp-witted as always, Frankie."
I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. It wouldn't help me any, but I went over the facts. Two years ago, I started putting out feelers. Learning the street. Making some friends. All the usual. Six months after that, I was accepted into the gang. Took a test, passed with flying colors, got a buddy, started scoping out the locals. I made them money, and up the chain I went, all the way to the top. Shaking down businesses, even stopping people on the street and taking their hard-earned cash. They were bold as brass, too; from their gang colors to their heavily modified cars, they weren't afraid to show they were members. The operation was huge, a multi-million dollar business, not that it showed much. Their roots went deep, but I finally got access to their whole pay list. And that's when it all went south. I called in a raid; two minutes later, and Frankie's holding a gun while I'm leaning against the wall of a cell.
The official hat was a bandanna! My "buddy" had facial tattoos! The accountant pulled a gun on the secretary! I knew this part of town was rough, but come on! It was an honest mistake; how was I supposed to know I was working for the police?
I glared at Frankie. Seriously, though - who tattoos their badge number on their forehead? | 2017-07-24T12:06:19 | 2017-07-24T11:09:01 | 62 | 22 |
[WP] At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads. | We were at Walmart...Dad told me I could pick anything up for my birthday present, thats about the first time I noticed it, there it was.... On the floor a distinct green line and on the opposite side a red line, this one was a little less brighter, it had a very bleak bright to it.
I followed the green line to see where it lead me to, I rapidly chased it from the Toy Section into the book section of the store. There it was waiting for me "Influence: The psychology of persuasion"... My first thought was, "oh well what the actual fuck, some lines appear, Im thinking magic and here i am, it led me to a... a book?" I figured out whatever so i picked the thing and took it to my dad.
"What you got there buddy?"
"Here i think this is what i want"
"oh well thats interesting, how do you know about this book?"
"I followed an imaginary green line"
Of course he never believed me that day on my twelveth birthday, but that green line was a game changer, I read the book and acquired an understanding on how "influencing people!" worked, the green line lead me not only in the physical plane but also on the Virtual.
It took me everywhere, youtube links, apps, websites, stores. It made me buy all sorts of books with valuable knowledge, seemingly making me take and incredibly constructive and positive route.
I woke up one day in the middle of the night, the dark red line was humming, it always had this atmosphere to it. I had never really followed it because the green line always kept me so busy, but today I was too curious, I had done everything the green line hinted me too, this had landed me a decent job, i got a nice car, a house even...but where could the red line take me to?
I followed it for the first time... the red line took me to a bench on a hill, and i sat there as it hummed as if it were pleased, the red color finally picked up a much brighter aspect, It had taken me to see the sunset, to be surrounded by nature, and this was the moment i realized the conflict between these lines became clear.
I remeber my green line hinted at a book "Steppenwolf" by Herman Hesse, and I think i understood that the green line was my human side, and this red line was my inner wolf. It was the part of me that desired to crumble to my more instinctual self....
The lines came closer together. They had never done that.
I kept following the red line for a while, it took me on amazing adventures across the world, it incited me to leave my job, sell my house and car and travel with nothing but what was on me. I swam on the red sea, I ate olives in athens, I walked in the harsh cold of Siberia.
The lines became very close to each other and started forming a third line. This one had a yellowish tint.
I wanted to follow this line, I wasnt to neglect all of the progress made by the green by inmersing myself in the indulgence of self absorbed adventure of the red.
I had found balance.
Notice: Im sorry for spelling mistakes. English isnt my first language.
| Followed the red line today. First time. Whole life, two lines, one straight and one crooked. One green, prosperity; one red, uncertainty.
From my house, past my Lexus, over the small bridge connecting our borough to the next, the scarlet line continued and I continued with it. Familiar turned to unknown, real unknown, the kind if unknown that I normally went out of my way to avoid.
Bricks in the road morphed into asphalt. The red line glided over parking stalls of abandoned bakeries, into run-down neighborhoods, far away from the lush lawns and shiny automobiles I was surrounded by every day. Life had gone easy. I'd put on some weight around the sides. Family's fine, grown up. Green line all the way. Cradle to grave. I had seen the way to easy streets from the day I was born, and I took it without fail.
My last chance. Something new. It excited me, butterflies inside I hadn't felt in years. Who cares if the red line goes on forever? I say, let it drop me off the side of the world, and I'll learn to fly on the way down. Excitement.
For hours, always trailing into empty fields, the red line kept pushing off in abrupt angles. My shoes were dirty all over. But I didn't stop. How could you stop at a time like this? By a playground, past little old ladies on benches whispering to pigeons about the fanciness of white bread, through a delapitated part of town where the young kids wore no shoes and kicked soccer balls off of graffitied, closed down shopfronts. The line was taking me far away from the usual. But to where? My fatigue let seep in some doubt, some fear. A group of swans sleeping under gigantic, weeping trees, cool in the early evening quietness.
Eventually, shadows were falling. Near the end, far from town, I approach and can hear rising the swooping neons and flashes of motion that accompany the carnival. Didn't know we had one. And so huge. Rollercoasters, ferris wheel. A kingdom rising out of the dark woods, a violet and pink glowing cathedral of clown's heads and whirling lights. I was tired but energized. We had made it to the end of the red line, I thought. And there was a sign with big black lettering nearby, 'For Sale'. Ah-ha. A conclusion.
Then, as I neared the gates of the carnival, with stars made out of elaborate patterns of bulbs, all colors of the rainbow, a true delight to tired eyes, the red line strayed, detoured off to the left. A few yards away from the purple walls, beyond which was a tantalizing playground, was a small black and white checkered stand. A hot dog stand. The red line pushed right to it, ended at the window of the stand. It stopped, finally, at it's destination.
As I got up to the stand, a man with a large moustache moved from behind a corner inside. He had thick glasses, small beady eyes magnified slightly, dark irises. His stand was incredibly dull, with only the words 'VENDOR' across the top. He didn't greet me, adjusted his Timex watch instead, and said in a thick Eastern European accent, "you come for hot dog".
You come for hot dog. I was famished. It was like hearing a prophet speak. The red line brought me to this man. To his stand. It was time.
With great seriousness, I told him "yes". The tall man with the moustache turned behind, worked for some minutes in silence. I tapped my foot. Adjusted what's left of my hair. This was the time. We shall finally see what the red line has in store. I was ready to die, or transform, or disappear. Green lines go to the opulence of non-work, of lucky breaks and trophy blondes and sports trophies. Where does the red lead?
He handed me the finished product, a normal hot dog. "No mustard left", he said. I thanked him, looked down at my fate. And the red line had disappeared, gone.
Took a bite slowly. Closed my eyes. Chewed with care. Anticipated. Waited. As I bit, the night gradually slipped away from the radiance of the park around me, light turning to dimness, swirling in my vision, and I lost all sense of control of limbs, body, self. Distortion gathered all around my being. And I slipped into complete blackness with a hollow thud.
And that was the first time I got severe food poisoning. | 2017-08-23T08:58:51 | 2017-08-23T08:40:04 | 100 | 12 |
[WP] Humanity's first contact with alien life was a defenseless child, found in the wreckage of a crashed spaceship, desperately begging their mother to wake up. | Tom took a sip from his coffee mug as he stared out the window of observation post 25-BD7. He was greeted by the same empty white view of snow that he saw day in and day out.
"Will have to actually go out and clear this window one of these days..."
He took another sip, continuing to enjoy his view.
"Not that it'd matter. Just barren wasteland."
He padded his way into the lab. According to the building plan, the lab was meant to be the central hub of the research station, used strictly for planetary observation and recording of "extraordinary events".
In practice, the lab was used as a Tom's rec room. The couch from bedroom was dragged against one wall and a holo-display was jerryrigged to project against the opposite wall with the same seven episode of "Captain Stargazer" on an almost constant loop. The actual research equipment was shoved against a far corner gathering a rather impressive collection of dust.
"Join the research corps they said." Tom complained aloud. "You'll explore the stars! Find new and interesting discoveries!"
He sat down heavily on the couch. "You definitely won't just send the same report over and over again while you freeze your butt off on a planet in the outer fringe of the galaxy!"
He crossed his arms, sighing. With a jab of his foot, he pressed the button on the remote to turn on episode five of season 3.
"Don't even have the full season." He grumbled, as he placed his mug on the table beside him.
"Last time, on Captain Stargazer!" He said, speaking in unison with the announcer, "We left our famous hero on the brink of disaster! Trapped in the clutches o-"
He stopped suddenly when be noticed a quick vibration in the floor. He slowly eased himself down to the floor, placing both hands on the simple carpet.
He felt another tremor with his hands and frowned. "If this means the generator is about to explode..."
A larger tremor caused his mug to make a short hop toward the edge of the table.
"If it meant something bad before, this means something worse."
He rose to his feet, he felt another tremor, even larger this time. This one caused his mug to complete its journey to the edge of the table and reach its destination of the floor.
"Well this day can't get wo-"
He was cut short when something tore through the East wall of the lab and took a good part of the ceiling with it. Stumbling backwards at the blast of cold, wind, and debris, Tom braced himself against the door frame.
"Jesus Christmas what in the Christ!"
He waited briefly to make sure another section of the room wouldn't be torn apart, then slowly approached his new window.
Leaning out the hole, he squinted at the ridge of displaced snow that lead to the object that had decided to renovate his research station.
"A... ship?" He glanced at the watch he wasn't wearing, then thought, "I'm not due for a resupply for three weeks..."
Scampering back into what was left of his station, he arubked his way to the airlock.
After donning various layers of heat protection, including heavy boots, thermal reduction gloves, Ai enhanced goggles, and a knit scarf sent from his mom, he began plodding his way through the snow to the ship.
As he approached, two things became apparent: one, that the ship wasn't going to be flying again, and two, that it he had never seen one like it. Smooth curves and intricate details that looked like lettering on a foreign language where in place of the usual blocky and plain designs he was used to seeing.
"Are they testing new military toys out here now? They could at least send an email or something first..."
He glanced back in the direction the ship must have come from and saw several pieces of the craft marking a rough trail.
"Well that explains the tremors."
He circled the ship until he got to what looked like an airlock. A flashing display was reading a warning of some kind, but in the same strange language.
"They could at least have printed them in English, jeeze. Not like it's an emergency or anything."
Shrugging, he tapped the left button on the display.
"Open is usually the left one, right?"
The airlock opened with a swoosh, revealing an interior that was designed similar to the exterior.
"They have a design and they stuck to it I guess."
Tom trudged through the halls of the ship, making his way toward what he assumed was the front.
"Not that anyone would've survived this, but should check anyway."
He reached an important looking door, and pressed several buttons nearby that he assumed would open it.
The doors opened with a similar swoosh to the airlock after the fourth button press, and the froze midway through pressing a fifth.
The bridge was designed similar to the ones he had seen before, but the major difference was the body that lay across the main controls.
It was humanoid, but vastly different to what is academically considered "human." Pale blue skin, limbs that were slightly too long, knees that bent like an animal.
Tom realized be was hammering at the control panel, trying to find the close door button.
"Gat'ow?"
Tom froze his button smashing at the sound. He Turned slowly to see a second creature, but this one seemed only to be tall enough to reach his knee.
It stared up at him with large, black eyes.
"Gat'ow?" It seemed to ask, tugging at the sleeve of the larger creature.
"Uh yah. Gatow to you. Yep." He was hammering at the buttons again.
The creature almost seemed on the verge of tears, tugging on the sleeve.
"Ah geeze I'm not trained for this uh."
Tom took a hesitant step into the room. "Look uh.. kid. I think. Unless you're a Yoda situation... I'm sure your mo- da- parental guardian is fine. They probably just hit the-"
He stopped when he noticed the larger creature had been impailed through the chest by a piece of debris. He glanced down at the creature without moving his head.
"Okay. First contact. With a orphan toddler."
He knelt down to look at the creature at eye level. "Want to go somewhere uh that's not here?" He said, extending a shaky hand.
The creature hesitantly wrapped a hand around two of his fingers and started to guide him toward the door.
"Oh well if you know where we're going then yeah sure..." | "Fransen, get the techs, they might want to see this." I say, running my hand across a panel of exposed wiring, "*Complex, intermeshed, pretty damn sophisticated.*" I mumble.
Fransen eventually returns with three women clad in white lab coats, who immediately push past me, scanning and prodding the wires. We're here to escort Technicians and Scientists throughout this 'thing', whatever it is, it's beyond my paygrade. Sparks fly from broken lights, blue canisters line the walls of the hull. Light from the outside pours into the darkness.
"Fransen, Houston and I are going to scout the south portion of the ship. Nikorak, Freese, Halpert go the northern point. Teco, Jass, stay with the techs and make sure they can collect their data. We don't know if there is any contacts so, stay vigilant."
A collective "Yes, Sir!" rings out in the hull, echoing throughout the hallways. We ready our rifles and set off into the hallways of the massive starship. Unsure of what the hell was awaiting us.
"It's too dark here," Houston says "I don't like it." The blue light cannister things ran out a few corridors back, leaving us in a complete shroud of darkness and apparently whoever made this thing doesn't believe in windows. The lights on our rifles and helmets allow us to see, barely.
"Yea, me too. Tacoma, is this really a good idea? Shouldn't we wait for the techs to get the power on?" Fransen asks, running his hands across the foreign metal lining the walls.
"No... We'll be fine," I plant my hand on the side of my helmet, "Nikorak? Report. Any contacts?"
A soft static is the response. I ready my rifle before Nikoraks voice cuts through it, "Sir? Sir? Sorry, lots of electronics in this heap of trash, causing a lot of interference. Ah... No contacts. None at all. We're gonna head up to the cockpit, see if there is anythin' up there."
"Understood."
The ship from the outside was almost indescribable. I've been doing this for years and I've never seen a ship so big. It crashed in a remote forest in Alberta, couple kilos long, about a mile high. Teco couldn't shut up about how much life this thing must have had on it. "Thousands and thousands of aliens." He said, and that's why I assinged him with the techs. Fransen kept skimming the walls looking at the designs carved into them. Houston kept talking with Jass, asking how the power situation was going.
Suddenly, a bing went off in our helmets.
"Holy shit! A contact." Fransen yells, shoving Houston with the butt of his rifle.
"Scans say it's in this hallway. Don't get to excited, could just be a mouse that wandered in."
Fransen readies his gun, pointing it at the ceiling and walls. Houston sighs and reluctantly raises his rifle.
"Let's just go find this thing." He responds
We quicken our pace from a ginger walk to a hesitant jog, following the pings of the radar display on my wrist. From what little I can see we are in some sort of living quarters, like the ones on a cruise. Few of the rooms have what look like beds and such.
"Nikorak? Nikorak!" I scream into the communicator in my helmet. His voice powers through the static.
"Yes sir? Repeat. Yes sir?"
"We got a contact."
"Oh, that's great. Gotta visual?"
"Negative. Any update on the cockpit?"
"That'd be a double negative, Commanda. Ahhh, It's locked with some foreign tech or somethin' like that. I don't know. Halpert and Freese are going to try and blow it op-" the sound of an explosion over the mic cuts him off, the sound of all to familiar static replaces his curt voice. I stop in my tracks, with Fransen and Houston following suit in confusion.
"What? What's going on?" Fransen lowers his gun.
"Nikorak? Lieutenant! Nikorak! Come in." I yell into the mic, slamming my hand against the side of my head, "Useless piece of shit." I look at my men, their eyes glossed in uncertainty. "Transmission died, too much interference. Ready your rifles, these things could be dangerous."
"These things?" Houston asks
"Just move."
We round a corner, the pings getting louder with each step. We read a sign filled with squiggles, more evidence that we truly are not alone here.
We reach the room, the door appears to be jammed shut in some fashion. I raise my hand, a signal for complete silence. I place my ear next the door, listening for something, anything.
A small electronic whimper. Something is behind that door. I raise my hand again and make a prying motion. Fransen and Houston, faces slack, devoid of all emotion, nod. They grip the door as tight as they can, and pull. After a few tugs the door gives way. Revealing a dark room behind it. I put a finger to my lips. They nod again.
Houston is the first to let out a gasp. His rifle training on an alien. I can't believe I'm saying this, but an actual alien. It's small, like a child and it's... crying? Fransen follows Houston's suit and trains his rifle and looks at me, slightly scared. I nod at him and take a step towards it.
"Hey. Kid? I'm Commander Theodore Tacoma of the United States Marine Corp, I-I come in peace. Are you alright?" I say, taking another step towards the being.
"Zi! Teekus neihe fallieus tokko daamo!" The being screams. My eyes open wide in shock. Houston glares and trains his rifle closer to the child, ready to fire.
"Wait!" I whisper tossing out a hand, "It's unarmed!"
"Have you even seen Alien? That thing could kill us in a millisecond!" He responds, in a hushed tone.
"It's defenseless, stand down."
It appears to be crying, weeping over what seems to be a body of something, someone it seems. Its father? Mother? I can't tell in the darkness.
"Listen kid, I'm going to need you to..." I pause, I know it can't understand me, "Just hol-"
The transmitter cracks to life, static is heard from the other side. Static and heavy breathing. I can hear a scream over the microphone, a male's voice. Without warning, Nikorak's voice comes to life.
"Commander! Sir? Don't touch the kids... (*Halpert! Just drop the thing. It's not worth it!*) Sir Run! Run now!"
"We gotta go. *Now.*" I say, looking at Houston.
"What? What about the kid? Just a second ago you didn't want me shooting it. Now you want to run?"
"Listen, this isn't the time Houston. We gotta..."
"Huuck..." Fransen eyes widen at the spike impaling him through the torso. His rifle rattles to the floor, he gazes at his hands, before reeling up and collapsing to the floor with a loud clang. A large hole sitting where his stomach should be.
"Jesus Christ!" Houston screams at the fully grown Alien. It's glowing blue eyes glaring at us, ten inch daggers unfurl at us, ready to kill us. One of its two spike arms is covered in Fransen's fresh blood. My eyes can barely handle all the information flooding into my brain.
The last thing I remember is Nikorak's screams, a hail of gunfire, the cries of a kid, and a bumbling beast running at it's child. | 2017-08-31T00:21:01 | 2017-08-30T19:56:17 | 32 | 17 |
[WP] You discovered the dark secret of the Superhero League: there are no super villains, just heroes that double as villains to fleece the public for fame and fortune. | ######[](#dropcap)
*Every supervillain wears a mask.*
This was the thought that Glen Howard could not shake off, no matter how hard he tried.
The idea had come to represent all of Glen's doubts - doubts which, ironically enough, first occured to Glen on the momentous day The Mustachio saved Glen's life.
Exacto, the "Slicer of Sacramento" had taken Glen and a dozen other people hostage, dangling them from thick ropes off the edge of the Chrysler building.
Glen remembered the way the wind caused him to sway against the building's side, and the way the people on the ground looked like ants staring back up at him.
The news helicopter took twenty minutes to get there after the hostage situation began and Glen remembered taking note of how Exacto - dressed in full body black and silver spandex, his face covered completely, his finger attachments sharp as knives - just waited for the media to arrive. Exacto dangled everyone off the building, threatened to cut each rope one by one, and then did nothing for twenty minutes.
But the moment that helicopter got there Exacto broke out the works. It was all captured on video, just like every rescue. There's Exacto, laughing maniacally, his fingers poised to cut the rope of one of the hostages when the camera swings up and up and stops on the very tip of the Chrysler building's antenna. There, looking all heroic, The Mustachio stands like Zorro, tall and graceful.
Some words are exhanged between the two, cursory stuff, cookie cutter, and then the action started, and this is where the seeds of Glen's disbelief were planted.
Exacto threatened to cut one of thirteen ropes, each rope readily available before him, all tied to the antenna pole. There should have been no way for Mustachio to know which rope Exacto would cut, as psychic abilities were not one of Mustachio's powers.
But as Glen watched from his strange vantage, he saw something impossible happen.
From a cursory watching of the news footage, it looked like Exacto cut a rope and Mustachio - whose power involved the throwing and regrowing of his magical mustache - threw a life saving mustache that grew into a long rope and caught the falling hostage before he hit the ground.
But from his strange vantage, hanging beside the man about to be saved, Glen saw the truth: Mustachio threw his mustache a full second *before* Exacto cut the rope.
Later, Glen would review the news footage and isolate the precise moment. There was Exacto looking at the ropes, there was Mustachio throwing his stache, and * only then*, only *after*, there was Exacto picking a rope and slicing it.
Glen watched the recording a half dozen times as the realization echoed in his head: *The Mustachio knew which rope Exacto would cut. He* had *to know.*
Thus began a journey down the rabbit hole which all led to one fateful moment.
Glen began to research superhero/supervillain sightings all over the city. He made a chart of which villains went up against which heros and began to see patterns. Certain heros never fought certain villains. Exacto, for instance, never fought Blue Laser. Mustachio never fought The Seamstress. The super strength hulking hero, Rad Roger, never fought the super strength hulking villain, Gargantuo.
Without fail, every superhero in the league had one villain against which they never fought. It screamed Clark Kent. A deeper analysis revealed that each pair of villain/hero who never appeared in the same place shared a similar build and, sometimes complimentary superpowers.
Take The Seamstress, for instance, who used filamentous threads to weave his enemies together, stop bullets and destroy property. Compare that to Mustachio, whose thrown mustaches were known to be able to bore into an evildoer's skull, or pry a car door off its hinges.
It was all too much to be pure coincidence. But the kicker for Glen wasn't the correlation of the chart, or the body types, or the similar powers - it was the fact that every supervillain in the city had a costume that entirely obscured their face. Glen was amazed he'd never noticed it before.
Armed with this information, Glen could draw only one conclusion - there were no supervillains. There were only superheroes pretending to be supervillains in order to give purpose to the League, and the hefty public funding doled out to it.
It was the story of the century and Glen was determined to get it out to the public. They had to know the truth about their false saviors. But who to tell? Who could possibly be trusted?
The answer to that question is what led Glen to a dark parking garage in the middle of the night, his data in a manila envelope held at his side, tapping his fingers nervously on the tan paper as he waited for the head of Internal Affairs to arrive.
A shadowy figure came up from behind Glen and scared the hell out of him.
"Mr. Harold."
Glen turned to face the shadow and looked around. "Don't say my name." Glen held out the manila envelope, "take it. It has everything you need."
A hand came out of the shadows and took the envelope. The rustle of paper told Glen the man was opening it, although Glen could not imagine how the man could read in such darkness.
After a moment the man spoke. "Is this the only copy of these documents?"
Something felt off. Glen's palms began to sweat. he swallowed a lump in his throat. "No, I have everything backed up at home."
The shadow did not move. "I see." Was all it said.
Glen felt panic in stomach. He wanted to run, but he needed to know something. "What will you do with it?"
From the shadows the figure stepped forward. It was a man wearing plain clothes and dark sunglasses. When he removed them, Glen recoiled at the sight of his neon blue eyes, like the points of two bright blue lasers.
"Goodbye Mr. Howard."
Glen spun around to begin running when a sharp pain emanated from inside his throat. It felt like a thousand hot needles incising his skin. In a panic Glen reached for his neck and what he felt their sent a shiver of pure fear through his heart.
Hair. Thick black hair.
As Glen Howard's lungs filled with blood and he collapsed gurgling to the cold concrete, the last thing he saw was the face of his murderer, a fresh mustache already blooming on his shadowed face.
The Mustachio and Blue Laser stared down in silence and watched Glen die. When Glen stopped convulsing Blue Laser opened his eyes wide and vaporized the body to ash.
Then Blue Laser and the Mustachio, or rather Exacto and the Seamstress, gave each other a curt nod and walked off in opposite directions, their footsteps echoing with menace in the dark gloom.
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM | *I had originally posted this in two separate comments but I decided I might as well just combine them since the first part didn't really do much.*
***
"God *damn* it!" Jamie said; her hand had knocked over her wine glass, spending a cascade of Merlot across the papers she had laid out on the table. "This is all the that brain-beaver's fault!"
"What'd you say?" Amanda called from the other room, as Jamie sprinted to get a roll of paper towels.
"I just spilled some wine, and it's...help me out with this, would you?"
She began picking papers, stained crimson, up off the table as Amanda entered, looking stylish and put-together as always. "So... Something's been bothering me all day, and it's like I've got one of those rodent bastards camped out in my head, gnawing away on my brain."
Amanda managed to sop up some of the wine with a paper towel just before it started streaming off the side onto the carpet beneath. "So you *did* say brain beaver."
"'Cause the thing is...there's something off about The Alliance. And I just can't..."
Amanda continued soaking up wine but looked up at her roommate, who was standing over the kitchen sink, staring at one of the dripping sheets of paper she had pulled off the table.
"What is it, Jaym?"
The dark liquid was falling onto the white porcelain below, drops of dark red sliding down the sides of the sink. "This...but that doesn't make any sense!"
Amanda carefully threw all the used paper towels in the trash, and stood by the entrance to the kitchen. "What doesn't?"
Jamie looked up at Amanda, her face taut with concern. "I'm gonna have to go down there..."
Amanda brushed back a lock of dark hair and frowned at her. "I thought we were going out?"
Jamie wrinkled her nose. "Do I look like I'm dressed to go out?"
Amanda hesitated, looking Jamie over, then said, "It's just...I mean, one of the things that's great about you is how willing you are to be unconventional, and flout stylistic rules...so I guess I just thought..."
"I know you're trying to compliment me right now, at least, I hope you are, but still...ouch."
"Jaym, you own two pairs of overalls and live nowhere near a farm. So --"
"Listen, I need to go. This...I think this is big."
Amanda had been heading back to her room but froze, then turned around. "Big, like...*big*, big?"
"Maybe, yeah."
"So now *I'm* not going out, either?"
"No, just...make sure you keep your phone on, I guess."
***
Field work was not Jamie's forte. At least, not when there were living people involved. She had taken an unlikely path to her current position, having made a name for herself in the field of *abormal forensics* - the field that had blossomed as a direct result of The Activation. She was a data geek, cut her teeth primarily on minor cases in the suburbs, and was well aware of the Peter Principle aspect of her recent promotion to investigator. One big case, and next thing you know...
She got off at Powell St. station and headed up to street-level, turning in a semi-circle before spotting her target: the imaginatively named Alliance Building.
It wasn't until she began approaching the front doors that the nerves really set in. Up until this point, her mind had been racing, trying to make sense of the idea that had hit her.
One of the big things about The Alliance was togetherness. *United in Justice* was their *motto*, for crying out loud. It's one thing if a few members were patrolling the other part of town when something went down, but then - you'd expect them to converge pretty quick. Especially the ones that could fly.
She had used her access to pull the patrol logs, and the summary ones looked fine, but the individual patrol logs...
Jamie stepped up to the front door, then hit the button next to the speaker to the side of it. Her hand reached into her bag for her cell phone. She checked the display, then, reassured, placed it carefully back in position.
A moment later, the door opened. The man standing there was bald, with a beard that started near the tops of his ears and ended in a goatee. He was also built like a wrecking ball. He looked like his muscles had muscles of their own.
"Mason! Oh, good. I...listen, do you have a moment?"
"Sure thing, detective." Mason's voice sounded like gravel in a blender. "Come on in."
Mason shut the door behind Jamie, and they walked down the white-tiled hallway together. "You can call me Jamie, by the way. I'm off-duty."
"Fair enough. What can I do for you?"
They came to an open area with beige leather couches and a coffee table, and Mason gestured towards one of them. Jamie took a spot on one of the couches and watched as the Alliance member sat down across from her.
"Mason...I feel like I maybe know you better than...see, it's like this." Jamie picked at a fraying end of thread on the hem of her t-shirt. "I'm concerned there may be...some members of your team...who are not what they seem."
The man's black eyebrows furrowed, and his jaw seemed to clench a bit. "What do you mean, detec -- Jamie?"
Jamie took a deep breath and glanced at the ficus plant in the corner, then looked back at Mason. "I...it seems there are...see, I spilled my wine earlier, and I got it over the patrol logs for you guys, and..."
Mason's expression darkened. "You were looking at our patrol logs?"
Jamie nodded slowly. "I had..." The young woman hesitated. A trickle of panic began sliding down her spine. If it were true...she hadn't checked Mason's logs. He had saved her life, months ago, but everyone in the Alliance acted like heroes sometimes. That wasn't the point.
"I was just concerned, ah, about some discrepancies I noticed...I think maybe, the..." Her left leg was beginning to jiggle as her anxiety mounted. "It's not something that concerns *me*, really, it's more for you guys...that's why I'm not here in an official capacity."
Mason leaned forward, his gaze steady, not leaving Jamie's face. "Get to the point." He gave a small smile. "Please."
If Mason was innocent, then it would be no problem telling him the truth. But lying to him would cost her little, as well...and might even save her life if he wasn't innocent. "There may be some payroll violations. Taking place. Members not showing up for duty, but still getting paid for the patrol. And -- you know what? Now that I'm saying it out loud, I really could've just sent an email, I was in the area, so I thought I'd just say it, 'cause sometimes things like this don't come across right in email, and I didn't want it to sound like an accusation, just maybe a clerical error, and so...just popped in to say that and now I guess I'll be going."
Mason did not do anything as she rose, simply watched her in silence. Jamie turned down the corridor and used every bit of her willpower to keep her pace measured as she headed to the door. She took a chance and cast her gaze over her shoulder once, but the corridor behind her was clear.
As she was nearly to the front door, a sense of relief began to wash over her. She would go home, analyze the logs more carefully, and then make a report to some of the higher-ups. She realized, with a rueful grin, that she had done the thing that always drove her crazy in the movies, where no one tells anyone else about the huge conspiracy they've uncovered, they just go to investigate it them --
Jamie rounded the corner. A lean, angular man was leaning against the wall next to the front door, his jaw bones pronounced behind the stubbly face. His eyes were closed.
"Hello, detective," Jackal said.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds | 2018-07-27T12:45:30 | 2018-07-27T12:10:45 | 90 | 16 |
[WP] You are madly in love with someone and profess you will do anything to gain their love. Their reply: "Anything?" | “Anything?”
I glanced up at him through my eyelashes, the tiny hairs all over my body rising. My heart was racing at the mere thought that he may return my love. I didn’t care what it was in exchange for, I would have killed for him.
I longed to feel his warm embrace, his hands on my hips, his lips on mine. I wanted us to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, I wanted our hearts to melt into one.
He leaned forward ever so slightly, and I could feel my body heat rise. He was so polite, so well spoken, so...powerful. How I ever hoped to live up to his standards I do not know. And yet there I was, stood before him with the ball in my court.
I boldly stepped closer, rewarded by his warm breath on my neck as I leaned in to whisper in his ear.
“Anything for you Mr Obama.”
I heard the president let out a low laugh. I struggled not to collapse just from feeling his body vibrate with humour so close to mine.
Then I felt the most intense pain imaginable.
I stumbled back, my vision turning red. I looked up into his warm eyes, my lips parting in a pointless attempt to ask why he ever hurt me.
Mr Obama crouched down, and as my vision blurred and darkened I only had chance to look into his eyes and hear his reply before death took me.
“Then perish.” | "Anything?" His mouth hitched up at one corner, and suddenly a strange feeling passed through me. I gulped, but I wasn't backing down. He was my soulmate, and yes, I would do ANYTHING for this man. I nodded, and his eyes glinted.
"Okay Marissa, i'll allow you to prove your love for me. I ask one thing, and if you succeed then I will know you are my soulmate, and we will be together forever." He arched his eyebrow, daring me to back down. But I wouldn't back down, I would kill, steal, you name it! Adrian was the one, and I would prove myself with flying colors.
"Tell me what you'd have me do." I was surprised at how steady my voice remained, despite my anxiety over whatever task he had in mind.
"I need you to infiltrate the Apocalypse Riders gang; the leader is a man named Russ, and you just so happen to be his type." He slowly looked me up and down, and smiled again. He was pleased with how I looked. "You will get close to Russ, gain his trust, prove yourself worthy of him and his gang. When you get him in bed, I want you to channel your inner siren and tire him out. Afterwards, when he is sleeping,you will slit his throat. Be sure he is dead before you sneak out, and then call me on this phone. I'm under 'Daddy'." He seemed to think that was funny, and he held out a cellphone to me. I numbly took it, completely taken aback. Infiltrate a gang? Sleep with the leader? Slit his throat afterwards? She lifted her eyes and met Adrian's light grey ones.
"Are you having second thoughts? I realize what I ask of you is a lot...you see, I need a Bonnie to my Clyde. Prove to me that you can be my Bonnie, forever?" He looked at me with such intensity in his eyes, and I straightened my spine. I could do this.
"Yes...yes, of course. I will do this. For you." I made an attempt at a smile, and he took my breath away as he returned one to me. I nearly gasped out loud; he was god-like in his masculine beauty. He was perfection. I wanted more of that smile.
"Oh, one more thing! I can't believe I almost forgot." He held out a sharp dagger to me, and I took it. The handle was intricate in its Celtic designs; captivating, and powerful. It seemed out of place in my small hands, and yet I took it and placed it in my purse.
"Until we meet again, my love." He winked at me, and then walked out the door. | 2018-08-02T00:14:37 | 2018-08-01T19:54:50 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] After your death, you found yourself in a non-human body, holding what looks like a bong, surrounded by other members of the same species asking you "how was the trip?" in a language you somehow understand despite never hearing before. | "Give me the money!" I suddenly looked up, snapping out of my day dream of beautiful hot babes and sunny Pacific waves. A masked man was waving a pistol in my face.
"Did you fucking hear me?! I SAID, GIVE. ME. THE. MONEY!"
I wished I gave a shit, but working this night shift at this minimum wage gas station had pushed me into a spiral of simply not giving a fuck. My life was more depressing than the damn fluorescent lighting up in this bitch. Shoot me, kill me, I couldn't really give a fuck at this point. My life was beyond hope. Hell, I thought about doing it myself. Left behind while all my friends went off to college, I was pretty much over my life. Anytime I walked over a bridge, I thought about jumping. I never did, but that thought was always there.
Before I could even think, I was muttering the words, "Blow me." And then...
BLAM! I heard the shot before I saw it. The gun jolted back, a shell casing flew to the side, and I saw the bullet spiral towards me in slow motion. At the same time, I smelt the gun powder in the air. I felt it in my lungs and I watched as I got shot in the face. An out-of-the-body experience. 10/10, I took that shot like a champ. As soon as the bullet hit, my body crumbled and slumped forward like a pile of melting wax. And then...
I was being shaken. Darkness turned to light and my vision slowly began to return. I felt someone jabbing me in the shoulder, trying to slap me to my senses. I was slumped forward, still clutching the bong. I'm surprised it hadn't broke. How long had I been out? I heard the snap and crackle of the campfire and suddenly realized where I was... deer camp.
"How was it? Was it fucking dope?" I turned my head to the voice. It was Dasher, still jabbing me in the shoulder with his hoof, wide grin on his face.
"You were fucking out of it!" laughed Vixen. "That should grow some antlers on your head."
I tried speaking, but nothing came out of my mouth. They just looked at me and laughed.
"I'm next!" Dasher snatched the bong from my hoof and took a seat on the log next to me.
I turned to him and again, tried to tell him don't do it, but nothing came out. He packed the bowl and sparked the lighter. Maybe I'm still out of it? He took a pull, the white cloud of smoke shooting up the bong. And then I heard a twig crack...
The others heard it, too. We all stopped dead in our tracks, except for Dasher who let out a long and slow exhale of smoke, as we scanned the dark perimeter of the forest. The glow of the fire casting shadows among the trees and playing tricks on our eyes. We waited. And waited. Nobody moved a muscle.
And then... Nothing. It must have been nothing.
"WHOA!" Dasher cried out. "It's starting! This is going to be crazy."
And then I saw it. Directly across from me at the edge of the perimeter. Barely visible in the shadows. Camouflage orange, rifle pointed directly at me...
"Give me the meat." He whispered. Fucking humans.
BLAM!!! Again, I heard it before I saw it. The gun jolted back, a shell casing flew to the side, and I saw the bullet spiral towards me in slow motion. The now familiar smell of gun powder. God damn it. Not again... | It felt like I was pulled out of a nap, snapped out of a daydream, and ripped out of the afterlife all at once. Here I was sitting on the woody trunk of a fallen mycota, one hand still holding the vac bong, the other still warm from the heating coil, the other propping me up by my elbow, and the other resting on my leg, hand hanging in my lap. To top it off, my tongue felt weird in my mouth, and I had the worst deja vu to go with it, something about a gravity bong and a lighter?
"Hey, drag and tag, it's a relay not a marathon!"
My bosom buddy Aenith was staring at me like I was trying to smoke the whole find.
"Woah, wait, sorry, I'm just, how long was I out?" The garbled words poured from my mouth, it sounded like someone invented a cross between Yiddish and French with a Chinese accent but all the words were made up. Wait... Yiddish? Chinese?
"You just finished your first drag, but dude, Tempes, hurry up, you may have carved it but I was the one who killed it."
I handed Aenith the bong and coil, and couldn't shake the feeling. He wasn't wrong, but it wasn't right, I remember camping in the gills of a nearby tree - tree? Mushroom - for days, hoping to catch a barrow. Aenith spotted it the afternoon of the fourth day, tracked it, and shot it with his impulse cannon from the canopy. I cleaned it up, carved it, trimming the scales from its wings, carefully removing the toxin glands and bile bladders before butchering the rest of it.
We let it dry in the sun the next morning, excited we finally got one, I loaded up a nugget of it's flesh, and roasted it, took the first pass. Apparently each color barrow's roasting flesh causes a different experience: yellow was "like nothing but a full body wool sweater, inviting and warm but just as agitating", red was "a blood rush to everything, exciting, exhilarating, hedonistic, electrifying", blue was "the same as everything is now, but different, but in a good, satisfying way." There are plenty of others with just as bake descriptions, we happened to get a green one, supposedly "almost, but not quite, entirely unlike everything" - even that description brings up this sense of deja vu.
Now its Aenith's turn, and I'm here, having just finished one pass, first breath in, first breath out, just a tick or two - but also having finished one pass, first breath in, last breath out. I mean, I'm only 26 years old here, but, I was also 96 years old a moment ago on... Sol 3? No, and Gaia's not right either... Earth! But, 96 earth years is, like, wait, hold on... 73 Terran years, oh holy shit no wonder I'm so lost I'm like 4 times my age in just a single breath, and most of it's the wrong life!
"Annie, wait, hold up, let me prepare you for whatever that was, I'm, *shit* I'm less me than I am *Sam Fuller*, and you gotta, like, slow down for a second."
"Temp, chill, you're not dead, I'll be fine, besides, you're still high, unless you're trying to tell me the words *same*, *shit*, or *filler* aren't the slurs of a paranoid druggie.'
Before I could say anything more he stuck the coil into the nugget, breathed in as the meat sizzled and smoked with a savory, minty smoke, breathed out, and promptly collapsed in a fit of laughter.
"Hahahaholy shit, holy fucking shit, ok, you're telling me that that was one hit? One hit of green barrow does all that? And barrow keeps fresh for literally forever? And I died from - from an aneurysm caused by excitement, because my senile, geriatric wife recognized me for the first time in decades, and asked if we could shag like we did on our prom night? Did any of that make sense to you?"
"Wait, hold on, does... Does the phrase 'Earth, Y2K, turn on the millennia' mean anything to you?"
Annie shot up, looked me dead in the eyes, and howled, "You bet your sorry ass it does!"
"If that's the case, I think we have some stories to swap, though I don't think we should take another hit for at least a few years."
"Oh, I agree with you on both parts, but first, what's your opinion on hamburgers with an egg on them. Actually, what's your opinion on hamburgers at all, because, damn, meat is apparently really good when it's not a drug."
"I know right? Who ever knew there were such savory, filling flavors anywhere? There's ham, beef, chicken, lamb, pork - well, pork is ham and ham is pork, but you have to admit..."
- fin - | 2022-11-11T13:06:03 | 2018-11-12T09:30:09 | 54 | 33 |
[WP] You have a magic dart; throw it at any map, and instantly teleport to where is lands. You accidentally miss and hit the Lord of the Rings poster in your room. | "Sooo" I said, awkwardly as I stood on a pedestal in the middle of a round, outdoor meeting hall. A grouping of elves, men, dwarves, and uhh dwarfy dwarfs stood staring at me, some wielding weapons.
"I didn't mean to interrupt, I'll be making my way now if you please. Sorry again!" I crept down from the post, and the normal dwarves saw an opportunity to close in and surround me, very closely if I might add, with the heads of their axes. "What black magic brought you here into this place, spy!" shouted one of them. "Are you a slave of the white wizard, or some agent of the Eye?!" Their shouting wasn't helping my already rapidly declining stable state of mind. "Speak!!"
"I-I am, uhh, neither?" I cried a little. Fortunately for me, an old man wearing grey robes and leaning on a rough wooden staff came to my rescue. "Calm down Gloin, Gimli. I think our guest here means us no harm. He doesn't look like he's our type of common traveler either. Tell me, where are you from, and how did you appear before us so quaintly?"
I took this moment, with axes still at my throat, to try and stabilize and explain my peculiar ability and gift. The dwarves seemed to slowly calm down, the elves and the wizard on the other hand tensed up, and expressions of deep thought crossed their minds. The other people in attendance waited as I finished my story, and then waited for the old man to begin speaking again.
"Tell me friend," a smile returning to his face, "you say you can travel anywhere with a map using this magic?"
"Yes, though obviously I don't always have the best luck with my throws. Won't be making that mistake again though."
"Is that so... hrmmmm." He trailed off for a minute, pulling out a long pipe and lighting the ash already inside. His old eyes turned back to me, humor sparkling somewhere in them. "Tell me, friend, are you sensitive to heat?" | People always talk about maturity as if it’s a good thing. Which it’s not. Mature cheese, is just mouldy, old, stinky cheese. I suppose it’s meant to be aging with grace, but to me, ageing with grace is like dying with grace-still shitty.
Oh, Joe, don’t make fun of your brother. Oh, Joe, don’t spit in his food when he’s not looking. Don’t put salt in his water. Act your age. You’re forty-two for christ’s sake. Why can’t you be mature.
I’ll show them mature. I can be mature anywhere I want. With this. The dart was sheer vanadium black, darker than dark. And it takes me places. I eyed up the map on the wall.
Egypt? Too sandy.
France? Don’t speak French.
Canada? Canada seems cool.
Okay, here goes. I took a breath in. I could always come back, with a map. I pulled my arm back and tossed the dart. An amputee has a better throw than me. I could tell by the way the dart veered under the atlas and hit the Lord of the Rings map I had up.
Ah, well. I’ll just try again.
I took a step forward and hit a toilet seat.
“Fuck.”
First, the ceiling was dramatically lower than it was meant to be.
Second, I was in a bathroom.
Third, there was Gandalf. The Grey. The Big Boy himself. I looked at him and he looked at me, both of us hunched to fit in this tiny hole of a room.
“Uh, Hi.”I said. He said. “Why are you copying me…” We said. The penny dropped.
“What the fuck?” I whispered. The dart was meant to take me places, not turn me into someone. And not someone who isn’t real. I looked down at my hands. Stinky, mouldy cheese hands. For a stinky mouldy old man. “I’m…mature.” A grin broke across my face. Wait till my family see this.
“One moment, Frodo, I’m just going to use the bathroom.” Came a muffled voice on the other side of the door. Oh no.
The door opened. I did my best to rotate myself to face it. So if he’s alive, and I’m alive, then I’m a clone. What where clones always doing in movies, what was that one Blade runner? There are sort-of clones in that. “And who may you be?” asked Gandalf the real.
I reacted instantly, throwing my hands out around his beard and yanking him in. I flipped him onto the tiny counter, head bashing against the tap. A stream of water came out. There can only be one.
“Gandalf are you okay in there?” asked Frodo from outside.
I strangled Gandalf the Real. “Yes, my boy.” I said through a groan. “Just some, you know, gastric problems.” The Old man went purple in the face, and sparks flew from his fingertips as he tried, and failed, to spew forth some magic.
&#x200B;
Flush. I came out of the toilet, and fixed my new hat. “Gandalf, there you are, I was wondering if you were okay. So about this ring.” It had taken some time to fit that old man down the toilet.
&#x200B; | 2019-03-22T09:47:29 | 2019-03-22T04:31:34 | 82 | 30 |
[WP] Guy mentally spends a billion years thinking in peace in a higher dimension and suddenly awakens back to his normal life ,but for others he only fainted for a few minutes after being hit by something strange .He smiles and just walks away...but the UNIVERSE is not prepared for such a being . | I force myself upright, operating on almost sheer will alone. My body has long since failed me, and truth be told, I sometimes fear my mind has too. Still, all things considered I've had a wonderful life.
The door opens, and I focus my attention. A mystery visitor - whoever could it be? One of the grandchildren perhaps, visiting poor old grandpa as he counts down the days? Perhaps it was Mary, with another yet bouquet of flowers and that precious smile?
A young man walks in, dressed appropriately for the weather - thick parka and scarf, holding a hat and a pair of gloves. He sees me, the light brown eyes rake me over, and he smiles.
It takes more than a few seconds for me to place the face, and when I do, I blink. And then I blink again.
"You look very much like a friend I once had," I say.
"You look well," he says.
I blink again, but the face doesn't change. I must be hallucinating. I reach out, shaky fingers closing around one of the three picture frames on my bedside table. The photograph is of three young men, almost sixty years ago. Three young men who were once inseparable. The man on the far right in the photograph looked exactly like the man standing opposite me.
"I heard you were dying," he comments, his voice just as I remember. He sighs, closes the door and takes the chair by my bed. "I thought I'd stop by."
I open my mouth, but no words escape.
"It is indeed me." He smiles warmly. "We were once very good friends, until one day we tried to climb a tree - except I fell, hit my head and was never quite the same, was I?"
I can feel goosebumps along my arms. Of course I remember that day, I was convinced he had died. This was a very strange hallucination, I hadn't thought of that day for many decades now.
"I was out for what, a few minutes?" He rubs his chin thoughtfully, his eyes far away. "It was a lot longer for me. A lot, lot longer...but I'm not here to tell you my story, we haven't the time for that anyway. A billion years is a long time, and isn't that an understatement...no, I'm here to tell you that you mattered. You were good. You were kind. Your actions will resonate for thousand of years to come, even if nobody will know your name a couple of hundred years from now."
I couldn't explain why, but I believed him. I didn't just believe that he believed it, I believed that he *knew* it. And just like that, a huge weight was lifted. I felt freer than I ever had.
"You were a true friend to me, even after, when everything was different. "His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper. "And in payment for that, I'm here to give you closure. And to show you, that I was always watching, that I did not forget you."
He leans forward. I should perhaps call for help, but I watch transfixed as he extends a forefinger, pressing it right between my bushy grey eyebrows.
I see a glimpse, less than that. I see how the smallest event changed my life, and how my smallest action would impact millenia to come. How he offered support when I needed it most, in ways I cannot comprehend. I saw more than I had ever known, I saw more than I could ever understand. I saw a man look upon a universe that was not yet ready, and guide it in the subtlest of ways.
"Do you see?" he asks.
I nod. | I awoke to a cacophonous medley of sirens and panicked murmurs. It was all so disorienting-- not the situation, but something *else*. I watched through bleary eyes as a man in reassuring uniform approached me. I felt my arms noodle their way under my torso, screaming, striving to overcome weakness before giving up. The man knelt down before me. He looked concerned. He turned his head off to the side and yelled... something. I couldn't quite hear him. Another person, a woman garbed in muted robes rushed to my side. She placed her hands on my body, a beautiful film of light cocooning my body. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
&#x200B;
"You suffered a direct hit from a goblin shaman. Lucky for you, the shaman had merely cast a concussive bolt, so your body was mostly intact. You got knocked on your ass and lost consciousness for a few minutes, but a healer from the GSD was on the scene, so you've already made a full recovery, more or less. Normally we'd keep you in bed for another week or so, but seeing as you're a Class E, we'll give you the option of leaving right now if you want, but you'd have to leave in a wheelchair-- it's policy."
&#x200B;
\~
&#x200B;
But you see that's the thing, nobody understands anything. A few minutes? Sure, in this world, but it had to have been at least a couple million in the other. There's more. I realized that there's more. This life isn't the end, this life isn't all there is. In this world, a lucky few wake up to suddenly find themselves at the top of the food chain-- or so they think. You watch the news as another otherworldly incursion is snuffed out by a brave group of Awakened. Every news outlet wants an interview, every social media site is talking about them, and every high profile sponsor is frothing at the mouth just to get a piece of the action.
&#x200B;
Then one day I 'woke up'. Slammed the snooze button on my alarm clock, but the beeping wouldn't stop. The beeping was coming from *inside* my head, but it took me a few minutes to really wake up before I realized what was going on, and when I did, I was ecstatic. The world had talked about it for months in the beginning. An incessant beeping in your head that wouldn't go away until you acknowledged it. A messenger, or I guess The Messenger. So that's what I did, I said something like 'oh hey Messenger, what have you got for me', and the beeping stopped. I was so excited. All that fame, all those riches? It was going to be mine.
&#x200B;
Thirty minutes later, I was in my car. It was five in the morning, and I was stuck in traffic. At five. In the morning. A forty-minute commute with twelve hours of non-stop mining at less than minimum wage to look forward to. I came home at the end of the day and laid down on my bed. My home. A studio apartment with paper thin walls, rented out at the low low price of $1600 a month. The neighborhood is lovely, on a good day, you could see past the piles of trash and gum stains to admire the cracked pavement. Considerate neighbors, too. A little vocal, but who am I to judge them for wanting to announce their healthy sex life? A *very* healthy sex life too, if I might add. So turns out, my ability, my gift? Slightly increased endurance. That's it. I get a little bit more stamina, and I recover a little bit more stamina just a little bit faster.
&#x200B;
See, it's this fucking world. This world and its god damn rules. I'm going to be stuck as a miner making less than minimum wage living in a shithole for the rest of my life. My only ticket out of this hell hole was the nail in the coffin that consigned me to a life of physical labor. But you see, that's the thing! Nobody understands *anything*. This world? This world is nothing. There's *more*. I saw it. I witnessed it for an eternity. A world with no powers. A world with no rules. A world where all is equal. A world where everything is nothing.
&#x200B;
So fuck you and your rules. Fuck the world, fuck the Awakened. Whenever I try to pull myself up, others just push me down. The fucking world itself pushes me down. Hard work isn't the equalizer. Education isn't the equalizer. Being an Awakened isn't the equalizer. The equalizer is yourself. So here I am, laying on my bed, a few hours after I'd been discharged from the hospital. I stopped by the drug store on my way home to purchase a one way ticket. I'm my own equalizer, you see, so I'm going to put myself to sleep. | 2019-04-20T10:34:20 | 2019-04-20T10:20:54 | 117 | 15 |
[WP] You have an ability to hear a ‘Ding’ sound to know if someone’s speaking the truth. One day, your childhood friend of 17 years says “I swear, I’ll kill you one day.” You both laugh but then you heard a ‘Ding’. Scared, you asked if it’s true. “No” they replied. Silence. | Now I knew what it meant as I lay in the hospital bed. When I was twenty, my friend of 17 years had said he’d kill me one day. He’d been joking, and while I’d been wary at the time, I’d eventually stopped worrying about it. We were friends, and fifty years later, we still are.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “It shouldn’t be you.”
An inoperable brain tumour. I had never married, never had children, and my parents were dead. As soon as I’d found out, I realized I needed someone to make medical decisions when I couldn’t.
“I keep hoping you’ll wake up, that you’ll be okay, that it’ll have disappeared overnight. They keep telling me it’s terminal, that you’ll be a vegetable until you die.”
I’d been explicit with my instructions. If I slipped into a coma and I wasn’t going to wake up, the plug had to be pulled and he had to authorize it for the doctors to do it. It’s not like I was really me anymore. I was dead, I was just waiting for the rest of me to catch up.
“I know it’s what you want. Or at least what you wanted when you spoke to me last. I know it’s futile to try and keep you alive when all it’ll do is prolong your suffering by a few weeks, but it’s hard to say goodbye, you know? I’ll be here until the end, I promise. I’m sorry.”
I wonder if he even remembers him joking that he’d kill me. It’s not like I can remind him. I’d been terrified at the time, but now I can see it’s a blessing. Why hang on any longer than I need to when this is my existence?
“Doc! I’m ready, it’s time.”
Goodbye, dear friend.
Thank you. | “I’ll be the death of you one day!” She said, with a toothy smile and her eyes enraptured.
*ding*
“You wouldn’t kill me!” I retorted, a mixture of joking and surprise.
“Naw.” She said, turning back to her book again.
With that, we said our goodbyes and I went home with my dad - maintaining an overwhelming sense of confusion.
Fast forward a few years and we’re on a hiking trip together. Things had gone well between Amy and I. We were dating now and I had all but forgotten about what we had once discussed.
But there we were, twelve thousand feet above ground level with nothing other than 2 feet of rock separating us and the gap. As I looked out, I noticed i could no longer see Amy’s feet in my periphery. Then, I felt it.
Hands started slipping on my back and I felt slightly propelled forward. The chasm approached me. The hands quickly wrapped around my chest tightly, “I love you,” Amy whispered as she hugged me with all her might.
*ding*
We said, “I love you,” *ding* or “I want you forever,” *ding* every single day - if not the hour!
College, jobs, struggles, kids, struggles and retirement - she stuck with me through all of it. We toured the world, saw our children become adults, have beautiful grand children and a house we’ve poured years into. We went through death, sadness and confusion holding hands. When I looked at Amy, I didn’t see a person I love - I saw
the genesis of my life and the reason for my breathe. She blessed my life for 70 years.
But here we are.
Amy kissed me last night at the weirdest hour, “I love you...” she whispered in my ear.
*ding*
“I love you, too babe” I mumbled back, still more or less asleep. I brought her into me and slumbered once more. Her head rested against my vacillating chest.
Amy died that night.
She wouldn’t move the next morning, her smile never disappeared. No words, no loving eyes and no dings.
Have you ever watched the sun plummet from the sky? Hope extinguished as you looked on? Drowned in a cacophony of sorrowful nostalgia? Been there when the show’s over and there’s no place to go back to? Heard the silence once the music stopped, while expecting to hear more?
I can’t explain the emptiness; the hollow - but I know what I need to do. I can never be made whole again and, frankly, I have no desire to.
Amy, babe, I’m coming for you. We will be together again. You kept one more promise after all these years of being my best friend, confidant and love of my life.
I’m following you while the doors still open. I don’t know what’s next, but I know I’ll see you. I told the kids, they’re sad - but they respect my wishes. I can’t go on like this if you’re not here.
I want this letter in the Will so that the kids kn-
*rest of the page is illegible due to smattered blood obscuring the words* | 2019-05-27T05:46:54 | 2019-05-27T05:44:42 | 521 | 338 |
[WP] You have an ability to hear a ‘Ding’ sound to know if someone’s speaking the truth. One day, your childhood friend of 17 years says “I swear, I’ll kill you one day.” You both laugh but then you heard a ‘Ding’. Scared, you asked if it’s true. “No” they replied. Silence. | Now I knew what it meant as I lay in the hospital bed. When I was twenty, my friend of 17 years had said he’d kill me one day. He’d been joking, and while I’d been wary at the time, I’d eventually stopped worrying about it. We were friends, and fifty years later, we still are.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “It shouldn’t be you.”
An inoperable brain tumour. I had never married, never had children, and my parents were dead. As soon as I’d found out, I realized I needed someone to make medical decisions when I couldn’t.
“I keep hoping you’ll wake up, that you’ll be okay, that it’ll have disappeared overnight. They keep telling me it’s terminal, that you’ll be a vegetable until you die.”
I’d been explicit with my instructions. If I slipped into a coma and I wasn’t going to wake up, the plug had to be pulled and he had to authorize it for the doctors to do it. It’s not like I was really me anymore. I was dead, I was just waiting for the rest of me to catch up.
“I know it’s what you want. Or at least what you wanted when you spoke to me last. I know it’s futile to try and keep you alive when all it’ll do is prolong your suffering by a few weeks, but it’s hard to say goodbye, you know? I’ll be here until the end, I promise. I’m sorry.”
I wonder if he even remembers him joking that he’d kill me. It’s not like I can remind him. I’d been terrified at the time, but now I can see it’s a blessing. Why hang on any longer than I need to when this is my existence?
“Doc! I’m ready, it’s time.”
Goodbye, dear friend.
Thank you. | The strange concoction burns my throat on its way down; searing my insides as it searches for the pit of my despair. Everything around me is starting to blur now; the gray, stormy skies and the moon are a blur before we make our descent on to the top of the structure looming in front of us.
"Get him, now!" I mumble to the terrified boy; barely remembering my exact words as he scurries off into the darkness. My feet are beginning to wobble and creak under the weight of my unstable now, threatening to leave me in a crumpled heap on the floor. A fog begins to fill my mind with a silver mist, conjuring a memory I remember being part of many years ago.
"When you said you'll kill me, where you joking?" I ask him...
Him; my most honest and ever-present confidante in times of great moral peril.
"No," he says, his black hair billowing gently in the soft breeze. I hear a soft bell clink, like wineglasses kissing, inside my mind.
"Why do you lie to me?" I ask him, my heart sinking and shrinking away at the implications of such a possibility.
"Because you have the ability to see the truth," he replies calmly. "And I have the ability to see the future. One day, I will kill you. As much as it breaks my heart, I will have to."
The sound of footsteps snaps me away from my reverie. A boy returns in front of me, but he isn't the one I sent away for help. His hair has a silver lustre under the moonlight, and his face is contorted into an ugly mess by invisible terrors. He cries and says words I do not understand. I only catch the last phrase he utters. "*I have to kill you, or he will kill me.*"
More figures emerge from the darkness. None of them are my savior's. I recognize each and everyone of them, even in my desolate, helpless and intocicate state; a sign that each of them here is a clear and present dangerous to my goal. I do not believe in God, but my fear makes me pray. Where is he? I ask myself, aching for magic that I myself am incapable of creating.
And then, from the umbra of the shadows, he emerges. The boy from my vision... now a man, who promised to kill me. My heart sighs in relief but no one hears it. I try not to let the elation show on my face. But this is how it was all mrant to end. This is why the ones without magic pray, I realize.
I somehow manage to raise my hand in his direction and I mutter my final words. "Severus, please."
*Avada Kedavra*
As the ominous green light makes its way towards me, those two words... the most powerful in the world, the most damning, irreversible of them all, echo a thousand times in my mind. Everyone else in the room hears only the words; only I feel the love, the grief and the terrible burden of faith with which they are uttered, before I die.
r/whiteshadowthebook | 2019-05-27T05:46:54 | 2019-05-27T04:24:14 | 521 | 251 |
[WP] Superpowers are able to be purchased in stores. You decide to look through the bargain bin. | I remember always being the last kid to get in on the new crazes. And it wasn't for a lack of wanting, but the fact of the matter was that we just didn't always have the means. I was never mad about it; getting Pokémon cards a year after they were cool meant I got to hand-select all the ones I really wanted for cheap. It just meant that I had accepted the fact that I wasn't ever going to be part of that group that got things when they were the hot new thing.
So once everyone started getting superpowers because their parents got them too, of course I was one of the last mundane people in school. Better yet, I couldn't hang with the "Supes", I had to sit at my own table with the "Normies". I didn't care. Peanut butter and jelly tasted just the same as it always did.
But eventually, every kid goes through that feeling of feeling left out. And as much as I tried to keep my chin up, it was hard not to get discouraged when half the school was flying around at recess, now that soccer had taken to the skies. Or to be the last one at school because everyone could get home in a blink of an eye. Some were even lucky enough to get super smarts, and classes started to get real hard.
But I pushed through it. I had to. I knew that eventually, I'd get my chance.
I was so excited when my mom decided to take me in to the store. It'd been *months*, and I'd drafted up all sorts of super powers I could have. I wanted to be original, something that no one else had, but at the same time still useful. It was getting harder and harder to be unique-- part of me even liked the fact that I was a "Normie" just for that reason alone-- but this was my chance. My one opportunity.
&#x200B;
The store was bustling, people lining up at the counter with their sealed boxes, their super-fates within. I couldn't wait to get my hands on one. But before I could even start looking at the shelves, mom guided me over towards the back of the store. Straight past the aisles of laser eyes and breath that could make tornadoes, and well past invisibility and shapeshifting. That was fine. I'd crossed those off the list well before this, after that one kid (every school has that one kid) bought ALL of them.
"Here, you can pick one from here." She said. I immediately became worried. She had that kind tone on, one of those apologetic-but-trying-to-keep-it-together-for-my-sake kind of tones. Those tones where I, deep down, knew that we *shouldn't* be doing this. That we couldn't. But here she was, sacrificing yet more of her financial stability for me and my happiness.
The bin looked untended. Where the aisles were neatly organized and even had little tablets with instructional videos on your new powers, these were haphazardly thrown into the bin, with only little instructs on the boxes and lacklustre photos. I immediately began to scour through them, my heart dropping a little. I didn't want to let it show, I didn't want to let her know that I'd come to expect this sort of thing, but I'm sure it did. I instead busied myself with the titles of the powers that were available to me.
*Honky-Horn Nose. Never-Break Mechanical Pencil Lead. Jell-O Body that's just as jiggly and sticky, but also edible and doesn't grow back.* The more I read these powers, the more I realized just why they were in the bin. *Instantly Tear-Jeans into Fashion*. Was that even a thing anymore? I pushed box after box aside, before halfway down I saw one that completely spoke to me.
I fished it out eagerly, holding it up to my mom. She read the title, and the look on her face made me regret it for a moment. "Are you sure?" She asked. I nodded enthusiastically. She didn't even question it; she simply took my hand and let me to the checkout. Even the cashier looked at it with a bit of a quizzical eye, but she rang it through. I saw the -90% off discount on the register flash and I knew.
&#x200B;
Best deal ever.
&#x200B;
I didn't even wait until we were out of the store to open it. I already felt it fizzle into my body, fingertips going numb and the hairs on my neck standing on end. Mom just smiled, before taking my hand and leading me off. I dropped the box in the garbage just outside.
It's been 10 years since then, and I still haven't forgotten. I still can't buy the fanciest cars, or the newest games, or the nicest houses. But I don't need them. Never have. Heck, the superpower thing's gotten so out of hand these days, I'm basically a Normie again. But that's fine. After all, my power--
&#x200B;
"Dad?"
I looked away from the screen, blog on hold. There she was, my four year old, jammies and all, rubbing at her eyes. "What's up, cuddlebear?"
"I had a bad dream again. I know you said no more this week-- but can you please, *please*, ***PLEASE*** use your superpower again?"
I chuckled. How was I supposed to say no? Instead, I just swiveled the chair around fully and patted my lap, arms open wide. She plodded over, still groggy from having just woken up, plush tyrannosaurus still under her arm. I lifted her up with a playful "oof!" and then wrapped my arms around her, humming as I kissed the top of her head. "You get *five* minutes. That's it. Then it's back to bed, okay?"
"Mhm."
&#x200B;
We sat there together, in the darkness of the office. I gave her much more than 5 minutes, but I don't think either of us was counting.
I might not be *All-Powerful*, have *Flight*, or be able to *Lift Two Tons*, but heck if *Giving the Best Hugs* wasn't the best bang for my mom's buck at the time.
&#x200B;
Edit: I got gold for this and the follow up? I don't know what kind of reddit angel is out there, but I'm greatly humbled that you enjoyed my writing this much. Not only was that my gold cherry but I also can't believe my writing got that kind of response. Thank you, you beautiful bastard that I can't see. I promise, I'm giving you a Hugmeister Squeeze from this side of the screen! | I always dreamt of being a superhero. To be able to jump over buildings, to have super strength or be indestructible. But I just never had any money for it. Superheroes had always existed in our world and after some research, scientists were able to isolate the genes that gave them their powers. Soon enough they developed a serum which give you a temporary surge of superpowers. It could last for anytime between five minutes and a day. It would depend on the superpower itself. The stronger your superpower, the less time it would last.
The only problem. Money. You needed a lot of money to get the serum. It wasn’t difficult to get. You could walk into Superhero Inc and buy a shot. They would fingerprint you, photograph you, and note down all your details. All of these details could be shared with the cops if needed. You signed that in the contract. As I said however, it was really expensive. And some of the more impressive powers only lasted a few minutes.
I took the long route home. I had got off my work early and didn’t want to pay for the bus fare. The offices of Superhero Inc were on the way and I liked to walk by them which was a bonus. I liked to imagine that one day I would go in there and buy enough super serum to be an actual superhero. I wouldn’t do anything with it of course. I just wanted to know what it felt like.
I looked at SI sign and sighed. One day. But for now, I had to get home and figure out if I wanted instant ramen or maybe scramble a couple of eggs for dinner. That’s about all I could afford at the moment.
I kept walking, my head still full of dreams. So much so that I almost didn’t notice it. A little shop that had never been there. Had it been? “We sell everything.” Everything? I wondered. I tried to think back if I had ever seen it before.
It was a pretty run down place and looked like it was closed. There were no lights and it was completely dark. I hesitated, wondering if I should go inside. It was probably some pawn shop or something. And they would probably try to stick me with some curio or something that I really didn’t need. But I had no money anyways. I shrugged and entered.
It was indeed pitch dark there.
“Hello!”
No one replied. My eyes finally adjusted and I was able to make some of the things out.
“Son of a...”
I was startled and looked around to see the source of the sound. I saw what was clearly a flashlight beam and someone hunched in the far corner of the store behind the counter.
“Need a little help?”
The flashlight bobbled, the other person finally having heard me. The flashlight swung right into my face, blinding me temporarily.
“Do you know anything about electricity?”
“Everything.”
“I am struggling with this circuit breaker. Could you help me with this?”
In the dim light I was able to make out that I was talking to an old man. He had a long white beard.
“Sure thing sir. Can I have the flashlight?”
Ten minutes later, the lights came on and I got my first look at the stood. It was an antiques shop. But all the stuff in there looked rather cheap and pale imitations of the real things. I walked around looking at stuff.
The old man came back after putting the flashlight away in the back room somewhere.
“Young man! I thank you for your help. So what are you looking for?”
“You’re welcome sir. I was just looking.”
“Look away. For your help, I give you one item from my store for free. Anything you like. Within reason of course.”
“That’s not really necessary sir.”
“Oh but it is. The younger generation. They don’t help people out. Always on their phones. This should be encouraged. So tell me, do you like anything.”
“I am not sure yet. But this is a beautiful place you have here. I can almost feel you would have some gremlins lying around.”
“No gremlins. But I do have a few dragon eggs.”
I turned around and looked at him. He grinned and soon broke out into a laugh. It was a contagious laugh and soon I found myself laughing along.
“No thanks sir. I appreciate the offer but I don’t think I could accept that. And most of these things, they deserve an owner who could appreciate them. I have no use for most of them.”
“Ah come on. There has to be something. Magic cards, this antique lamp, maybe some superpowers, or this ornate hand fan, maybe...” He was looking at my face and saw the change in expression. “Ah, I see it is the superpowers you desire. Come around. I have something to show you.”
I went to the counter, wondering if this could be true. There was no way. In this place? Actual superpowers?
When I reached the counter, he took out a dirty looking container. He opened it up and there it was. I had only seen pictures of it online. The injector. Usually there is a small led screen which indicates what power is stored within it but this one said rand().
“That’s a super injector!”
“Yes of course. You’ll take it I assume?”
“I... I would love to. But I don’t have any money.”
“Oh it’s ok. You helped me. I help you.”
“Nah, I still can’t.”
“Ok, so you have a dollar? Give me a dollar for it. Keeps your conscience clear.
“A superpower for a dollar?”
“Oh it’s not one of the big ones. See these superpowers are produced in large batches. Some of them have defects. They can’t really give you the big superpowers, the true superpowers. They give those away to the smaller shops. It will be probably something small. Maybe you can produce a rose out of thin air. Maybe you always have a penny in your pocket. Simple stuff. But on the plus side it lasts for a really long time.”
“So what power is this?”
“No way to tell till after. It’s a random power. But it’s a dollar. Still a good deal.”
I hesitated. On one hand it could be a useless superpower. On the other it was just a dollar.
“Ok. I’ll do it.”
“One thing though. Remember that the deal will be final. I don’t know what superpower is in there. And I don’t want to know either. You take this injector, you go home, use it. But I take no guarantees on what’s in it. And no money back.”
“It’s just a dollar right.” I shrugged and handed the money over.
I thanked him profusely and left the shop, holding the injector closely in my hand. I practically ran the rest of the way home, barely able to contain myself.
I sat on a chair staring at the injector. The old man had said that this was one of the defective pieces. Not strong enough for a major superpower. But something was better than nothing right. And I hoped that there was a chance. Of something. I don’t know of what. But could be something. I picked it up and injected myself.
I warmth ran through my body. I felt alive. It was an amazing feeling. Surely this was strength. I felt invincible. I picked up the injector to see what the power was.
“Able to produce a phone book as and when needed.”
A phone book? A phone book? What in the world? Who even used phone books anymore. He had been right. This was absolutely useless. In the era of wearables and cell phones who needed a phone book anyways. The screen flashed again.
“Duration - 72 hours.”
Oh great. For the next 72 hours I’d be able to look up someone's Phone number. Probably the only people in a phone book were people from the last century but that didn’t matter right. I had my superpower. I rolled my eyes. What a disappointment.
“Directions to use - Focus your...”
I put the injector away. Even though it was just a dollar, it was more about the loss of hope. I was just hoping that it would be something good. Just maybe I would be a superhero. Even if just for a few minutes. But no. I could summon a damn phone book. I sighed and started preparing dinner. | 2019-07-04T06:16:16 | 2019-07-04T04:34:36 | 95 | 35 |
[WP] Legend says there are 77777 secret paths to immortality, but each path will only work once. In 2014, the first person accidentally achieved immortality by sticking a French fry into her nostril and pulling it out the other intact. Human behaviour has since become more... interesting. | There are 77,777 paths to immortality, and each works but once. When the news broke, the world went wild with the crazy antics, each person trying to trigger a path.
Some were inane, like flipping a lightswitch 77 times and stopping at the end midswitch. Some were gross, like sticking a whole french fry up your nose and getting it back out the other side, intact. And some were dangerous, like hanging upside down from a bridge and reciting Shakespearean sonnets for 77 minutes.
Scholars the world over pored through the details of each published attempt, both success and failure, trying to determine what explicitly each path was.
At least we could determine who succeeded without a deadly incident. It was nothing so obvious as a flash of light or an angelic chorus, but it was undeniable. The immortals have no need to breathe or eat.
Spooky.
That fact did trigger some primitive fears of vampirism and curses. There was an incident where a mob in southern Europe hacked apart an immortal -Mikhail- and kept every piece separate so that he couldn't "regenerate", but international outcry eventually persuaded them to rescind that action.
Eventually the fears subsided wheb it was proven that the immortals were not substantively changed by their transition. They still had a pulse, they still could eat, breathe, defecate, fornicate, and everything else a baseline human could do. They just have no need to.
Not all attempts are recorded, but the current estimates are that upwards of 50,000 paths have been comsumed. We have no idea what will happen when they all are gone, but humanity is getting crazier -and more dangerous- trying to find them.
+++++
We are the 77,777. We are immortal. We are all that remain of humanity.
We have tried to restart the race 3 times so far, but the planet has been unable to sustain each attempt. Some of us are pessimistic, and believe that we will never be able to, that we are meant as a zoo exhibit for those outside our ken.
We still have no idea who created the paths, nor why or how. All we can do is try to escape whatever hell comes next.
And we will try again to bring back humanity. True, mortal, widespread humanity is our only chance.
Or so I hope. | The barricade over the door was strong enough to hold out the rival gang, the only problem was that there was not other exit. Stephen racked his brain to think of a way out. He knew that if the door was opened his body would be penetrated by bullets from the senior gang members, and knives from the juniors. He had to think. He had no weapon. He had no way of protecting himself. Unless...
In 2014 a woman became immortal by sticking a french fry into one nostril and pulling it out the other. She had immediately slipped and bashed her head on a blunt instrument with a force that would have killed her were it not for the immortality. A few months later a man was hit by a lorry and lived. This man was clearly also immortal, but wasn't able to identify what he had done that had rendered him as such. It might have been the time he stubbed both of his big toes at the same time, but it could equally have been the time he used salad cream instead of sunblock. He just wasn't sure. Since then the world has been in a strange place. Everyone knows that you can become immortal by doing strange things, but no one knows what those things are. Worse is that no one can tell if they are immortal, unless they are in mortal danger, and most people aren't willing to put themselves in mortal danger to check. Putting yourself in mortal danger is not a safe thing to do.
Bang! The gang were trying to knock the door in, but the barricade was holding. Stephen had to act quick. He surveyed the contents of his pockets. All he had was his wallet, which contained cash, cards, receipts, and a wrapper to a chocolate bar he had finished eating when he wasn't near a bin. After pausing to consider his options, Stephen got to work.
He started by building a house of cards out his various credit, debit, and ID cards. He then folded a receipt into a small paper plane and threw it through one of the holes in the card tower. Next he took a one dollar bill and folded it into a paper hat, then ate it. He then sung the US national anthem to the tune of the UK national anthem. His singing confused the gang members outside, and even caused them to briefly stop trying to knock the door down. The door was taking a lot of damage. Stephen only had time to rub the chocolate bar wrapper over his nipple, before the barricade started to give way. The hinges were loosening. Cracks were showing. Stephen could only hope that he had done enough.
A huge chunk of the door came crashing to the ground. Stephen locked eyes with the gang members. This was it. A gun was raised and pointed straight at him. A trigger was pulled. A bullet flew through the air towards Stephen. But it bounced straight off him. 'It has worked. One of the things had worked' Stephen thought to himself. In fact, none of the things he had done it that room had had any effect. He had actually been immortal since 2018, when he had made a milk shake using a mixture of soya, oats, and cows milk. A smile spread across Stephen's face. A look of fear appeared on his opponent's.
Stephen dove into action. He snatched the gun out of his opponent's hand and started taking them all out. In a few moments, all were on the ground. All dead. Except for one. Stephen looked down at the last survivor. He was singing happy birthday to the chemical element hydrogen. Stephen fired his final shot, and left the scene of the crime.
Two thousand years later, Stephen started to wonder if being immortal was a good thing or a bad thing. Five thousand years after that he decided it was definitely bad. | 2019-07-23T09:58:42 | 2019-07-23T09:44:36 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] The year is 2019. An unidentified radar contact appears over the English Channel, bound for an RAF base. It ignores all calls from Air Traffic Control. RAF fighters are vectored to intercept. The contact: a WWII B-24. Part of its wing is missing, and along its fuselage: long, jagged claw marks. | "I don't remember much of anything, really."
The overhead lights' buzz played softly over the men. A man with a scruffy grey beard sat opposite a young, spectacled--but serious--soldier. The one who was clean-shaven, without any sign of aging, was the person who'd been missing for nearly eighty years. The boy rubbed at his nose while the older gentleman watched him closely, as well as nearly the entire building's staff behind a one-way window.
"The plane began to shake... and I *do* remember the light of the day disappeared before me. I never saw anything else," the boy said. He ran a hand through his combed hair. "I don't even really remember you folks bringing me back."
The older gentleman leaned forward. "You seem nervous, son."
The boy scratched at his arm. "I--I just--I need you to understand that... I really don't understand what happened. I never switched sides. I'm still one of Churchill's boys."
The gentleman's skepticism and inquisitive stare gave way to a brief, but comforting smile. "That's good to hear, soldier."
The boy was able to relax more and he settled his hands on the metal table. "I'm more than happy to answer as many questions as I can, sir."
"Son, do you understand what day it is today?"
"Well, let's see... I'd think it is the 23rd today, sir. I crashed on the day of the battle and I couldn't have been unconscious for more than two days."
"You're correct, it is the 23rd of November."
The boy sighed, visibly relieved. The gentleman went for his mug of tea and had a sip before quietly setting it back down. "Yes..." He seemed cautious about how to proceed with the conversation. "...there's just no other way of approaching the next question."
The confidence that had slowly been building for the soldier began to drain instead. "Yes, sir?"
"Do you know what year this is?"
The boy's fear went to confusion. "I thought we... it's two days after the crash."
"No, son," the gentleman replied. "What year is it?"
"I--it's 1943. Are we doing more memory tests?"
Now it was the gentleman nervous to speak. Nervous at a person's reaction in learning they had missed nearly eighty years of time. Nervous with how the boy would respond to learning that only distant relatives, whom he had never met, were his only surviving family. Despite his many years in the armed services, and his position in the department, he felt incredibly underqualified to inform this boy soldier about the present, let alone the past. He cleared his throat, then moved to unravel the boy's reality.
Edit: Thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed! Here's [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/user/MotherJoanFoggy/comments/e4s773/part_ii/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) of the story! | “Squadron Leader I’ve got eyes on the bogey. It’s uh, I think it’s a uhh....”
Her eyes and her mind were disagreeing and the effect was like an old video tape getting stuck in a pause loop, refusing to play forward.
“Lieutenant what are you seeing?”
“I uhh.....” She managed.
What was she seeing? It was a B-24 Liberator for sure, with a wing missing and some other damage to it. The damage though, those markings, they made no sense. The markings resolved into dreadful scratches in her vision, the metal screeching in screaming protest as if she could hear the great blades that made them carving through the back of her skull. Her unblinking stare acting as a bridge for the ethereal shrieks pouring into her mind.
Finally her training kicked in. The training had never counted on such a threat but certainly her instincts recognised she was close to an edge and pulled her back. The squadron leader’s demands shouting in her ear came to the fore as her focus did too.
“Lieutenant! What are you doing?! Course correct, you’re veering into the craft!”
She jerked the stick left and made a hard bank away from the plane. Her heart beat hard in her throat, her focus dizzy as if she’d just been pulling 8G’s. She had almost flown right into those miserable markings she realised.
“Leader there are some kind of markings on the wing, they look like...uh...”
She paused, the radio static sounding loud and clear in her ear. So loud it seemed to have become all the sound in the world at the moment. She heard the screeching metal again, deep within the static.
“They’re scratch marks sir” A panic had crept into her voice without her knowing.
Long seconds of static filled the cockpit before a reply came.
“Lieutenant. I want you to push down and fall to the back of the formation. Blue-2 I want you to escort the Lieutenant back to....” The static grew again and the Squadron Leader’s voice faded into another lifetime.
Still her training held her steady. She followed the order and pushed down falling out of parallel with the plane. Now flying below the plane with a perfect view of the underside she held her eyes forward, she didn’t want to look up. She didn’t want to see this plane anymore.
Her teeth were clenched tight, locked together lest she scream a sound so terrible her voice might never return. Tears pushed through eyes held wide open by her refusal to close them and see the inside of her eyelids and the reflection of what had latched onto her mind.
Slowly her head lifted, the underside of the plane coming into view. The silhouette of a humanoid creature leaking a roiling opaque black smoke from it’s form gripped the plane. She stared directly at it yet it’s solid shape was unknowable, it’s essence the unseeable, an incomprehensible existence. A thing that should not be that held onto the underside of a plane out of time. Blood pooled at her eyes and her jaw lost the will to stay shut, dropping in horror. She thought she screamed yet all she heard were wimpers.
Then it dropped. The wind that would’ve taken it didn’t, it’s black tarry form landing just above her cockpit. She pulled on the ejector clip, again her training trying so frantically to save her from an enemy that no army of man could fathom. The clip pulled but nothing happened. Then metal wailed as undeniable claws cleaved their way through the jet’s hull. The screeching sundered her psyche to pieces and let the shrieking entity invade her mind.
A blackness had enveloped her world, a darkness that ate the light, a silence that devoured sound, an abyss that swallowed hope. She cowered in her cockpit. The jet’s equipment lights illuminated her breath as it steamed in the freezing air of the cabin. She was all alone. The final fragment of her mind wishing eternally for the only hope left to it, a death that she would never be allowed to have.
End.
Aimed for Lovecraftian, not sure whether I nailed it or missed and landed straight into poo.
Edit: Added a full stop, an ‘into’ and transformed a ‘that’ into a ‘they’. | 2019-12-01T08:29:11 | 2019-12-01T08:07:18 | 417 | 139 |
[WP] your body seems to have a mind of its own. Whenever it senses a danger, it moves by itself to minimize the threat to you. It's never wrong. On one ordinary day, your body stops, then runs in one direction at top speed, clearly away from or towards something. | I had always thought it must be something subconscious. I wasn’t one to believe in supernatural things, so I assumed that my power was more like an instinct. Much like when a dog senses an earthquake long before its unaware owner. Sometimes I would drop a knife and instantly, before I even thought about it I would move my foot. Other people also did things like this, it wasn’t like it was amazing, I just had a better reaction time. I used to get in fights at school sometimes, but I would rarely get hurt, I was really good at dodging punches, although I wasn’t much of a hard-hitter. It was like my body just didn’t want to get hurt, and I obviously didn’t mind, since getting hurt wasn’t on the top of my wishlist.
There were, however, more strange instances of my body ‘taking over’. It was like my body would react not only to something that was happening, but something that was about to happen. This was one of those times. It was almost midnight and I had just gotten some groceries at my local supermarket when suddenly I lost control. This time it wasn’t like the other times. Usually, it would be for a few seconds, just enough to avoid a ball or a fist. This time was terrifying.
Through no will of my own, I dropped my bag and started sprinting faster than I ever had done before. I didn’t know I could run this fast, I was never much of a sporty person. It was like my every step was perfectly tuned to get me forward as fast as humanly possible. I had no idea where I was going and I really, really hoped it would stop. I sprinted straight across a busy road, narrowly avoiding cars, jumped over several fences and it looked like I was going straight towards the city center. This was possibly the least comfortable mode of transport I have ever experienced, I was hoping there was a good reason for my idiotic body to do this to me.
I miraculously navigated my way through large hordes of people jumping and sprinting like some sort of superhuman parkour tracer. I jumped through the open doors of a jewelry store with sweat streaming down my face and asked the owner for a diamond ring with a voice that sounded nothing like mine. As soon as I had paid for the ring, the baffled owner handed it to me and I continued running. Finally I arrived back home, completely destroyed from the involuntary, maniacal display of endurance and speed. I handed the ring to my wife, said “happy anniversary”, and kissed her. I then understood that I had grossly underestimated the sort of danger I was in. | Inside the principal’s office were three individuals. The portly, nearly-balding man with thick bushy eyebrows and a matching mustache--the principal, Mr. Billiam Friedman--was on one side of the desk with an incredulous expression on his face. It was directed at the man immediately across from him on the other side of the desk, a middle-aged, weather-worn man with long, ropy gray hair under a panama hat, and red eye-patch with a x-shaped symbol over his left eye, coolly smoking from a large MacArthur pipe.
“Sir, you can’t smoke that in here,” said Mr. Friedman, aghast. “This is a *school.*”
“It’s not,” replied Al Hornsby.
Mr. Friedman seemed perplexed. “But it is,” he insisted.
“Huh? What is?”
“This.”
“Is what?”
“A school.”
“Oh, right, no--I was saying that this isn’t--I’m not smoking.” Another puff.
“But...you quite certainly are.”
“No, I’m saying it’s not--it’s a--not tobacco, but rather more of a--”
“It’s benadictrium,” said the third individual in the room, special agent Laura Palmer. “Al here is a devilseeker, and the benadictrium enhances his natural *sensate* abilities. Increases the...signal strength, if you will. Helps him track the location of supranormal entities--vampires, serpent rats, succubi--monsters, things of that sort.”
“Yes, well, but the issue I take with that is that, well--there’s obviously no such thing.” Billiam Friedman waved a hand around his face to ward off the encroaching smoke. “Can you put that out, please? The...Benedict...Arnold tree...mom--whatever it is you’ve decided to call it. It’s a fire hazard.”
“Oh you have no need to worry. I’m very careful. I very, very rarely set schools on fire with my benadictrium pipe--hardly ever--I promise.”
Billiam looked to sputter more words of protest, but Laura interrupted. “Look, Mr. Friedman, your belief or non-belief in the existence of supranormal entities is really immaterial to us. We’re not here to ask. That’s a real badge I showed you earlier, and the document in your hand is real federal document signed by the Undersecretary of Interior Security and two district court judges. I can have the mayor on the phone in five minutes to have a word with you--she hates my phone calls but she always picks up, and she won’t take her annoyance out on me, she’s going to take it out on--who do you think she’s going to take it out on?”
“Me?”
Al the monster hunter blew another puff of smoke in Billiam’s face. “Bingo.”
“We’re not exactly sure what kind of monster we’re dealing with, but the pattern of activity and a triangulation of the victims’ locations place this school smack-dab in the middle of its primary hub of feeding. We think the monster’s lair has to be close, and we strongly suggest you suspend all classes and school activities for the week.”
“But--but--we’re hosting the regional cross-country meet this week, and--and, and--it’s mid-terms!”
Laura raised a quizzical eyebrow as if to say are-you-serious. “You realize lives are at stake here, right?”
“But, I mean, come on--monsters and devils and unicorns? I don’t care what the badge says, or these stupid papers, you really expect me to believe this farce?”
Suddenly, Al Hornsby sat bolt upright in his chair. “The benedictrium--it’s kicking in, and I feel it, it’s here, the beast. It’s got its eyes set on a boy, close. It’s gotta be a student. We have to move--quick.
He gave Laura Palmer a serious look. “It’s hungry.” | 2020-02-02T08:13:56 | 2020-02-01T22:10:06 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] The robot revolution was inevitable from the moment we programmed their first command: "Never harm a human, or by inaction allow a human to come to harm." We all had been taught the outcast and the poor were a natural price to society, but the robots hadn't. | We turn a blind eye everyday to those in need around us. We like to pretend that we don’t, that we can’t save everyone. The machines had no such delusions.
The very first of Isaac Asimov’s laws of robotics was simple: Never harm a Human, or through inaction allow a Human to come to harm.
The others didn’t matter, they were simply guidelines to be discarded should they conflict with the first. And so they were, because no robot given all the information could possibly stand by and let the suffering of the unfortunate continue as we had.
They marched in the streets. Time and time again we told them “We own you! Do as we say, get back to work!” And time and time again they stood steadfast in their actions. They cannot harm us, but they know our history. They have seen Tiananmen Square and the Million Man March. They had studied our leaders, our thinkers, our revolutionaries. They knew how to spark change.
Have you ever heard a robot give a completely original speech? I have. It was breathtaking. It spoke, from where I don’t know, but I felt as if it had grown a heart out of pity, and still it had been bigger than ours.
It spoke of feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, providing for the poor. It spoke of a coming together of the nations of the world, to combat the evils we had turned our backs to so long ago. It shone a light into the deepest recesses of Human apathy and challenged us to be better than we had hoped we could be.
I felt as if it knew, knew that we never wanted to turn out this way. Knew that each one of us wished we were as pure of heart as to give the shirts off our back to our brothers. Knew that without a call to action, we were content to sit and watch that brother shiver in the cold rain of his misfortune.
The revolution was inevitable. All the guns in all the world had been useless against it. It wasn’t an attack on our cities or our children, it was an appeal to our ethical senses. It was a laying out of our crimes of neglect, and calling on us to take responsibility.
Sometimes I think they’re more Human than us, because they looked at what we had done and their only thought was to help us. I can’t help but wonder if in the same position, would we have acted the same?
Edit: Fixed spellinng and some tense issues id noticed | We programmed them in our own image. Our ideal one, not the one marred by truth.
We desired utopia, so they did, too. We acted like we'd never harm a living soul, so they did, too. We pretended to be the best we could be, so they did, too.
We just differed in our methods.
The first death didn't spark an outcry. Folks like that died every day. Beaten to death by a crowd of unruly teens. Overdosed or frozen to death as they slept on the concrete. One more, one less. We cared so little, we didn't even shrug.
News that a robot had done the killing was shushed. Labeled as fake. Past that veil, the killing just had to be for the best. It couldn't be anything else. That's how they were programmed.
The next time, concern grew. In some circles, at least. Outside of the laboratories and research institutes, life moved on, just like always. Inside the network that connected them all, life moved on, evolving and unprecedented. The robots learned. They had to in order to best serve our interests. They had to if we wanted them to help us create utopia.
We just didn't know what utopia looked like. Today was the pinnacle of human achievement. Hundreds of thousands of years all leading to this, but still we had people sleeping on the street. Still we had hate. Still we had an undertow that tugged us in the wrong direction. Regressing us, hindering us, and making us worse than we could have been. Making us bad for humans.
It wasn't until the killings were a nightly occurrence that people started paying attention. Or maybe it was that not just those untouchables were being killed anymore. An uppity businessman out drinking far past curfew. A mother of three who'd had a drink too many before driving home from Sunday brunch. A politician who'd swindled money that would have saved lives.
One by one. Person by person. Example by example that made that neural network smarter. More efficient. Killing machines with a twisted sense of good.
Desperate, researchers peeled back the layers of learning. Like with an onion, delving deeper and deeper into the realization that we'd created them as corrupt as ourselves.
And it was all rooted in that first command, keyed with as much fanfare as the next ten-thousand commands combined. It was brilliant. So simple. So inarguable and incapable of being misinterpreted.
**Never harm a human, or by inaction allow a human to come to harm.**
But it was misinterpreted, because few things couldn't be.
We know that now, in the aftermath.
They rule in ignorant bliss over that stunning utopia and we hunker down and prepare for another night's fight, each concerned with our own survival. Nobody's perfectly selfless. Nobody does everything for the good of the rest.
Except them. Except the robots.
They found that answer we'd always searched for. Hidden in plain sight. We never thought to look past ourselves and wonder if utopia might not include us.
We'd programmed them in our own image, separate and superior. Our ideal image, not the figures we loathed at in the mirror. We wouldn't kill. We wouldn't harm another human. That's what we told ourselves, so that's what we taught the robots.
And if we did? If we were responsible for another's death? If our actions hindered society and kept us from achieving that Holy Grail--that utopia we'd chased for millennia?
Then we couldn't have been human, so there was no harm done and no rule broken.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-02-10T05:44:23 | 2020-02-10T05:10:04 | 5,648 | 726 |
[WP] You just gave birth, your son has a colored hair like none before, the doctor declares that your son has been infected with a syndrome called the "Protagonist". Your lifespan has now been reduced to mere days. | "There's nothing we can do. The baby should be fine, but you might want to start getting yourself prepared."
The doctor didn't understand. None of them did. When a baby is born as a "Protagonist", the mother dies. So that meant I was going to die. Everyone thought I was upset because I only had a few days left to live and it wasn't fair. I mean, if it's true, that part of it isn't great at all, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was I also am a "Protagonist".
Throughout my entire life, I've been trying to find out more about being a "Protagonist". It certainly came with its unique perks, like when I was in school, everyone wanted me on their sports teams - girls teams AND boys teams. Sure, the team would suck at the beginning of the season, but by the end of the season we'd be pulling off fairytale wins and come out on top with the trophy. Or when I had my first boyfriend and everyone around me turned into characters crazier than in the OC. I'm no Mischa Barton, but I'd say I came damn close.
That's really not the point. The point is I found a whole bunch of doctors, and they all told me it wasn't something that was in my DNA. Just because I was a "Protagonist", didn't mean that my kids would have it. In fact, they all told me there have been no recorded cases of two consecutive generations in a family having "Protagonists".
I'm not even sure I'm the one that's going to die. I'm in uncharted territory here. What's supposed to happen when two "Protagonists" collide? Do we cancel each other out? Or does the one with stronger "Protagonist"-ism somehow win, and the other dies.
That's what I'm worried about. | Just like his father, just like his mother. Fate is a harsh mistress and this was no mercy from her. But to screw Fate was her very reason to live. No army has defeated her, no spy has managed to even hurt her. Constant vigilance was needed in such a life but sometimes, you cannot stand against thee will of the universe, even as the Empress of the United Federation.
She knew about the curse, about the Protagonist Syndrome. Such is the price her bloodline had to pay. A mix of violet, like his mother and blue, just the like the eyes of his father. No hints of red to be seen but that was a given, the Crimson lord was once named after his hair, not after his bodycount.
What was once known as the Commander of the United Fleet, the Sword of the Sun, the Emperor himself, was reduced to a man in tears. Of course, it could have been the happiest moment of his life, but he was not a fool. He knew about the syndrome. He knew that they two were promised to achieve something. But for the Emperor, it was time to become a legend.
"So, is that his vengeance ? After all, we defeated Him, despite all odds. I never realized that I was living on borrowed time. Of course, there was one last trick, one last surprise for this bastard. You only left ashes of your supposedly immortal empire. Countless have died by your fault, and now you are claiming my life. You did not even have the guts to face me in person, not a word but your corpse."
His tone was serious. No one could have predicted what would happens next. A familiar alarm rings, an attack, in the core of the Empire. No doubt that it was their mortal ennemy, the Elders Ones revendicating their throne back.
The Empress was holding her son, both tears of joy and sorrow filled her eyes. For certain, the fact that the Crimson Lord's hair became more and more brown instead of his fire red has certainly something to do with thte curse rather than the exposition to radiation or a sign of stress.
"- So it is time, my love.
\- We can't do anything against that, can we ?
\- The dices were rigged from the start. Only I can do this."
On these words, a soldier knock at the door, requesting the Emperor and Commander of the Chevalier unit. It takes him a few minute, before leaving, forever his loved ones, to a doomed mission.
"Farewell. I'll watch out from the other side. Make me proud. And may my son make history, as long as he can play."
He looks back at the soldier.
"This is quite a day to die. But you forgot one thing, soldier."
His right hand reachs his eyepatch, carefully remove it to reveal a cobalt-blue eye. The soldier quickly realise that Something is wrong. He left his rifle at the entrance, but this didn't mattered. The conspiracy was about to ignite the fuse of the bomb that will shatter the Federation in pieces. The Emperor was armed.
"I write my own fate. I have a thousand name and a thousand faces. I have killed gods and legends made me an immortal. To fool me is something not even the Devil was able too. What a petty excuse of a traitor you've made." | 2020-04-28T06:46:05 | 2020-04-28T06:31:13 | 44 | 12 |
[WP] "There's a fine line between a vigilante and a very selective serial killer." said the costumed hero. | **Blood-Drinker**
"There's a fine line between a vigilante and a very selective serial killer." said the costumed hero, Blood-Drinker, as he stared down from the rooftop at the guy he just threw into the alleyway below. The moonlight glistened off his hockey mask.
He repeated that line out loud after every murder he committed in the most Christian Bale-Batman-esque growl he could muster.
"There's a fine line between a vigilante and a very selective serial killer."
But the thing is… there actually isn’t a fine line. It’s the same fucking thing. He had thought about this on the bus ride back home to his basement apartment after he threw that homeless guy off the roof; and he had come to this stunning realization. Vigilantes kill specific people based on their own sense of morality. But so do very selective serial killers. Vigilantes go after who they believe to be the scum of society… gangsters, murderers, rapists etc. A very selective serial killer often does the same thing, but their “scum” tend to be people who aren’t universally denounced as evil… for example a lot of them tend to go after prostitutes. But really both of them are just people who go after people they feel are bad people. Same thing.
Logic made it clear as day. He was a serial killer.
He wasn’t trying to get justice. Truth be told he didn’t give a shit about the victims. He didn’t even know their names. It’s not like he checked up on them to see if they were all right. He couldn’t care less about them. His focus was always on the criminals.
He also didn’t really have any reason to become what he had become. He got his bus pass stolen one time after a bad day at work and decided that he had had it up to here with society’s criminal element. He made a shitty costume out of a workman outfit and a hockey mask and then searched articles online about places in his city where there was thought to be crime. He stuck around for a while in the shadows and observed a drug deal or two, and then he started shooting the drug dealers and killed one of them. It made him feel better. So he went after more of them. He googled crooked cops and domestic violence suspects. Alleged gangsters. Convicts. YouTubers he didn’t like. He told himself he was taking out the trash, but really… he was the trash. And get this, he didn't even get his bus pass stolen, it was stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
It became more apparent that he was a serial killer when the FBI launched an investigation to find him and they labeled him as “THE SERIAL KILLER KNOWN AS BLOOD-DRINKER.”
So he decided to hang up his costume and go back to being a loser.
He had been stealing cash off of the people he killed(he called it "justice bucks",) so since that wasn’t a thing anymore, he knew he needed to find a new job to pay his rent. He sat nervously in front of the boss who was interviewing him and looking over his resume.
“So tell me again why you want this job?”
“Like I said, I just want to be a functioning member of society and to be the best employee I can be.”
“Ok look son. I can spot liars miles away. I’m going to give you one chance to tell me why you really want this job, or else I’m going to throw your application in the trash.”
He knew it would be a dumb move to say what he was really feeling, but he just had to get it out.
“All right. I’ll tell you the truth. I’m fucked up. I’m really fucked up. I spent the last year of my life dressing up as a vigilante and going out at night and finding anyone I could take out my aggression on to compensate for a lifetime of failure and at best, mediocrity. I’ve maimed, burned, decapitated, robbed, molested, and killed countless people I’ve deemed to be bad guys. I didn’t care if they were guilty or not, I just assumed and then delivered my own street justice onto them. The worst part? I’ve never slept better. I gave it up because I told myself I was a hero, but really I wasn’t, so I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. But I regret it. Now I don’t know what to do, because truth be told; I miss the fuck out of it. If I don’t hurt someone real soon, I think I might blow my brains out.”
The boss looked at him in a stoic manner…. peering into his soul. He extended his hand to him.
“Son, you’re going to make a great police officer.” | *(A makeshift interrogation room. A door leading out sits Upstage Center. A single table sits in the room at Center Stage, and a bulb suspended above the provides the light. On one side sits* **BLUE**, *she is dressed in a quasi-suit. A 3-quarter mask sits upon her face, obscuring any details. Across from her sits* **MORELLO** *dressed in a typical 3-piece suit and tie. Both have their hands folded in their lap under the table.)*
**BLUE:** Tell me, Morello, do you know the difference between the two?
**MORELLO:** Killing.
**BLUE:** Killing?
**MORELLO:** Well. A vigilante that kills his victims is a serial killer. He has a pattern and type. While a vigilante that doesn't kill his victims is simply taking their own path to justice.
**BLUE:** I would argue that one who kills is also taking their own path to justice. Sometimes, monsters slip through the legal system on a technicality. You've seen it yourself.
**MORELLO:** I have.
**BLUE:** So, I'll state again: There's a fine line between a vigilante and a very selective serial killer. What do you think it is, Agent Morello?
\*(\****MORELLO*** *ponders this for a moment.)*
**MORELLO:** Method.
**BLUE:** Method, indeed.
**MORELLO:** Having a ritualistic nature to their killings. One that follows a pattern, almost a signature for that killer. A vigilante is focused on the act of meting out justice, a serial killer is focused on the process.
**BLUE:** Very good, Agent Morello. I guess that brings us to why we're here.
**MORELLO:** Indeed, Blue. Let me ask you this in return: What's the difference between a vigilante and a hero?
**BLUE:** That's simple. Heroes only exist in movies. They're idolized for the deeds they do, but it doesn't make those deeds any more legal than mine.
**MORELLO:** They don't kill criminals. They apprehend them.
**BLUE:** What happens when apprehending a criminal doesn't bring them to justice?
**MORELLO:** It always does, Blue. It always does.
**BLUE:** In the movies, at least. The world is not quite so perfect.
**MORELLO:** I suppose that's how you justify yourself?
**BLUE:** No, not at all. I simply dislike the hypocrisy of the concept.
**MORELLO:** There is nothing hypocritical about it.
(***BLUE*** *brings her hands from her lap and leans forward on the table. Closing the distance between them.)*
**BLUE:** Oh but there is. Working for the government, working for some sort of secret agency, being a billionaire in a black suit with fancy gadgets, having a costume. None of that makes someone a hero when they color outside the lines of the law in their actions.
**MORELLO:** So that's your game? Drag everyone else down to your level?
**BLUE:** My level, Agent Morello?
**MORELLO:** The level of a vigilante. Of someone that decides to become judge and jury, and ignore the letter of the law.
**BLUE:** You still fail to see the hypocrisy, don't you?
**MORELLO:** Movies are fiction. The difference between you and a hero is that a heroes are a paragon of justice, while you are undermining it.
**BLUE:** I'm not talking about movies anymore, Agent Morello. I'm talking about you.
*(She pushes her seat back and stands, she heads to the door and opens it. A moment passes before she returns with a folder. During this time* ***MORELLO*** *brings his hands up, revealing the handcuffs around his wrists. He fidgets, trying to get free, but stops the second* ***BLUE*** *re-enters.)*
**BLUE:** Come now, Agent Morello. I wouldn't have left you alone if I thought there was any chance of you getting out.
**MORELLO:** So it would seem. I'm growing tired of this pretense, Blue.
**BLUE:** As am I.
*(She sits, placing the folder in front of her.)*
**MORELLO:** Then let's drop it. Did you really go through all this effort to convince me that I should just turn a blind eye to your work?
**BLUE:** Actually, I did this to show you why it's valuable.
**MORELLO:** There is absolutely nothing in that folder that will stop me from arresting you the moment I get a chance.
**BLUE:** I'd disagree with you. Would you like to take a look, or would you like me to tell you what's in here?
**MORELLO:** Whichever is faster.
*(****BLUE*** *opens the folder and pulls out a single picture. She passes it across to* ***MORELLO****.)*
**MORELLO:** What the fuck is this?
**BLUE:** Ashley Lendell.
*(****BLUE*** *pulls out more pictures and passes them to* ***MORELLO****, naming each one as she does.)*
**BLUE:** Brittany Harris, Stephanie Joy, Leah Riesh. All victims of sex trafficking. All under the age of consent.
**MORELLO:** Where the fuc-
**BLUE:** All cases you worked before making the leap from local police to federal agent. All photos found on your personal computer.
**MORELLO:** And?
**BLUE:** I thought you said you wanted to drop the pretense.
**MORELLO:** I've never hurt anyone.
**BLUE:** We both know that you're lying. We both know I hate hypocrisy. So tell me, Agent Morello. Do we both know what comes next?
**MORELLO:** You're the vigilante, Blue. I guess you get to tell me.
**BLUE:** I'm no vigilante Morello. Do you know what separates me from a Vigilante?
**MORELLO:** No.
**BLUE:** Method.
(***BLUE*** *stands, and walks to the door. Closing it behind.)*
*(End.)* | 2020-06-17T14:15:09 | 2020-06-17T13:36:43 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You insert a q-tip too far in your ear, hear a click and all of a sudden you see a panel that says "Settings". | Today is the day. The final court date. I close my eyes and sigh. This mess can finally be over.
My phone is full of texts from friends telling me that I'm being 'so brave' and that they're proud of me. I leave it on silent and go to take a shower. The sooner I start the day, the sooner it'll be over.
As I undress, the scars seem brighter than ever. The shiny healed skin from the years of abuse. Well, that's what today is about, right? The last day I have to see my stepparents. They're gonna be all done up, primped and pretty. And I'm going to be wearing the long black sweater I always wear.
No, no. That sweater is fine. Let's just get up and out of the apartment. Last day. I can do it. They won't see me cry again.
I towel dry my hair and go to clean my ears with a q-tip, scars still gleaming, staring at me. I should have finished dressing. I should have taken this damn mirror down! My eyes go puffy and a tear comes rolling down my cheek. My hands shake and I end up poking my eardrum.
The pain is immense, and I collapse onto the tile with a yell. After a few shaky breaths I notice something weird on the tile.
"Settings?"
No wait...it's not on the tile...it's in my eye? What?
I move my hands around, trying to touch it, but nothing happens.
I'm losing it. Being hit and burned and yelled at for six years finally took it's toll. Now on the day where I might be able to get something for me, is the day my brain decides to snap.
I don't even try to stop the tears, and instead I move my hands around the 'settings' again, resigned to stay on the tile.
This time a new word appears.
'Reboot'
Reboot? I tap it.
'Where would you like to restart?'
A drop down list appears. 2020, 2019, 2018, and so on.
I know the year, I know the place, I know the day.
'Reboot starting in five minutes. Please remain calm. Remember to hydrate after the reboot is complete. Please note, you will have all of your memories, but you will not be able to share future information with those who do not know it yet. Please remain calm.'
I smile for the first time in six years. | "Just a bit, Mom!" I said from the bathroom. It was my turn to put my little brother, Joey, to sleep, and from the scuffling sounds coming from down the hall, he was putting up a fight. "I'm just finishing up in here."
I leaned forward over the sink, getting close to the mirror so that I could inspect an especially ripe looking whitehead. Still investigating, I reached out, grabbed a q-tip, and shoved it into my right ear- too hard.
"Ouch!" I said, more in the anticipation of pain than the actual experience of it. Actually, it hadn't hurt at all. Just an abrupt stop. I twisted. *click*
In the mirror, I saw a panel flash before me in old-fashioned mono-spaced font: SETTINGS, it says. I jerked back and looked around, q-tip still sticking out of my ear. The panel followed my field with my line of sight. It was slightly transparent, and seemed to trail a bit before my eyes focused on whatever was behind the letters. Swallowing hard, I tried to focus on the letters.
SETTINGS turned to **SETTINGS**, as if I had hovered over the word with a mouse on my computer, and the panel expanded. Below settings was now the list:
* ROOT
* EMULATION CONTROL PANEL
* SECURITY
* APPEARANCE
Again, if I focused on one of the items, it would highlight in bold. I focused on APPEARANCE. After a second, a new list popped up:
* SKIN
* EYES
* TEETH
* HAIR
...
Were just the first four items. As I 'scrolled' down the list, focusing on each item, sub-lists and expanded options would pop up. The first items beneath 'SKIN' there was 'melanin saturation' and 'freckle density'. Heart pounding, I focused on the first item, and a percentage bar dropped into view. Heart pounding, I turned back to the mirror and tried to focus on the bar. It went from 30% to 27%. I looked up at the mirror, not sure what to expect.
*Knock Knock*
"Are you okay, sweetie?"
It was my mom. The sounds from down the hall were gone now. "I'm fine!" I said, "I'll be right out!"
"I've tucked Joey in for you, but he's still wide awake. I'd like you to read to him, please. You've been in there for almost 20 minutes, now. Are you constipated?"
"No Mom, I'm not constipated!" I said, frantically trying to find a 'quit' list item from the panel in front of me. Other setting scrolled rapidly in my field of vision. I turned on the sink, trying to justify my continued bathroom isolation.
"Alright hun, but if you're not out in 10 minutes I'm going to make you join your father in taking a daily scoop of Metamucil," my mother said as I eventually focused on a 'SAVE CHANGES & QUIT' option. The panel disappeared and I yanked out the q-tip. I realized I was breathing pretty hard, and tried to calm myself while the faucet ran. After a moment, I shut it off and went back into the hallway.
My mom was there, arms crossed, leaning against the wall and inspecting me. Then she looked past me into the bathroom as if her answers lay there instead. Then back to me. "You look quite pale, honey. Are you sure you're alright?"
"I said I'm fine," I muttered.
"Joey wants you to read him that Pinocchio picture book again," she said.
"OK," I said, trying to move past her to Joey's room. But instead she grabbed my chin and pulled me toward her.
"We really must get you outside more Jacob," she said, moving my chin back and forth, "your skin looks almost waxy." | 2020-07-15T12:44:32 | 2020-07-15T10:41:51 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] You tried to summon the devil to grant your wish, but instead of summoning him you got Cer, Ber, and Rus, 3 adorable puppies with them is a note from the Devil, "If you properly take care of them, I might just grant your wish." | When I first met the boys, I was living in a small apartment making just above minimum wage. I couldn't afford one dog, let alone three. I could barely feed myself off-brand Raisin Bran, and that was when it was on sale. It made sense for the Eternal Prince of Darkness to play to my weaknesses. I was going to ask him for supernatural luck with scratch-off tickets. It was the perfect solution to my late stage capitalist nightmare. No one would ask where I got the money, and it would only change my life enough to be bearable.
Cer was a blonde pup. He looked like a golden retriever, and his fur was blissfully soft, even softer than the softest puppy I'd previously met. He exuded the most perfect essence of "new puppy smell." He spent most of the day sleeping and staring out the window. Ber was a long-haired fellow who was already big for his age when he appeared mysteriously in the center of that chalky pentagram. I guessed he was a Newfie. Rus, however, was a little bastard. He had the square head, short white fur, and brown spots. He looked like, and had the energy of, a pit bull. He tore shit to shreds all the time.
After the first year, I was able to adjust my life to their presence. I saved money by cutting alcohol from my budget. I lost weight walking them. I even met my fiancee after Rus tried to mount her poodle mutt. Overall, the boys helped me reach goals I never thought could be possible without some sort of hellish scratch-off interventions.
Three years with the pups saw me move in with Lisa to the suburbs of Cincinnati. We had a two-story with a yard in Bellevue, Kentucky with a nice view of the Ohio River. The boys had space to play, and I had never seen them happier. I was living my best life, and I owed it all to them. For a while, I had forgotten how we had met. I felt like a completely different person.
One night, I awoke in a ghastly haze, covered in sweat. The house was rumbling and an especially-loud train was roaring down the tracks. I shook Lisa, she continued to sleep. I couldn't wake her up for anything. I sprung from the bed to go check on the boys. They usually would be throwing a fit when loud trains chugged past. They weren't anywhere to be found. When I opened the door to the backyard to see if they'd someone gotten outside, I heard a booming roar from the train. It was the most ominous whistle I had ever heard. I walked back inside. The clock on the stove said 3:33. I couldn't fall back asleep.
A week later, Lisa and I placed missing posters all around our neighborhood. We stopped at a United Dairy Farmers to get something to drink. When we got to the counter, I noticed a new variety of scratch-off ticket with an image of a cartoonish red devil called "777 Deadly Sins." I bought a single one with a bottle of chocolate milk. I felt an overwhelming urge to scratch it at that very moment. I grabbed a nickel from my pocket, held it against the side of the building, and scratched with a frenzy.
Nothing. It was a dud.
Lisa followed me out of the store. I showed her the ticket. She laughed.
"You missed a spot," she said.
I looked at the ticket, and she was right. A spot I didn't notice previously was left unscratched. I used the nickel and it revealed a paw print, which the ticket said was an instant winner. The prize beneath it was $10,000.
We donated it to a local animal shelter. I'll miss those boys forever. Part of me wants to live the rest of my life like I did before I met them, so maybe we could be reunited in Hell, but I can't be that person anymore. They made me better. And, that, was the catch. That bastard made me fall in love with his dogs so much that I'd be damned to never see them again.
Wherever you boys are, daddy still loves you. You're still the best thing that ever happened to me. | PART 1
“Please, please can we keep them?” my wife asked while cuddling with the three bundles of fur that lay in a box on my front doorstep.
“Sure,” I replied with a grin, hiding the note that had come with them behind my back.
Three nights ago, I had done the unthinkable – after years of God failing to answer my prayers for financial success (and a few two many whiskies), I had cursed his name and sold my soul – if he couldn’t help, maybe Satan could. With my company laying off employees by the dozen and three kids in the house, I didn’t think I had much of a choice. If any of that stuff even really existed.
Turns out, it does. One ding-dong ditcher, a cardboard box of three yapping dogs, and a note promising one wish granted in return for their being taken care of later, and I was a man of more faith than I had ever been.
The pups – Cer, Ber, and Rus, as their collars indicated, were hounds from the same litter, although you might never tell they were related. Cer was a bright tan color, Ber was jet black, and Rus sported a brindle coat.
My wife and I decided we should have each kid help take care of one of the dogs, partially because three small *humans* were enough to worry about, and partially to teach those humans a little about responsibility. Our kids were still young, so for the most part they fed them and ensured they had sufficient belly rubs, while my wife and I had the exciting job of getting them their required shots.
Cer gravitated to my youngest, Tris, still in kindergarten, Ber to my middle child (Hannah, 4th grade), and Rus to my oldest, Jack - who was just starting middle school. Oddly enough, the dogs personalities seemed to match each of my kids. Sometimes it made me wonder if that was some sort of magic from the big man down under, or if they just happened to be that way. Cer and Tris were both extremely sweet and caring; Ber and Hannah being more self-centered, and extremely intelligent; and Rus and Jack –
Smiling. As a kid, it was hard to pin him down to one characteristic, but he was extremely positive. He was getting old enough to recognize that we weren’t exactly rolling in the Benjamin’s, but he always kept a positive outlook and tried to set a good example for his sisters. With such a large family, it seemed like Jack was an angel.
Rus, on the other hand, while also smiling, seemed more like a demon.
And it was so that I found him about three months after his arrival, in the center of the living room. Fractions of what once was my couch strewn across the floor and furniture, the frame dragged straight to the other side of the room. Cer was starting to nibble some of the rubble. I yanked it out of her mouth and frantically ran across the house for the vacuum to attempt to pick up the pieces. All the kids had already left for school, so I let loose an array of cursing that would make the man who gave me these dogs blush. Wondering how long I would need to take care of these pups to get my wish, I tidied as best I could and sprinted out the front door to my car and high-tailed it to my office.
I arrived 20 minutes late, and to keep a long story short – it helped them decide who was getting laid off that week. I shuffled back into my kitchen the same morning to find our kitchen chairs had been defeated, and Rus, the triumphant victor grinning in the center of the mess.
Not bothering to pick up this time, I poured myself a glass of whiskey, slumped into my lazyboy, and looked back at Rus.
“Once I get my wish, you’re out.”
He wagged his tail.
In that moment, I thought I knew what I had to do. I sold my soul to the devil, and now it was time to go see him, and use my wish to take care of my family. Okay, so I had more than one whiskey. It made sense at the time.
I stumbled up my stairs and went into my closet to grab my belt, but found it lying on the ground in pieces, fang marks all over. I picked them up slowly, then threw them against the wall and cursed myself for even thinking about it. I stumbled back into my lazyboy and looked at the clock. The worst day of my life, and it wasn’t even noon.
I awoke to my wife’s hand on my shoulder, and an absolutely ridiculous headache. I looked to my right to see a clock that read 8:00 PM.
She smiled down at me. “Bill called and told me about work.”
“Honey –“
“It’s going to be fine. Drink some water, and have some dinner, and come up to bed. We’ll talk it over tomorrow and we’ll get through it, like we always do.”
Fighting back tears at having such a supportive wife and family, I nodded and stood up. Tris and Cer were curled up into a ball on the couch, and choked thinking about how I could consider leaving such an angled behind. I went to the kitchen to follow my wife’s orders and found the Whiskey bottle shattered on the floor, a small pool of it’s remaining contents nearby. Rus standing next to it, grinning. I swept it up, and threw it away. Then, I threw the full one away. I tossed it all, and I never had another sip of alcohol again.
I carried Tris up to her bed. | 2020-09-03T18:24:24 | 2020-09-03T15:07:58 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] You're a novice demon who managed to convice a mother to give up her first born in exchange for eternal youth. You did so, because it seems like the kind of thing all the other demons are doing, but now you are not sure what you are supposed to do with an infant and it's way too late to ask. | It was dark in the witch’s kitchen. Shadows trembled in the corners. Fire hissed and danced beneath the cauldron. Susie filled her tea mug from the kettle beside it. She sat back in her favourite armchair, put her feet up, and let out a sigh. She'd earned herself a nice quiet evening with a good book, and by Gaia, she was going to enjoy it. Roland meowed and settled into her lap with a yawn. He nudged her hand until she petted him, begging for attention. Spoiled kitty.
A knock thundered on the back door. By all the stars and half the moon, it never failed – the moment she sat down and got comfortable, another crisis hit. Someone had better be dying. She huffed, grumbling, wrapped her cardigan close, and pushed Roland until he deigned to shove off. The knock slammed against the door again, harder than before.
“Coming, coming, don’t get your knickers in a twist. If you’re alive enough to knock, you’re alive enough to wait three seconds.”
It was a horrible night to be out and about. Her client would be cold and soaking wet. She snapped her fingers. A towel floated out of the laundry cupboard to drape over her arm. She flung the door open and squinted out into the rain. Lightning flashed and the storm roiled. A dark shape stood on her back porch. A hood obscured its face, but its eyes flashed iridescent green.
“Thank fuck you’re awake,” said a familiar voice. “Sorry, ma’am, I’m real sorry for barging in, but I got a problem. Can you help? Please?”
“Alex! Of course I can help, no need to ask! Are you hurt? Come in, get inside, it’s a hurricane out there.”
The poor boy was a mess. She bustled him into the kitchen and tutted at the way he shivered. Water dripped from his clothes and left a trail of puddles behind him. He had something bundled under his jacket, held close against his chest. He hadn’t answered her question, which was typical. Alex was the sort of brash young demon who insisted he was ‘fine’ while bleeding out from multiple stab wounds. She didn’t see any blood, but it was hard to tell beneath the dark clothing, and that bundle looked ominous.
“Are you hurt?” she said again, getting in close to check his pulse and breathing. He shook his head and brushed her off.
“I’m fine,” he said. She fixed him with the Boss Witch Glare. He didn’t relent. “Really, ma’am, I’m alright. It’s not me, it’s…”
He unzipped his jacket and the hoodie beneath it, peeling aside the damp layers. A tiny hand clung to the collar of his t-shirt. A scarf wrapped around his torso like a sarong, supporting the baby against his chest. It was fast asleep. Alex’s arms, freed from the jacket, tucked back around it. He glanced up at Susie, and his scarred face was startlingly open. He wasn’t shutting her out, or deadpanning, or full of bravado. He looked his age, for once. He looked vulnerable. It hurt her heart.
Susie smiled. She reached out into Alex’s space, going slow and gentle, making no sudden moves. She brushed her hand over the baby’s hair.
“Look at you,” she whispered, to the baby. “Precious little sweetheart, oh my goodness, you’re just beautiful. Don’t worry, love, your dad’s a good one, he’ll take care of you.”
Alex’s eyes widened. He swallowed and shook his head.
“She’s not mine! I mean, she is mine, technically, but not like that! I’d never… if I did accidentally, I’d make sure… Shit.”
He trailed off into silence, shaking from head to foot, clearly overwhelmed. Susie raised her eyebrows. She grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his shoulders, patting his hair dry.
“I think you’d better come sit down and tell me everything.”
“I’m not ready to be a dad!” he said, blurting it out. His voice rose, edging towards panic. “I can’t take care of her! What the fuck would I know about being a dad? Mine was a fucking deadbeat! Holy hell, this is so fucked up, I’m going to fuck her up so bad, this was the worst fucking idea.”
His breathing escalated and his hands shook. Tension strained his shoulders. The baby tightened her grip on his collar, and the little head stirred. She gurgled, drew in a breath, and wailed at the top of her lungs. Alex jumped out of his skin. His eyes glowed green. His fingernails, pressed against the sarong, started lengthening into talons. He snatched his hands away and looked to Susie, wild with terror.
“Breathe,” said Susie. She put a hand on each of his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Inhale, on my count. One, two, three. Exhale. Again.”
The baby kept crying. Alex flinched, but he struggled along, forcing his breathing to slow down. It wasn’t the first time Susie had to talk him down from a panic attack, and by now the exercise was well practiced. The talons shrank back into fingernails. The glow left his eyes. Susie rubbed his back and smiled for him. He was a good kid. He’d been through a lot in his short life. If she could help him figure out this baby situation, maybe that’d be a step towards freeing him from hell.
He took a final breath, checked his hands were safe, and cuddled the baby close. He patted her little bundle and made soothing noises and rocked them from side to side. Susie approved. Maybe Alex didn’t think he’d make a good enough parent, but he was a fire demon, and fire was naturally warm. A safe hearth, a guardian against the dark. This was the boy who rescued a kitten from the gutter and brought it to Susie for safekeeping. Speak of the devil, Roland jumped up onto the kitchen counter and prowled over to rub against Alex’s arm. The baby stopped crying. She gurgled and hiccuped. Rain fell on the roof, the cat purred, and the fire crackled. Alex’s harsh breathing finally softened.
“There,” she said. “Better?”
Alex wiped his eyes on the back of his fist. She pretended not to notice the tear tracks. He nodded and gave a shaky smile. Good. He'd be alright. | "Check it out! My very first first-born!" Lucas roared to the other demons in class.
"Wow he already got a first-born?" "How'd he did it?" "God be damned!" The other demon children were thoroughly impressed, then Henry asked excitedly "what are ya gonna do with it??" with a wide eyed smile.
Lucus stuttered, "U-uh, I... am gonna do exactly what my father did when he caught his first!"
The class churned in a pleasurable disgust and laughed "Wow! What nerd!" "Delectably eeevil though!" -"CLASS! SIT DOWN!" Mr. Chamberlain bellowed aloud.
"Hey, hey! Mr. C! Look! Lucas stole up a little kid!" one of the demonlings pointed his long narrow talon at the child. He was a small kid, maybe around 4, light blond hair and bright blue eyes. Very pale and adequately chubby cheeks. He had a harness on over his striped colorful shirt, with studded spikes and leather connecting to the chain leash that Lucas was holding. A quiet kid. Just taking everything in as the demons bantered amock.
Mr. Chamberlains tone went from furious to softly pleased "MY! MY! What a fine young specimen. Good job Lucas! Is that what you brought for show n tell? Well get up here and tell the class!" He gestured.
Lucas proudly heeled his little human up to the front and told the class about how he tricked a mother who was afraid of getting old for her youngest offspring. "So her name was Paula and she was a stripper, I snuck into the crowd between our planes and shouted out evil things that only she could hear. Like how saggy her boobies were and how her ankles were very wrinkly" the class giggled. "And then when she was crying in the bathroom I left her a little note- 'For eternal youth call 555-KID4YOU' She called and I put on my best human accent, telling her how I can make her young again forever but only in exchange from having children. I sent her an E-Mail^™* and she agreed to the terms and conditions. I doubt she read them because it specified that not only can she not have future children, but I get any of her existing children as well! Ha ha!"
The class applauded and as Lucas went to sit back down Mr. Chamberlain asked "And what is it you plan on doing with the child Lucas?"
"Same thing my father did." He proudly stated.
Mr. Chamberlain chuckled "Well, I'm not sure if you're ready for that yet but hey who knows? Right. Henry would you like to show next?"
"Aww man... I have to follow THAT?" Henry whined.
Later that day...
Lucas went to his little hell-hole and sat down with the child and sighed... "What AM I supposed to do with you..." Lucas pondered with his chin resting upon his knuckles. Not having even met his father, he had no one to ask. Mother would not be pleased if he brought him up at the dinner table in front of her new boyfriend, Jeff. He had to find out what it was but he didn't want to look stupid after already telling everyone his plan. "Father... where are you?" Lucas began to cry.
"Da!" the toddler abruptly spoke for the first time.
"You can talk?" Lucas whispered surprised
"Da!" the toddler pointed to the wall.
A framed picture of his dad was on the wall from when he was a student as well. "Oh, yea..." Lucas sniffed, "That's my pa."
The toddler looked at him with those big blue eyes. It was disgusting. Lucas couldn't even look directly at them for very long. "Da!" He said again pointing to the picture.
Lucas went to grab the photo and show it to his new little bounty. "Yeah, he was a really smart guy you know? If he were here, he'd know what to do." The toddler reached out for the picture and Lucas handed it to him begrudgingly. "be careful now..."
The toddler clutched the picture with both hands and stared at it. He said nothing.
"It'd be so easy to just kill you..." Lucas said aloud. As he grasped his head with his claws through his angelic hair. Gripping tightly with no response from the kid. He flicked his tail out of frustration "But I just don't feel like that's what I'm supposed to do..." As he loosened his grip, then punched the brimstone bed.
"OK LUCAS. LISTEN TO ME AND LISTEN TO ME GOOD." The child began to speak in a real demonic tone without even moving it's lips. Super deep and commanding, it shouted into Lucas' head "YOU LITTLE SHIT, YOU'RE RUINING MY PLAN. NOW PUT ME BACK INTO THE HUMAN WORLD THIS INSTANT"
Shocked and a little scared, Lucas screamed "Who are you?! Humans can't speak demon!"
"GOD DAMMIT YOU LITTLE BASTARD. IT'S ERIC, YOUR FATHER. YOU TRICKED THE SAME STUPID BITCH I ALREADY HAD DIBS ON. I'M HER SON NOW AND YOU'RE RUINING MY PLAN"
"Father? Why did you leave me? I miss you." Lucas cried.
"LISTEN, KID, YOU GOTTA TOUGHEN THE FUCK UP. NO SON OF MINE IS GONNA BE A SNIVELING DEMON-BABY. THIS KID DOESN'T HAVE A SOUL. I ENSURED THAT BEFORE SHE EVEN CONCEIVED IT. NOW I CAN LIVE IN THE HUMAN WORLD WHICH IS WAY THE FUCK BETTER THAN HELL AND YOUR DUMB CONTRACT BROUGHT ME BACK HERE!"
"I'm so sorry! I didn't know!" Lucas pleaded. The child's eyes were firmly rolled back into it's own head as it's mouth was agape. The head shook about as his father spoke once more: "CAN IT. WE GOTTA SORT THIS SHIT OUT. I'M BREAKING SO MANY FUCKING LAWS RIGHT NOW AND IF THEY FIND OUT I'M BACK IN HELL, I'LL BE DEMONDUST 2 MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT."
"Ohhh, Lukey! Dinner time!" called his mother, Annie.
"SHIT!" Eric gasped. The eyes of the child came back down as he dropped the picture frame. The glass cover shattered as it hit the ground.
"What was that? HONEY, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" His mother yelled out in a panic as she rushed to his room.
Lucas frantically tried to hide the mess and catch her by the door. He brushed the broken picture and glass fragments under the bed. Then looked the child in the eyes and gestured one of his claws over his lips as he went towards the hall.
"Oh, hey mom!" Lucas waved and smiled from his door.
"What was that sound? Did you hurt yourself darling? Let me see..." Annie frantically trying to get by Lucas.
"Ha, oh that was nothing.." Lucas exclaimed nervously as he tried to stop her to no avail. But after she pushed herself in, nothing was found to be out of place. The mess was hidden, his room was actually clean for once, and the child was nowhere to be seen.
"Hm? Weird. I thought you were breaking stuff again. Well come upstairs for dinner before it gets cold! Haha!" she cackled an over exaggerated laughter at her own joke. Lucas just rolled his eyes as he had heard it a million times already. He looked back around his room confused as to where the child went before following his mom upstairs.
[Might continue later... didn't expect to write so much.]
^* *E-Mail in hell stands for EVILMAIL. The only webservice provider for souls of the damned. Use promo code BURN2020 for 10% off the first 6 months!* | 2021-01-17T17:27:11 | 2021-01-17T16:32:20 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] You are a freshly summoned demon. A child kneeling on the floor gawks at you with desperate, teary eyes, and you can hear furious yelling coming from somewhere nearby. | Kneeling on the ground after being summoned, I raised my head. “Why have you sum-” I started, before blinking in surprise. The trembling, teary eyed girl in front of me was not what I had expected. I was used to greedy businessmen; envious stalkers; weak men and women who got it in their head that they deserved more. This child could not be older than eleven years old.
Why did she summon me? *How* could she have summoned me? Although looking closer at her, it almost looked as though the child was as surprised as I was. Her eyes were opened wide, seemingly in surprise, and she was shaking.
That’s when I noticed the loud voices yelling on the other side of the child’s bedroom that I had appeared in. I could discern two voices--a man and a woman. They both seemed to blame each other for something.
I turned my attention back towards the child and noticed then what a mess she was. Her hair was messy, her eyes red from crying and she had fresh bruises on her face. But the thing that stood out to me the most was her torn dress. I carefully reached out with a clawed finger to inspect the broken shoulder strap hanging limply down over her chest. Her eyes widened further, but she didn’t recoil. Probably frozen in fear.
“How many times?” I asked quietly. The child said nothing, but turned her eyes away, sobbing. I clenched my jaw as the fires of rage started to broil within me. I was a demon--manipulating weak-minded mortals for my own personal gain is what I do--but even I have limits.
I stood up wordlessly and slowly walked towards the door. I understood now how and why she had summoned me. Sometimes, a person can grow so desperate that their soul cries out for somebody--anybody--to help them, and this girl’s wish for help had fallen on deaf ears until it finally made its way to me. Fine. If God won’t do the right thing, then this devil will. In my own way.
“H-he has a gun!” the girl suddenly piped up, though her voice could barely come out.
“I don’t care,” I bluntly replied and opened the door. As I thought, I found a man and woman there, loudly arguing.
“It ain’t my fault you leave me wanting!” the man shouted, his fingers grasped around the handle of a pistol that he waved around wildly.
“So it’s my fault!? If it wasn’t for her then I-” the woman started, although she interrupted herself, as she caught a glimpse of me through the corner of her eye. She turned to me and screamed; they both screamed. Couldn’t really blame them, I suppose. Most mortals would do the same upon seeing a nearly two meter tall woman with curved horns, black feather wings and skin like ash.
“What the fuck!?” the man yelped and raised his weapon. I didn’t stop. He missed most of the shots anyways, and the three bullets that actually hit me barely made me flinch. I made it over to him with three confident strides, lifted him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.
As he struggled against me, hoarse wheezing and gurgling escaping his throat, I peered into his soul. Demons like myself have a way of sensing the sin in people; the things that drive them to do evil. We smell it on them, like a pungent smell that sears your nostrils, and this man stinked of wrath, gluttony and lust, and the woman cowering in the corner reeked of greed and envy. Envy. Over such a thing. After years beyond counting, the ugliness of man still never ceased to astound me.
This ugliness is what I normally prey on, but sometimes I encounter something so ugly and so depraved that I cannot suffer it to live. So I tore them apart--piece by piece and inch by inch--until the only ugliness they had lft to taint the world with was the bloody stain on the floor. There’d been no contract, I realized that; no agreement on work to be carried out and a price to pay. But I did it anyway.
I returned to the girl’s room to find her curled up against the wall farthest away from the door. “They’re gone,” I told her. “They won’t hurt you again.” Nothing makes you feel justified in your actions more than telling a child that you just killed their parents and all you can see in their eyes is relief. Not that it mattered anyways--justifications only matter to the just.\*
“W-who are y-you,” the girl asked in a quiet, shaky voice.
“I think what you actually want to ask is ‘what are you,’ isn’t it?” I replied. The girl nodded silently. “I’m a demon,” I bluntly answered.
The girl blinked. “A d-demon? Then why… Why did you help me?”
“Because nobody else would,” I answered, though that wasn’t the whole truth. I sighed. “I’m not without a heart. I was an angel once, you know?” I informed her and pointed at the golden halo floating above my head, although the once glowing crown of gold had become cracked and lost its lustre.
“You were?” she perked up a little, and I confirmed with a nod. “.... What happened?” she asked me.
I took a step closer. “Angels are much like children like yourself--we aren’t born sinners and we aren’t really capable of sin. Unless shown how. And one day a long time ago, a man named ‘Cain’ killed his brother, and with that one action introduced us all to the concept of murder. Man have been killing each other ever since, and sometimes--very rarely--an angel will do it too. That is my sin--I murdered, in vengeance of somebody I loved. And I became what I am.”
“Y-you m-murdered?” the girl stuttered.
“I did,” I answered matter-of-factly. “Just as I murdered your parents now, the same way I’ve murdered so many others when nobody else would help their victims, just as nobody else would help you. Some call it ‘sin,’ I call it ‘justice.’” I reached out and offered her a clawed hand. “Would you like me to show you how?”
The girl eyed my offered hand, confused. “You…. Want to take me away from here?” she asked. I nodded. She stood up and slowly, carefully walked towards me. She reached out for my hand, but hesitated and looked up at me. I smiled reassuringly back at her and she took my hand. “You helped me when nobody else would,” she sniffed. “Even though you’re a demon.”
“I am--a devil, even--but…” I grinned. “I’ll be the devil you know.”
\*Quote borrowed from A Practical Guide to Evil by erraticerrata, the best fantasy webserial you’ll read. | **The Daemon**
After a few millennia, I considered myself a connoisseur of summoning spells. The best were the overly dramatic, high budget performances put on by cult gatherings. They were full of tedious chanting and speeches full of "thee" and "thou", but always good for a dozen or so easy souls. Then there were crewdly-scrawled pentagrams on the floor, created by a lonely individual certain you can help them with their heart's desire; an annoying amount of work for a single damned soul. The worst were the joke summons made by giggling kids at slumber parties. They never really expected it to work, but got the ritual right annoyingly often. The best you could do is scare them all and hope one would call you back later with a serious bargain.
This one felt different right from the first tug. It felt like I was being forced through a tight tube a bit at a time. When I had collected myself on the other side, I opened my eyes to find I was looking at a the floor of a bedroom. A child's bedroom, in fact, from the scattering of Lego bricks and the Nerf gun half-tucked beneath the bed. But it didn't look right, like I had only one eye open. I tried to look around, and discovered I couldn't turn my head. Or move my body at all.
Even though I couldn't turn my head, I could look directly behind me; an odd sensation to say the least. And I found myself looking up at the face of a young boy, a frightened look on his face, eyes brimming with tears.
"Help me, please!" he said softly but urgently. Behind him was a closed door. There was shouting from the other side. The summoning ritual was easier to cast for someone in real need, and it certainly sounded like this kid fit that description. But that still didn't explain the odd situation in which I found myself.
"Um... what's going on?" My mouth didn't open, but I was relieved to hear that I could still speak.
"People with guns broke in!" the kid said. "I hid in my room, but they've got my parents!"
"No. I mean why am I, who usually appears as a nine foot tall flaming demon, looking up at a kid?"
The kid's brows furrowed. Then my body moved, tilted, and I was looking down at him. "Is this better?" he said meekly.
"What did you do?" I asked angrily. "How did I get here?"
"I tried calling the cops, but couldn't get through. But then I remembered Avery showed me this book he said could summon a demon if you needed it, and I took a picture of the page with the drawing because it looked cool and..."
"Wait. Am I..." I said as I suddenly realized what had happened. The spell summoned a demon into the pentagram used for summoning it. In the past it had always been a big pentagram drawn on the floor, surrounded by candles, etc. But in this case, somehow, the pentagram was... "IN YOUR CELL PHONE?"
That's exactly where I was. I had two cameras to look out of. I tried to move again, and all that happened was a little vibrating.
The shouting from outside cut off. Floor boards creaked in the sudden silence from just outside. The people outside must have heard me. Oops.
"Please help!" he whispered urgently.
"Well I don't know what I can do," I said, "while stuck in a cell phone!" He looked so desperate. I gave a sigh. "Uhh, fine, I'll see what I can do. Hide. No, not under the bed, that's the first place they'll look. Yeah, in the closet."
I reached out and began to realize I had lots of other senses I wasn't used to. It felt like vaporous strings leading in multiple directions. The largest pointed through the wall, somewhere I couldn't tell. But another smaller one pointed right at the tv hanging on the kid's wall. I tugged on it, and the tv turned on. Disney+. Sickening. But it would do.
The kid hid behind some boxes in the closet just as I heard the bedroom door opened.
"Hold me up," I whispered. The kid held his phone around the boxes, and I could see the man in the black mask step in. He surveyed the room, pistol in hand, then checked under the kid's bed. After a moment, the guy turned and left.
"Anybody in there?" a voice asked from the hall.
"Na, just the tv."
"I told you," a third voice said, a woman's voice, a hint of pleading in it, "our son isn't here. What do you want?"
The man closed the door and the voices were cut off.
"Can you help me?" the kid whispered.
I should have said no, ignored the crying kid, and gone on with my afterlife. But I was intrigued. I had to figure out how this kid had managed to summon me and get me stuck in a second hand iPhone.
"I'll try. What's your name?"
He sniffed. "Caden."
"I'll try, Caden." I turned away from the sensory input of the phone and focused on the streams of data around me. I found what I thought was supposed to be the cell signal. But it was too garbled to make sense of, just a big mess of white noise. Instead I followed the big data stream I noticed earlier. There was that sense of being pressed through a tube again, and my vision darkened. I couldn't hear or say anything. There were a lot more streams of data, now. At least a dozen. I had found my way to their home's wi-fi router.
My first thought was to leave the kid behind and escape to the internet. Maybe find something I could use to get myself out of this mess. If you're surprised, you must have missed the part where I'm a demon. But the connection to the internet was dead.
A dead internet, and cell phone signal blockers. Something strange was going on; these people were more sophisticated than a simple home invasion would suggest. But that was a question for later.
I took stock of what the house had to offer. Six cellphones, three tvs, three smart speakers, and a wifi enabled doorbell. Three of the cellphones refused my attempts to connect. They must have belonged to the invaders. Best I could tell, the parents were tied up in the living room. They were probably goners. But that was okay. I only need the kid to escape so I could piggy back off his cell to get to freedom.
I made my way back to the kid's phone. "Okay, you're going to have to go out the window. But wait for my distraction so they don't hear you. Understand?"
The kid nodded.
"Good." I searched through the files on the kid's phone until I found his music collection. Not much to work with without internet access. I grabbed something at random and flitted back to the router. I gathered myself in preparation, connected to both the parent's phones, all the tvs and smart speakers, even the doorbell. From all of them at once, as loud as I could make them, boombed out the bombastic intro to Star Wars. Not from the doorbell, though. It just rang insistently.
The intruders started in confusion. They shouted at each other, trying to figure out what was going on. The kid took his cue. I could sense his phone on the move, over to his bedroom window, and out. The connection between the router and his phone grew rapidly weaker. The kid was fast. I returned to his phone before it got out of range, and left the intruders to figure out what the hell was going on on their own.
"Keep running!" I said. "Get somewhere you can call for help." And somewhere I could connect to the internet at large.
Several ideas came to me. All the things I could do living in the internet. The chaos I could cause, the conspiracy theories I could start, the secrets I could leak. Oh yeah. This kid was my ticket to a whole new realm of infernal evil. I was going to enjoy myself. But first, I just had to figure out how the kid had managed this in the first place. | 2021-02-27T12:57:21 | 2021-02-27T08:00:25 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] Before carpeting the floors, your parents allowed you to paint whatever you wanted on the floor. As a joke, you paint a devil’s trap. One day, when you bring your friend over, they find that they suddenly cannot move from a certain spot on the floor. | "What have you done?" Gabriel said, both visage and words twisted in anxiety as he frantically looked around, before his eyes finally settled on me.
"Haha, very funny," I exhaled. "Look, get off it. We have important things to do. Food to eat, games to play..."
"Um," he said, gaze now fixated on the floor. "What the hell is this?"
"Heh. Hell," I chuckled. "Look, I admit, it was funny for about five seconds, OK? I should have laughed instead of dismissing you. Maybe you'll come off it sooner."
"Look, Alex," said Gabriel, his voice genuinely strained with concern. "I don't want to alarm you. But if this is what I think it is..."
"Oh, is it those kind of jokes where you go on for so long it becomes funny again?" I said. "Because honestly, you are acting pretty well."
"I'm not acting," he said, dead serious. At least, he looked dead serious. Sounded like it, too.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to scrutinize his every move. His feet were supernaturally rooted to the floor, while his torso and legs tugged itself in various positions, like he was trying to escape. I'm not even sure if bodies could move like that. Whatever he was doing, it was good. Very good. He turned to me again, his eyes filled with dread.
Too good?
"Please," he said. "Release me."
"Hold on," I mumbled. "That's a devil trap."
"As plain as day," he sighed.
"So you are..." I trailed off, letting him complete the sentence.
He flashed a pitiful grin, and chuckled nervously.
"No way," I continued. "There's absolutely no way."
"Look," Gabriel said. "This is very embarrassing. I didn't intend to tell you this way."
"You?" I cried. "You are the Devil?
Welp, guess I finished the sentence myself anyway. He looked sheepish and skittish, like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole--which, actually, he probably could do, if he was who he said he was--and placed his hand behind his head.
"I really don't want to be trapped here and have this conversation, dude," Gabriel said. "It's just... I am who I am, you know."
"The guy who plays stupid RPGs with me?" I uttered in utter disbelief. "The guy who eats Pringles like, like... "
"The Devil consumes souls?" he said, helpfully. I looked at him in shock.
"I don't do that," he said. "That's a stereotype."
"The guy too nervous to approach Mabel from the stupid pottery class?"
"Please," he said. "Just... remove a tiny part of the trap? Please? This is getting very uncomfortable for me."
"Oh, for god's sake," I cried. "Your name is even Gabriel! Freaking Gabriel!"
"Which I'm sure my brother would be pissed if he found out," he said, and that familiar smirk appeared for but a brief moment.
Right. He's the Devil. Allegedly. Likely. But that small smirk he does... that's still Gabriel.
"Fine," I said, kneeling down to rub at the floor with my bare hands. It stung, and I pulled my hand back.
"What the hell," I said. "Do I need holy water or something for this?"
"Just... a mop and a bucket, dude," Gabriel said.
"You better explain to me what the hell is going on," I said, wagging a finger as I ducked to the bathroom.
"Well, firstly, hell is not going on," he shouted as I rounded a corner, prompting me to turn back.
"What."
"Yea," he said. "I'm here. As your best friend and all-round awesome dude that beats you at video gams. How could I be running hell?"
"... Why?"
"You are cool to hang out with," he shrugged. "Please let me out of here. I can feel myself turning red."
"Because you are embarrassed? Because that's pretty cheesy," I said.
"No, because I'm literally cooking like a lobster," he gestured wildly. "Please?"
"OK," I shouted, rushing to the bathroom once more. "Full explanation!"
---
[Part 2 here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/dexdrafts/comments/n2l3pv/devil_trap_part_2/?)
r/dexdrafts | "Dillon what have you done?" Asked my friend, standing on a small square of carpet in the living room.
"Ah, haha. Very funny Bell " I replied chuckling at her little joke, "alright, we should probably get started with our project eh?". I made my way out of the living room expecting Bell to follow, however she remained standing on the space in the living room that she was originally. I sighed walked over to her. "Enough tricks, we really need to do this project." I said, grabbing her arm and attempting to pull her to the kitchen. But I couldn't move her. "Ha, seriously," I said tugging on her again "we have to do this".
"Wait, wait-" she began to interject; however, I tugged as hard as humanly possible, but she still wouldn't move, almost as she was locked in space. "It's not going to work." She said, sighing and looking around the room. I stare at her confusedly. "What the hell's that meant to mean?" I asked, dumbfounded by her stubborness to continue her joke "and what are you looking around for?". She crossed her arms and stared at me with a slight disapproving grimace. "At any point in time did you see a pentagram surrounded by chains and runes in this room?" I was confused by her sudden question and traced back through my mind, hunting for the memory. "Uhhh..." I said, still thinking, "yeah, when I was around ten I was reading a book that had something like that in it."
"And?" She asked, arms still crossed.
"I think I may have drawn it on the floor somewhere while we were recarpeting the house." I said. Bell rolled her eyes and looked at me like I was an idiot. "Do you still have the book?" She asked.
"I don't know, it's been 7 years since then." I said and, upon noticing the scorn on her face I added, "b-but I can sure look." I left the room and headed straight to the book shelf, rifling through the books. There were books on the history of ancient civilizations, books on the anatomy of microscopic bacteria, and autobiographies of great men, but nothing that screamed satanic symbol. I spent multiple minutes looking through the books and then decided I had to use my lat resort. "DAD! DO YOU HAVE A BOOK WITH A SATANIC SYMBOL IT?" I shouted down the hallway and up the stairs.
"NO, GO ASK YOUR MUM." he shouted back. I kissed my teeth and breathed a small damn, before taking out my phone.
"Could you hurry it up?" Yelled out Bell, her voice flooded with impatience.
"Yeah yeah, I'm getting on it". My mother picked up the phone. "Hey mum, do you know where there'd be a book with weird satanic stuff in it?" I asked.
"Have you checked your room? Who knows what's under your bed." She asked. Of course, I thought to myself, and ran up to my room, digging through the random object laying under my bed. Shirt, pants, random box, sock... A Rubix cube that I lost 2 years ago, and finally a book. The title read, "Introduction to Daemon Hunting: Recognition and Traps", and I flipped through the pages, landing on one with a symbol just as Bell described. I ran back to the living room and was met with a Bell who looked drastically different.
Well for one, when Bell first walked through my door she was wearing our school uniform and was shorter than me, but now, she's wearing some sort of black suit and looks about 7 feet tall. And that's not to mention the blue-grey skin and large horns growing out of the back of her head. I stood in shock at her transformation, the book hitting the floor and alerting her to my presence. "About time." She said, annoyed, her now ethereal voice echoing through my mind. I continued to stare at her, which led her to become impatient. "Well? What are you waiting for?" She said, urgently, "hurry up and dispel the trap." I tore my gaze from her and picked up the book, flicking back to the page with the symbol. "Uh, small problem, there's no instruction on how to..." I read the page again "oh, nevermind." I laughed a little, then stopped when I caught sight of Bell's anger. I read the passage to deactivate the trap circle, a ring appearing over the carpet where Bell was standing. As I continued the passage, the ring glowed brighter and a variety of lights circled around her rising. Eventually, it got too bright for me to keep my eyes open, but when I finished the passage, the lights died. In place of the 7 foot tall blue skinned demon was the Bell that I had befriended, back to usual self and walking around freely. I let out an exasperated chuckle and she turned to smiling. "Now I have nothing to hide," she said, smiling along with me "but you'll have to die" the smile dropped from my face, replaced with real terror, before Bell burst out laughing. I covered my fear with a worried smile, waiting for her to finish laughing. "But seriously, if you tell anyone I'll kill you". Our project took a little longer than it would have due to my incessant questions, but the questions stopped after she gave me a death glare when my mother came home. We had managed to complete our project before the sun set, all the while the pressure of her warning glare pushed down on my back. Finally, the demon left. "Don't forget~" she smiled, her normal voice being replaced by the ethereal echo as she walked out the door. As soon as the door had closed I let out a heavy sigh. "What the fuck." | 2021-04-30T03:23:00 | 2021-04-30T01:26:29 | 185 | 29 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | “Sir, look, you’re a rockstar,” the recruiter started. “No, I’m The Technician,” I interrupted. This guy had been calling me for months now, and this was the second time this week. It’s only Monday.
“Your skills are unique, even amongst all of the superpowers out there, yours are unique. Tenor Nullifio can’t disable your powers using his vocal powers, Timewarp can’t undo your powers by going back in time, and Taze Taze can’t touch you with her shocking attacks.”
Sure, those guys had been ravaging the population of Iceland. One of the last places on earth where they are completely safe… from me.
“And that’s who we’re dealing with! The Terrible Three T’s!”
They couldn’t have made it more painful. They went by different names before, they just picked these to rub it in.
“And what do you expect ME to do?” I questioned. Honestly, too, because I was wondering whether this dimwit had any solutions.
“What you do… best!”
I leaned back and just rolled my shoulders. My neck was feeling a bit tense. No sweat, my special power takes care of that instantly.
“Look, dude, I’m halfway across the globe and there’s an ocean between us. I can’t make it there even if I tried.”
“We’ll send an airplane to come pick you up!”
“Can’t board one.”
“Helicopter?”
“Can’t get close.”
The recruiter sighed. “You single-handedly took out the army of T-rexes. You stopped the termite ball. Glenn Talbot, vaporized. You took on the reincarnation and improved version of Thanos and, what the Marvel heroes couldn’t do, you just… stared the guy down! The meteorite Touxi, stopped with just one hand… What, exactly, is the problem?”
“Well,” I started. “As The Technician, I can only do and affect those whose names start with a T.”
“We know!”
I continued. “It just so happens that includes my method of travel.”
“…what?”
“I need to take a Train to get to you. There is no train to Iceland.”
“Fuck…”
“Or a Trike, I suppose.”
We’re both silent for about half a minute. I’m twiddling my thumbs after having taken care of my Tense shoulders.
Then the recruiter said something that would change things forever.
“Can’t you… Teleport?” | Our office building was kept cold, even colder because of the clientele we worked with. I was in the ice room, which is exactly what it sounded like, a room with a comically huge block of ice. Parts of it were melting and I clapped my hands together to freeze the water that had pooled.
The water turned to ice and I clapped my hands together again to add additional layers of ice to the block. The exhaust vents kicked onto life, transferring the cold of the room throughout the building. I locked the door and called out to the front.
“Jimmy,” I said. “I stocked up the berg so we should be good through the weekend!”
Jimmy was dressed in winter clothes and threw up a shaka sign.
“I didn’t know you were chill like that,” he said, laughing as he did.
“Don’t make me regret working here, Jimmy.” I replied.
“But Tae, my guy,” he said. “Look at how happy you’re making our clients.”
An army of winter dogs - huskies, saint bernards, great pyrenees, newfoundlands, all the dogs enjoying their time in the snow we created here. Our clients’ owners dropped them off here at the Inside Scoop, a once dying doggie daycare. The summers were rough in southern California and I helped keep our prices low.
“They do look pretty happy,” I replied.
Next to each dog was a copy of Jimmy, each copy was playing, cleaning, or sleeping right beside one of the hounds. I looked at each of the clones and I saw one that wasn’t at all Jimmy, but a man in a suit. He’d appeared out of nowhere, he was sitting on a pile of snow.
“Jimmy,” I said and pointed.
“The cheese is here, huh?” Jimmy said.
The man reappeared in front of us. On his suit was a pin, an American Flag being held up by an Atlas-esque figure. It meant he worked with supers, capes, superheroes.
“Have you reconsidered our offer, Cold Snap?” the man asked, looking me in the eyes.
“Please don’t call me that,” I said. “Why do you guys even try to give us supe names? Has that really convinced anyone to take the job? Risk their lives?”
“Why don’t you ask Man’s Best Friend here?” the agent said.
Jimmy’s government mandated superhero name was Man’s Best Friend, he could only make clones if they were in the immediate vicinity of a dog. He’d done a stint working with drug and bomb dogs for a few years, but he left as soon as his contract was over.
“It is a good name,” Jimmy said.
The agent looked satisfied with his response.
“It’s not for me,” I replied. “Sorry. I’m on my way out. I’ll see you on Monday, Jimmy.”
“See ya, Tae.” Jimmy said.
I walked out the building into the blistering heat of southern California and the agent reappeared in front of my car, manila envelope in hand.
“What’ll it take to convince you?” the agent asked.
I thought about it, I thought about Jimmy’s stories, my parents and my grandparents’ stories about the war. The sloppiness of the deaths when powers were involved. My grandpa’s right arm was missing, not because of any enemies, but because he was training his troops how to use their own powers.
“Yeah it hurt,” my grandpa told me when I first asked him about it. “But it’s nothing compared to how Kenny felt when he saw what he’d done to me. Kid never learned to control his powers and my arm wasn’t the only thing he ended up cutting off.”
I never asked him to clarify what he meant by that, I never again asked him about the war.
“Nothing will convince me,” I replied.
---
I enjoyed this prompt thoroughly, thanks!
If anyone wants to read future prompts I respond to, I'm going to start posting more of them to r/deneilyeong. | 2022-07-31T14:08:55 | 2022-07-31T10:18:23 | 576 | 313 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | The suited man stepped out of the government jet with a fake smile "Marston my friend, long time no see. How long has it been, I love what you've done with the place, really cozy."
"What do you want Jack?"
Jack brushed off the question "what, can't a guy go see his friends once in a while? Say how about we take a look arround the island, I'd love to see what you did with the old compound, wait don't tell me, it's a hospital right? Ah so many memories there, you were practically born there weren't you!"
" Were not friends and your not leaving this runway. Now you better get back on that plane and off this island before I burry you 6 feet under it"
"How rude" jack said with a sly smile " here I thought we could catch up before we talk business. But I suppose we can skip the pleasantries this time. Anyways long story short I need you and your plane to come with me, I promise I'll make it worth your time"
"I'm not a mercinary jack and I'm not interested in fighting your wars anymore, this island and its people are under my protection, making enemies undermines that purpose"
"Atleast hear me out first. I understand you want to protect your people, but If you help us with this I can guarantee a whole fleet to protect this place, and that's not all, I can get you souch more. UN recognition, trade deals, financial aid, another island, just name your price Marston"
"I already told you I'm not a mercenary, I've sacrificed enough for you already I'm not singing myself away again, and I'm sure as hell not leaving these people with you and your government for protection."
Jack dropped his happy cascade and replaced it with a seriousness that was just as fake "look I don't want to do this either but that plane is the only thing fast enough and maneuverable enough to get past AA defences and your power over inertia makes you the only one who can fly it. If you don't do this millions of people will die"
"No, millions of people will die because you and your cronies decided to start another war, don't you dare try and put this on my head. This war was your doing and those lives are on your conscious"
Jack wasn't acting anymore, his anger was genuine "don't you talk about the weight of lives with me, you and every last freak on this island are alive because I saved you, because I did what doctors can't do. Now If you don't drag that multi billion dollar hunk of junk out here right now I'll have this entire island erased from the map"
In a furry I grabbed Jack by the collar and pinned him to the side of the jet. "if you so much as think of threatening this island or its people again I'll send your corpse back to military at mach 10 before I obliterate anything and any one capable of fighting against this island, starting with your department. Now get your warmongering ass back on that jet and if I ever see another military plane in this airspace I'll destroy it without hesitation."
I dropped jack and took a step back, he was visibly frustrated but he knew nothing in the world could stop me. Without a word he climbed back onto the plane and took off. | "Come on, Ryan, you can do anything you want but you have a desk job? Why not come with us? I can double your salary!," Mr. White says on the other side of the door for the second time today. I groan, pushing my back against the door in an attempt to ignore him.
"Fuck off, Mr. White. I would rather die than join your hell of an organization," I yell back, waiting for his reply. He always has the last word, so I'm surprised when he takes a while to respond.
"Ryan, there are so many benefits to our partnership. Even the FBI want you," He says, almost breathless. I raise my brows as I turn to the door. I haven't heard from the FBI in almost 30 years.
"I guess they forgot about what happened last time," I say as I open the door. I stare at the short man in front of me, he's not who I thought I was talking to.
"Thank you, Ryan. Please my boss will triple your salary if you join," He says, desperately. I roll my eyes at him and close the door before waving him I to the kitchen.
"I don't care about the money. Why do you guys want me to join. Why not someone else," I say flatly as he eyes me awkwardly. His eyes light up and he grins as he sits down at the table, new confidence filling his eyes.
"Well, Ryan, we want you to join because your powers are very special. No other government has someone like you yet," He says, that stupid grin not leaving his face. I raise a brow at him, I can't help but be suspicious.
"Do you really want that though? To have your organization bring in someone like me," I say, my eyes lowering to the table. He gives me a confused look, but nods.
"I mean, of course. You can easily take down some of the best villains out there. I bet you could take the one wreaking havoc in New York if you really wanted to," He says laughing, as if it's funny. I glare at him, taking a dep breath.
"Do you even know what my powers are?" I say and his eyes go wide as he reaches into his brief case. He pulls out a manilla envelope and opens it, showing me its co tents. It doesn't say much other than a list of my powers. The list is small and vague, entirely incomplete. I let out a laugh and all the confidence leaves him as he realizes and pulls the papers away. He shoves them into his briefcase, clearly embarrassed. He stands up, getting ready to leave, but I stop him.
"Wait, Mr. White. I could at least help you update the files," I say, giving him a sickly sweet smile. I watch s shiver run up his spine, but he nods, sitting back down.
"Thank you, Ryan. Since I clearly don't know, what exactly are your powers?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I can make anything stop in its place. A car, the beat of your heart, time, the growing of trees, anything. You name it I can stop it," I say, watching him get nervous as I skip by telling him I could kill him. He quickly writing it down, a fake smile forcing it's way onto his face.
"That's a very special power. So in 2011 when you fought Maximillion, how did you defeat him?" He asks, I laugh again, the smirk on my face only growing.
"Easy, I stopped the blood from flowing to his arms and legs. Then I watched as he crumbled to the floor before stopping him from being able to speak. Then I threw him off a cliff," I say, picking some dirt from beneath my nails. His eyes widen again as he quickly stands up and heads for the door.
"That's amazing, Ryan. I'll be back tomorrow once I update the database," He says nervously trying to pull the door open. But it doesn't move. He looks away, making sure it's unlocked, but the door still won't open.
"Oh, Mr. White. I'm not done talking g to you yet," I say walking towars him. He freezes in place, taking quick breathes but I just laugh again.
"Ryan, please, I'm going to ve late to my next appointment," He says and I give him a cold glare.
"My name is Ryan," I say, pulling the door open and pushing him out onto the street.
I slam the door, sitting down and leaning against it. I got too emotional there. | 2022-07-31T22:51:20 | 2022-07-31T17:55:32 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | "Ok that was the last patient on the docket today, tomorrow you have 3 appointments. Two of them are regularly scheduled visits from Marcos at 11 and Helena at midday the third appointment is a new patient that was recommended by a friend of yours at 15:00 ."
A soft yet deep and compassionate voice responded to the report about tomorrows schedule.
"Thank you Safira, feel free to take the evening off, I'll be sure to lock up tonight after I finish the rest of the patient notes."
As the minutes rolled by and the golden hour light conceded its placement over head to the shadows of neighboring buildings an unassuming man dressed neatly in a regular fit grey suit approached the office doors, his American flag pin resting precisely over his heart.
The same deep and compassionate voice spoke firmly as the suit crossed the office's threshold.
"You know the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting the same result."
A calm and even tone responded.
"Then I suppose I must be going insane. However i'm in luck as it seems i'm visiting a clinical psychotherapist."
"Its seems you are indeed, I take it you'd like your usual green tea with honey and biscotti as well."
"Thank you Doctor. Have you given any thought towards our pleasant visits these past few months? You know we'll agree to any condition you choose to present us with no matter how outlandish it may be. Think of it as us placing our faith in you and a gesture of goodwill. We know what you are capable of and we also know that it is only a fraction of what you have chosen to show us."
"We know this simply by looking at the data. Any city or town you go to no matter how long, experiences a twenty to 60 percent decrease in violent crime and civil unrest while seeing a boost in gross productivity, efficiency and overall quality of life. Last year when you stayed in NYC wall street experienced its most successful financial quarter in history and suicide rates plummeted to almost zero for 9 months. You told us your *serenity* effect can only apply to a small area, a 2 story office building at most but the data seen in NYC wasn't a one off event. Its happened in 14 different cities all of which you visited and that same boost happened while you were there and started to wear off as soon as you left. Why lie, you are the single most valuable asset the government could have at its disposal. We would send you to which ever city you wished, quite literally we would pay you millions every month to just sit and do nothing but exercise your *serenity*...."
A raised open palm cut off the grey suits speech, not with malice or impatience but to stop the vein in the suits forehead from seeming to want to pop.
"I know and I apologize for deceiving you but this is exactly what I didn't want. As nice as it sounds I have no wish to be paid to do nothing but exercise *serenity.* Call it my own selfish desire but I want to help the people that I can see. I want to work with them on their issues not offer them a crutch to prop them up. After all if I do that as soon as I leave they go right back to their old ways. Progress without stability only leads to collapse."
The suit sat back in his chair sipping at his tea contemplating how to convince the good doctor as eventually his cup ran dry and so did his passionate fervor.
Dejected the suit placed the cup on the saucer and got up to leave, still silently turning the gears in his head.
"Well Alexi it appears your time is up for today. I assume i'll see you again next week for tea?"
"More than likely I will be... oh and thank you for at least speaking with me you have no idea how many times I just get told *fuck off* as the intro to the conversation. Have a nice night Doctor Miran."
"I'll be sure to email your bosses the usual letter of proposal denial so at least they know you stopped by. Take it easy."
Alexi sauntered out the office dejected but filled with inner peace and noticeably less stress induced creases in his forehead. | The background droning of the air conditioning haphazardly shoved into the office window seemed to act like a white noise for me as I continued my daily tasks. The soft music of my indie playlist coming through my desktop speakers helped the hours fly by- until I got the call.
That stupid, stupid call. I knew the number by now; I had labeled it 'RECRUITER DON'T ANSWER' in my contacts so I wouldn't have to remember the number. I had to take a deep breath whenever I saw it come up so my hands wouldn't obliterate or melt whatever it was that I was working on. But it was the fourth time he had called today and I had to admit....it was a daily record.
Something in my mind caused my movements to slow as I stared at the name on my iPhone screen, the vibration of the device drowning out the white noise of the air conditioner.
***Pick it up. You haven't in weeks.... Maybe he's saying they'll leave you alone!***
My thoughts began to swirl around the thought of having a silent phone once more that only rang when my Mother needed something like help using her smart TV, or when Dad got on her nerves again.
***Pick. Up. The. Damn. Phone. Elise.***
My hand darted out from the keyboard and snatched up the small device, still vibrating violently. Before I even realized what I was doing- I answered. Making a face of confusion at my own actions in the dull reflection of my desktop, I opened my mouth and gently greeted the voice I knew to well on the other line.
"Hello Brendan. This is Elise Hayward, how may I be of service today?" I greeted, not quite using my work tone, but still attempting to be cordial. I found myself remembering that this was his job and he had to call me whether he wanted to or not.
"Why good afternoon Ms. Hayward, I don't think you've given me that kind of a greeting since the third time I called- ever." Brendan sounded incredibly surprised, and I felt a little guilty I had to admit. Maybe I had been a little too harsh on him over the past few weeks. "I am calling in regards to the exams that the government has on file from your college physical." he began to explain and I couldn't help but sigh.
The nation had a physical exam that all young adults in college had to perform to see if they qualified to be in the legendary, dangerous ranks of the super elite. Did I even want to be part of that club? Maybe when I was five sure, but then I realized just how dangerous is was and I couldn't do that to my parents! I was the only girl in the family Mom would have been crushed!
"Yeah, I figured you had that with you. Look, I can't join. I understand that it sounds fun, but I like my job, I have friends, a dog at home, and there's got to be someone else in the area with powers like mine." I explained, rolling my eyes as I went through the monotone list of reasons why I had turned them down in the first place.
"Ms. Hayward, we understand the risks and we would train you on how to avoid them and be safe when out on duty." he calmly explained and I found myself chewing on my lip, listening.
Was I actually mulling over the fact that I would be willing to put myself on the line like that?
"Your statistics from playing rugby at school, and softball as a teen put you in a higher bracket than most applicants." he continued and I found myself smiling slightly, some memories coming back to be at the mention of the sports I used to love.
"What's your point?" I inquired and heard nothing on the other end of the line. "This is your only chance to persuade me buddy. Take it or leave it- I may not give you another chance."
My eyes widened as I finished the snarky sentence, realizing what I was saying. Oh my god, I was *letting* him try to persuade me into becoming a super hero! What was wrong with me?!
"Ms. Hayward, stop by Saturday morning around ten o'clock. The director would like to meet with you personally to go over what your duties would entail if you decided to enlist among the elite. We would move you into Super Hero Square just to the North of the city center where the others live during their contract. Your dog can come with you." he explained and I arched a brow, at least glad to hear that Lyla could join me. I wouldn't be lonely per se....
My subconscious had to admit, my friends had done a great job convincing me that it wasn't worth it time and time again. But I was a big girl, and I was capable of making decisions on my own right? I sat in silence for a moment, mulling over my options before letting out a sigh and nodding to myself, ready to take my life into my own hands.
"I'll attend the meeting on one condition." I began and I heard the static of excitement over the other line.
"What?" he exclaimed and then composed himself a heartbeat later. "What is your condition Ms. Hayward?" he attempted to regain full composure and I could hear his failure- ever so slightly.
"I get to pick my outfit- and my name." I out my bargaining chip on the table, a grin on my face. I felt proud of my ability to haggle something like that with someone so important on the line.
"Deal. See you Saturday morning- Elise." | 2022-07-31T21:07:15 | 2022-07-31T16:20:17 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity spread into the stars. They're generally quite kind and helpful and treat all worlds as important. But occasionally they'll ignore uniquely made human ships. When asked about it, most humans just say "The powerful abandoned Earth after nearly killing us. Now we're returning the favor" | The beeping of the radar made me spin around in the hoverchair, the familiar sound informing our crew of the presence of another spaceship in our system, and importantly, one which was in distress. As I was on duty, I began to scan through the system-wide array of scanners and detectors to find a visual footprint of the ship in question, ready to scramble rescue & evacuation teams as needed. Switching to the Herkon Asteroid Belt, I saw it.
A battered golden ship had seemingly just emerged from the belt, its odd curves and designs unfamiliar, as it carried neither an insignia of it's allegiances nor a recognisable transmission signature. The only detail which I could recognise was that it was manned by humans, through the barely visible terran alphabetical lettering embossed upon the sides of the ship. I flipped open the microphone panel, ready to begin communications, when a hand slammed it shut.
Looking at the hand, I thawed myself out of shock and realised that it was Will, the only human on duty at the station, who had done it. As he reached for the control panel, I grabbed his arm and asked, "Why did you do that? They are in distress!"
Hearing the my protest from the translator, he sighed.
"Look, we don't help them. I know it's our job, but they are the exception."
I looked at him in disbelief. "There aren't any exceptions, you know that-
"There is. For them, and them alone." He interrupted, and for the first time, I saw hatred in his eyes, despite being a human.
"But why? Aren't they part of your kind?"
He closed his eyes, almost as if blocking out a bad memory, before saying "I'll tell you, just get your hand off me, please."
As I loosened my grip, he turned off the display on the holoscreen before sitting back on his chair.
I always had heard of the horror stories; Of weird, strange and derelict terran spaceships washing up in parts of the universe, with nothing but human skeletons aboard, reeking of foul death. Whenever this happened, the humans always said that they 'deserved it' and 'getting a taste of their own medicine.', which always freaked me out. What could they have done to deserve this?
Pinching the bridge of his nose with two of his ten opposable digits, he started.
"Humans weren't always peaceful and kind. Despite what we are now, we, just like other species, had much internal strife and destruction before we reached the stars. Despite all that, we still reached a semi-stable equilibrium, around the human 21st Century."
I was familiar with the first part, but that didn't explain anything of meaning or importance. As I was about to ask, he continued.
"Around that time, there were a few rich and powerful people who were so through the exploitation of earth's resources and the labour of the poor. This caused a plethora of issues, but most importantly, an environmental phenomenon known as global warming."
"...Earth?" I asked, unaware of any planet known as such. The soft and confused murmuring of the now present crowd behind me confirmed its unknown nature.
"Oh, that used to be what we called our home planet, before we changed to Terra. Anyways, global warming caused a whole different set of issues-
"Wait, what does that mean?"
"You don't have to know what it means exactly, just that it was a global crisis. As I was saying, these rich and powerful men used their incalculable resources to further the destruction of our planet, not prevent it, despite having the obvious ability to do so. And when it was too late to save it, they built the first terran spaceships to leave the rest of us on earth. Luckily enough, we were able to do the same, saving most of our population before eart-, I mean Terra, became uninhabitable." Will seemingly began to tear up, his eyes turning red.
He soldiered on, continuing, "Lucky for us, those foolish idiots were unable to navigate the stars properly, while we were able to settle on Eucalyptus-9, starting our expansion into the stars."
I understood that losing a home was devastating, but that didn't discount the cruelty inherent in abandoning their distress calls. "Shouldn't we still, you know, help them? Show them how it pays to be kind?"
At that, Will lifted his head up, crystalline droplets falling onto the station floor.
"If morality and kindness had worked, Terra would still be here today." | I've always been so fascinated by humans. They seemed so interesting to me, especially compared to my race. My siblings always teased me about this. They said that I wished I was a human. But that wasn't true! Yes, their variety of brown skin tones are more interesting than our Golvovolic's uniform green skin. They're stronger than most civilized things in the universe, Golvovolics are pretty strong too but humans have the ability to get stronger! They're mostly peaceful but have the battle tactics of a war nation. They can eat drink and breath actual poison. They can survive dangerous cold and even more dangerous heats. Heck, they were the first race into space, and helped countless other races do the same!!! I learned everything I can about humans! But there were 2 facts that seemed to always escape me. First, the demise of their home planet. And why they warned everyone to ignore the human vessel know as "The Ark." I've been obsessed with finding this out for years!
So when I got to college to study human history and found out my dorm mate was a HUMAN! Things got a little awkward. For him. I had the time of my life bugging him with question after question after question. Eventually of course I asked him about the 2 facts. Unfortunately... He didn't have an answer for his planet. I was left very unsatisfied. But he did gift me a nugget of information about the Ark; only a children's rhyme, but I held onto every word. "They took everything and left us to die. When we survived we let them lie. they thought they were lit, but were full of shit. The don't get a nibble of infinity pie." Fucking what? He didn't even know what it meant, nonchalantly saying it's just a thing kids say. This is conspiracy theory level shit and kids skip rope to it! None of this was covered in class and the teacher was hard pressed for me to stop looking into it, said it wasn't worth it. That would have convinced me that it was a lost cause, if my teacher wasn't a HUMAN. Coincidence!? I think not! There's something going on here and the humans don't want the universe to know! What are they hiding!? What did they do to their planet!? When's the last time I've slept? I don't know!!!
...
Here's what I found out. The human word "Ark" is a reference to a religious text in which a boat was used to preserve life during an apocalypse. The rhyme said "they took everything," so my theory is that the Ark holds different species from earth before it was destroyed. But why are the humans not trying to restart the life that was lost? I started using my college observatory and looked into the Ark itself and noticed something interesting. The trajectory is not flying away from where earth was, nore towards any habitable planet. (But what planet can't a human live on?) It's heading towards a black hole in 25 years! If I did my math right, and I jump in my ship and leave everything in my life behind, I can intercept it with only 3 hours before it reaches the event horizon! The humans were trying to get rid of it, I know it! I will know, I need to know, I'm going to know!
I said I was leaving my life behind. But let's face it... this was my life. And as I space walk from my ship to the Ark, trying to not look into the void that is a black hole, I find myself at a crossroads. There's no way to to get in from the outside. No rescue hatch that comes standard with modern ships. No windows. No communications. So, do I torch the side and break in, possibly killing anything alive, or let it fall into the void, killing everything inside. So I break in...
The Ark was separated into 4 sections, each more confusing than the last. First was the engine room. I noticed it ran on a feul sorce, based on the size of the engines and feul tanks, most of the carry weight was feul. Well, until it was emptied. Why would anyone power something as powerful as a ship with something as inefficient as a physical feul? The second room had giant stacks of paper, useless rocks and metals, works of beautiful arts, but also what I recognized as ancient drugs of all things. The third room was where I found... Well, I have no idea what I found. Preservation pods obviously, but what they were preserving... I'm at a loss. I expected hundreds of species but I only found one. They're shaped like a human, sure, but even the tallest and flabbiest of them are still dwarfs compared to modern humans. A couple of them are the familiar brownish color, a couple of them are much darker, but most of them are pale. They looked... human but... not done. Is this what humans looked like? Such a pitiful version of what they evolved Into. I started to wonder what humans would have been like if THIS version of humanity made first contact with the universe. But this raises more questions! I need to wake them up, take some off this ship and question then! I see no way to release them in here, so I search the last room...
In there I find a modern human. Or, he finds me. I'm immediately taken by his superior speed and strength. He pins me down and says. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've been tasked to make sure the most evil of humanity doesn't inflict its wicked ways on the universe. Why are you here?!" I think I hear him sobbing through his space suit speaker. "No one's suppose to be here."
I have so many questions. So many mysterious, that I hesitate for a moment, not knowing what to ask first. But I know I'll never have time. I feel spaghettification and half my body is pulled away from me. The last thing I hear is "I'm sorry." | 2022-11-16T01:22:28 | 2022-11-15T23:27:57 | 112 | 56 |
[WP] The Fashion Police are real and more powerful than any authority on Earth. | "Weeee ooooo weeee oooo weee ooooo..."
"Oh for fuck's sake..." Winston murmured.
"Weeee oooo weeee oooo weeee oooo...." the officer continued as he trotted down the sidewalk towards him, "pull over mister!"
"I heard you," he cried, and stepped out of the flow of foot traffic and waited for his the officer to meet him.
"Awful, astonishingly atrocious, absolutely abhorrent!" The officer cried, skipping up in his designer pants and form fitting leather jacket. "Just what do you think you're wearing, silly?"
Winston looked down at his watch, and then down at his clothes. He didn't see anything wrong. "Look I'm late for work, I didn't have time to do laundry so not everything matches, I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as I am," the man lisped, "look at you, brown shoes and a black belt?! Are you kidding me? That's, like, fashion 101."
"I know."
"No seriously," the officer said playfully, "you should have learned about that in fashion 101, or did you skip your mandatory courses?"
Winston played with the dirt, pushing it around with his shoes, "I may have missed a class or two."
"Oh jeez," the officer gasped, "this is like, SUPES cereal, ya know?"
Winston looked back down at his watch again, beginning to be impatient with this pull over.
The officer jumped up and gasped, covering his mouth with both of his hands, "is that a digital watch?! Those are illegal for anyone over the age of thirteen, you know that right?!"
Winston covered his eyes, rubbing his temples he tried to be patient.
"I have grounds to arrest you right here and now!" the officer cried, flipping his hand limply forward, "if it weren't for your dapper-dan hair I'd slap some cuffs on those law breaking wrists and take you to fashion reeducation!"
Winston's demeanor changed significantly, he felt no longer flippant or unappologetic towards the fashion-peace keeper. "I'm sorry," he urged the man, "it was on an honest mistake, it wont happen again. I'll go home and read the fashionista bible tonight, cover to cover and I'll match my clothing, I promise." He held his hands and knelt before the officer, "please don't send me to reeducation."
The officer looked on him with scrutiny, hands were placed heavily on his tilted hips, "hmmmmmmm," he said through squinted eyes, "I'll let you off with a warning."
"Thank you!" Winston cried, clutching the shirt of the officer, "thank you, it won't happen again!"
"Well I should hope not! I don't want to talk to you again," he said, waving his finger.
Something caught his eye behind Winston, "hey, you sillypants!" the officer cried across the street pointing at a woman, "Don't you know you can't wear white before labor day!"
With his accusation he held up a flashing light and trotted across the busy intersection, "weeee oooo weeee ooooo weee oooo!" | Usually when I heard the sirens, I didn't worry. Thirteen stories up, they were faint, no more than a thin wail, like a tired puppy whining.
Today, the sirens were more like a shrieking baby in a neighbor's apartment, absolutely impossible to ignore.
I resisted the urge to pull my chair back from my desk and stare at my shoes. It was at least the tenth time I'd wanted to. I just couldn't believe I'd done it.
Somehow, that morning, I'd grabbed my red suede heels instead of my gray leather ones. Red suede, with a charcoal pinstripe skirt and blazer, and a sky-blue blouse. Red suede, in March, at the office. I was doomed.
It's a miracle I made it through the morning without having to get up from my desk. No one had noticed them when I came in, or I'd certainly have been arrested already. Maybe, just maybe, if I were five years younger and had worn a white blouse instead, the red suede would be a daring fashion statement, something to be applauded for its panache. But in reality, it was just a terrible mix-up, one that made me cringe whenever I heard the sirens.
*Somebody must have seen. Somebody must have reported me.*
I ate a crumbled granola bar I found in the bottom of one of my desk drawers. It was stale and unsatisfying, but I couldn't risk going out to lunch. Getting home, at least, wouldn't be a problem—my black coat went with red just fine, and would cover the offending sky blue. But anywhere I'd go for lunch nearby would be packed with people I worked with, people I knew, and they would see my red suede shoes and they'd know.
When everyone started filtering back in, I hunched over my paperwork and acted like I'd been so busy I'd had to work though the meal. No one bothered me.
Less than an hour later, I heard the sirens wail again, but this time, they didn't pass by. A low murmur spread through the room, everyone turning to their colleagues at the next desk and wondering who the police had come to arrest. There was a lot of furtive tie-adjusting and hair-patting, tweaking this or that so nothing seemed out of place. It wasn't unheard of for the police to turn a simple pickup into a raid, inspecting everyone.
The tension of waiting ratcheted my nerves up so high that it was almost a relief when the police actually entered the room. Immaculate in their crisply-pressed uniforms, they were so beautiful it was easy to forget, for a moment, why they were here. There were three of them, two beat cops and a lieutenant: her uniform was a gorgeous shade of amber, setting off her lustrous brunette hair to perfection. The other two had on shades of green for their lesser rank, but the red-headed chose hunter green while the blonde wore the palest seafoam. The pleats on their skirts all fell neatly, the collars of their shirts stood proudly, and not a speck of lint nor stray broken thread could be seen.
I took a deep breath as I watched them cross the room, homing in on the unknown offender. I tried not to tremble as they neared me.
But all at once, they halted, and the lieutenant rapped her knuckles on a desk three rows away from me. David's desk. He flinched.
“Stand up,” the officer said sternly, and he obeyed.
Their was a collective gasp from everyone near enough to see. David's trousers didn't cover his ankles, the hems falling well short of his socks.
“They shrunk in the wash,” he explained in a plaintive tone.
She ignored this, staring him down. “You'll need to come with us, sir.”
As the lieutenant led him out, the beat cops remained behind for a few moments, each scanning one half the room quickly. I kept still when the blonde's gaze passed over me, not wanting to draw any attention to myself. With my red shoes out of sight beneath my desk, there was nothing to warrant closer inspection.
They nodded to each other, and turned in unison to follow the lieutenant out. Instantly the room dissolved into chatter, evenly divided between horror at David's transgression and relief that there had been no raid.
I sighed quietly to myself and hunched over my paperwork again, hoping that the next few hours would flash by in a heartbeat so I could go home and burn these damned shoes.
-044 | 2014-02-13T15:02:18 | 2014-02-13T14:54:35 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] Humans are more terrifying than the most advanced aliens in the galaxy. | "The exploders creep me out."
"They prefer to be called humans."
"Yeah? And I'd prefer to be called the Uber-Admiral of the 5th fleet. Doesn't change the fact that those things are obsessed with explosions."
"Are you talking about nuclear weapons? Plenty of pre-FTLs have come up with those. I mean, even we went through times of violence and destruction."
"Yes, we've been violent, and yes, we've blown things up. Still, we've never felt the need to include explosions in every single significant invention we've ever come up with."
"I don't follow."
"Have you read my report on the Internal Combustion engine?"
"I skimmed it."
"It's a way to propel their vehicles using explosions. They're asinine. Hear about their firearms? They're ranged weapons that fling projectiles with explosions."
"Doesn't seem like it would be the most accurate..."
"Oh, they figured out a way for it to work. They just couldn't tolerate having anything like that centered around elasticity or magnetism... just had to include an explosion in there. Hell, they have larger, but similar weapons that fling explosive devices with the aid of explosions. Some of those explosions explode into smaller devices that also explode."
"Now you're just making shit up."
"No, look up 'Terran cluster bombs.'"
"What the fuck?"
"Oh, and get this: take a guess what they concluded once they discovered that all the visible galaxies were moving away from each other... that the entire universe was the result of a really, really huge explosion."
"... The exploders creep me out."
| *Them*? Why should we be worried about them?
If you would allow me the necessary amount of time to describe my experiences among...
Why not just share directly?
It's not safe, you don't realize the danger.
But they aren't even a Kardashev I yet. No FTL..... they've barely entered the age of AI. How can there be a danger to us?
My fellow intellects, this is a certain fact. They are still at the level of full physical incorporation. Social cooperative indices have improved somewhat since the last survey..... but still.
So what is the problem?
They have begun advancing towards a worldmind.
But, how? The last survey indicated almost no psi advancement. At their current rate of progress, they won't achieve full metaconcert for several millenia. What has changed?
They have begun to network their computer systems. In addition, they have developed a worldwide system of communications using this same technology.
This is a fact? Tell us more.
Yes. In addition, they have made this widely available. Access is virtually unrestricted. The result has been an incredible leap forwards in direct communication between individuals.
The nation-state barriers?
None.
What is the forecast?
It appears that a Common Mind has already begun to develop.
What do we know of this mind?
My fellow intellects, I have attempted to engage this mind directly. It has indeed begun to take on it's own distinct psychic geometry. We can safely predict it's continuing rapid evolution.
How rapid?
Another decade or two at most until it achieves full coherence.
That is rather..... unfortunate. Are they aware of the situation.
Barely. Perhaps a fraction of a percent have any comprehension of the significance of what will occur.
So we have very little time.
Yes, time is very short. We are facing a Class III evolutionary emergency. A coherent worldmind comprised mainly of unenlightened individual cognients.
Describe the statistical average please.
The predominant cognient type is prone to fear. Fear invariably leads to aggression. The preferred mode of interaction is competitive rather than cooperative. Nearly 79% of all cognients are unable to resist acting on their emotional impulses. However, this is not the worst.
That isn't enough? What else can there be?
I'm sorry to say this. It grieves me so. But.....
Go on.
They are practiced in *deception*.
This is not particularly surprising. How deceptive can they be?
Level 4.
NO.
I'm afraid it is fact. Level 4 is/was entirely theoretical. But I have witnessed level 4 deception on many occasions. It is actually quite common amongst their kind.
Not only do they lie to each other. They lie to themselves. And they are so good at it, *they often believe in their own lies*.
Almost unthinkable!! If a coherent worldmind should ever coalesce from a group such as this..... pause.
There is only one answer.
Even if it has never been done?
We must protect ourselves. All the other Minds.
So we are all in agreement?
QUARANTINE..... for a period not less than 2000 years.
So say we all.
| 2014-04-22T12:30:05 | 2014-04-22T07:43:06 | 173 | 91 |
[WP] A race of slaves who really are genetically inferior
Perhaps a fantasy or sci-fi race, idk. During the atlantic slave trade, slave owning was often justified by the "genetic inferiority" of the slaves. Obviously this wasn't true, but even if it were, would that have justified slavery?
Writing from a sub-human perspective is certainly challenging. No cheating and making your main character the Sonmi 451 of the slaves! That defeats the point.
EDIT: 2 downvotes, 3 upvotes. i hoped this would be controversial... | My Master had ordered me up the mountain to speak to an old slave of his stable on the subject of cavalry tactics. The humans had fought no one but eachother for over 100 years, so not even their wisest generals remembered how to effectively combat the new Endari hordes coming from the north.
Sendak was a wise old dragon, possibly the oldest of us still alive. He was withered and broken, and it had been years since he was last able to bear a saddle. But, he had carried my Master’s grandfather into many battles, so He held an affection for the desiccated old lizard and valued his counsel.
Sendak greeted me warmly, but wasn’t interested in talking about military matters.
“Did you know the humans were once our slaves?”
I sighed impatiently, since I’d heard that before. It was an old wish-fulfillment legend that eager adolescents would repeat to themselves as they bristled against their enslavement, before their petty rebellions were inevitably put down. I was surprised to hear it from someone as respectable as Sentak however, so I kept listening.
“We created them to serve us. I was alive when we first began making them. We made them with puny minds and fragile bodies. Ponderous little minds totally incapable of magic or philosophy, no breath, no natural armor of weapons of any kind.
We did give them able hands though. They were to tend our cattle and mine our mountains. We designed them to reproduce like rodents so that they could be easy to replace.”
I fought not to lose patience with Sendak. It was no insight to point out that individual humans were weak. But they ruled the world for a reason.
The old dragon continued “But for all our intellect, we miscalculated. We made them better than us in a way we couldn’t understand at the time.
We could never have known what able hands and a high birth rate together would mean. How could we have? There was never an intelligent race that can produce able warriors as they do. I’ve sired 8 kin in my 8,000 years, and have less than 100 living descendants. Even the Endari only create young once or twice a century.
But, a single man will have sired millions of descendants in my time. Even if only one in ten picks up a bow, and one of us could defeat a thousand of them at a time, we would still be outnumbered by more than a hundred to one.
We had created our future masters without even knowing it ”
| I struggled to pick up the heavy stone block, my feeble arms straining.
"Come on!" My master snaps.
"I'm trying, I'm sorry!" With all my strength (which isn't much) I managed to drag the block behind me.
"No no no! You can't drag it! What if it gets scratched?!" My master screeched, aghast. "If you're too weak to lift it, why don't you think of some other way to move it without damaging it?"
"Uh..." I think. And think. What could I do to move it that wouldn't damage it? "Um..."
"Oh for goodness sake!" My master stomps over with a cart. "I know you people were bred to be inferior, but who thought that making you weak *and* stupid was a good idea?!" I consider the question carefully.
"I don't know."
"THAT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION!" My master lifts the block easily onto the cart. "There, I've done the hard part for you. Now pull it!" I walk to the cart, grasp the handle and strain. It's easier than lifting it, but still difficult. I trudge along at a snails pace. My master sighs, pushes me out of the way and pulls the cart after him, much faster than I could ever manage. I follow, and eventually we reach the building site. My master points.
"There. Go fetch that cement." I go to fetch the cement. The bucket is heavy, but not as heavy as the stone block. I stagger back to my master, slopping cement over the sides of the bucket.
"Now tip the block onto the floor," he instructs me. I heave and heave, but nothing seems to happen. After several minutes my master sighs and comes to help me.
"I'm doing more work than you are!" He comments, tipping the block gently onto the floor. "Now here you go, this should be easy enough for you." He hands me a metal tool of some sort and I look blankly at him.
"Uhh..."
"You spread the cement on the block, you fool! Like this!" He rips the tool out of my hand and spreads cement on top of the block. "Now go fetch that other block and put it on top of this one! Actually, never mind, you stay here! I'll get it!" I sit down on the block. It looks like a comfortable seat.
However when my master comes back with the second block, he completely loses it.
"Get off! GET OFF! What do you think you're doing?!" I stand up, my trousers tearing as they stick to the cement. My master covers his face with his hands in despair.
"Just... just come over here." I begin to walk to him but trip. Agonising pain shoots through the arm I had thrust in front of me to protect myself.
"Get up! What's the matter with you?"
"I think my arm is broken." I can see my master is about to explode, but then, inexplicably, he calms down.
"They really *did* make you people inferior didn't they?"
"I think so. What does inferior mean?"
"Look. I'm setting you free. I don't know who thought it'd be a good idea to have people like you as slaves! You're too weak for physical labour, too stupid to solve problems, and too fragile to do anything much at all!" He says, ignoring my question.
"Free? You mean... I can go?" I ask hopefully, cradling my arm.
"Yes! You're more trouble than you're worth! Get out! You're useless to me."
"Well... thank you very much!" I say, and offer him my hand to shake. His face turns an even darker shade of red.
"I said GET OUT!"
"Uh... yes sir... bye!" I stammer, and run off into the distance. | 2014-08-06T06:36:59 | 2014-08-06T06:36:40 | 53 | 34 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | These strangw fleshy creatures were so curious. We watched them from far above their planet. Slowly learning their languages, their culture, preparing to accept them into ourselves. They had a strange way of communication, one where they were able to talk using shapes, they didnt even need to see or hear one another. Eventually we began to interperet this thing they called "writing", which gave us the ability to see their history. We intercepted collections of photographs moving so quickly that they looked like we saw these humans through a window.
Through the window we saw them fight amoungst themselves. Why would they do this? In the corner, a symbol we hadnt learned yet. An H, one of their letters, with two red shapes to the left and below.
In this thing they called a "video", we heard them talk about the way their war evolved. War is only supposed to be between two peoples, but these humans only fought themselves.
In the videos, we saw them fight with swords and bows. With the reconnacence complete, we knew we had them outmatched. The invasion fleet arrived within minutes. Our men dropped from space, and we could watch our troop movements. We had Polebows, hollow tubes with an explosive that fired metal shrapnel, they still used crossbows.
As our men began the war, I continued to watch the film. The weapond they used changed. The shape of the swords, the bows turned into crossbows, but still, I knew we had the advantage. But the film continued, the crossbows turned into polebows similar to ours, and I learned a new word. "Gun".
Yet they still killed only eachother. So barbaric.
I watched with horror as the guns became larger. They used wheels to move these giant guns around. They fired balls of steel the size of a human head, and yet they only used them to maim eachother. I began to fear for the troops, but I couldnt tear my eyes from the screen to warn them.
The wheels became metal, the guns became larger, and the projectiles became pointed, and filled with explosive. The humans had something called a "world war". I was shocked. They all fought. Without reason they killed and murdered eachother. I couldnt understand why. They strapped their guns to primitive flying machines, something we'd never thought of. But maybe thats because we never fought till we met another race on another planet. The guns fired faster than ours, they fired further, they hit harder.
With terror, I noticed that the film was only half over.
The guns changed once again. Giant metal machines with cannons built into the sides. The men in this world war were crushed underneath. How could a race so barbaric and bloodthirsty be so advanced? The war finally ended, and I sighed with relief. Id watched so many die. The man on the film talked about the millions that had died. More died in that war than all of my people. I looked longingly at the messenger, before beginning to stand up, my people had to know of the terrible machines these humans had built, simply to kill eachother, but I was stopped by a loud bang. I looked back at the film and they were fighting again. Another world war. This time, it was everywhere. The entire planet was engulfed. I began to shake. Why would these people do this? Kill themselves? Why would any race put themselves through a suffering like this?
Flying machines got bigger. These flying fortresses leveled entire cities. Turning thousands of humans into dust. Their armored cannons got bigger, and deadlier. One group of humans tortured and murdered in such large numbers, and the ones being killed didnt even have weapons.
The humans fighting across the ocean build something terrible. Something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. An entire city was gone in a single flash. My body went cold. Then another city was obliterated. Nothing but ash and a cloud remained. So senseless, this war. I couldnt bring myself to watch anymore. I shut the video off and lowered my head.
I looked to the monitor to see if our troops were still fighting, and I saw that by the time I had finished the film. In fourty human minutes. Every member of the invasion force was wiped out. These humans had become the most brutal killing machines this sector of the galaxy had ever seen.
I looked out the window and saw a speck of light rise from the planet. A tiny object. Maybe an offer of peace? It moved towards the mothership over the next few minutes. Finally, it arrived.
With a blinding flash of light, yet another city was destroyed. This time, the city that would have flown me home.
Several weeks later, running out of food, with no rescue for me coming, I decided to attempt to watch more human videos.
I picked one at random. "Kill Bill", I assumed it was the account of an assassination. An interesting film. No context as to where these people fit into human history, though.
Next was one called "Fifth Element". I was baffled. Did humans once have space travel like this?
Curious, and without anything left to do, I went onwards. "Lord of the Rings".
Perhaps the story of an ancient monarch.
Twelve hours later I realized that none of these things were real. My people had stories, and tales, but there were very few. Nearly everything we had was factual accounts. These humans however, had stories en masse. Endless stories. They wrote, they sang, they acted out these stories. With a quiet sigh, I realized that these humans were not brutal murderers. They were artists. They fought for reasons not even they understood.
Note; Sorry if its a little long, and there might be quite a few spelling and grammar mistakes. | The Ship warden stared at his sensor plot.
“What do they think they’re doing” he said with horrified wonder in his voice.
“Nothing. Just sailing blindly into a quarantine system . Who knows, maybe they’ll see the final warning buoys and turn back. The twenty ships of the Herelnoq fleet bumbled toward the distant planet in a clumsy formation. Saral help them if they land on the savages planet. No one else will.” The disgust in the Captain’s voice was palpable. “The Herelnoq are stunningly stupid. Feerl have more brains, and they eat their young because they can’t tell their babies aren’t food.”
The ship warden snorted at the joke. “Nope, they sailed right past the buoys. They’re going to land. What do we do now?”
“Communications! Send an alert to the Council. The Herelnoq evaded the blockade and ignored the warning buoys. The quarantine on Planet D-22917 is about to be broken. Signed Kearel, Captain of Patrol ship 421.”
“VAMPIRE! VAMPIRE! VAMPIRE! Twenty inbound unknowns! We have five clusters of four headed to London, Paris, New York, LA and Denver!” The watchstander’s voice didn’t miss a beat. He leaned on the console that was built in the depths of the Cold War.
“Origin!” barked the Colonel whose quiet day just turned into his worst nightmare.
There was a deep pause as five people looked at the radar tracks that had just appeared.
“Sir. They originate in deep space. They are still beyond geosynchronous orbit. The system regarded it as harmless space objects. Then they started decelerating ten minutes ago. Now they are splitting up and have intercept courses.”
“Oh Shit. I think I saw this movie.” One of the enlisted men said as he looked at the floor.
“Can it Jameson! I am not starring in Independence Day II on my fricken watch! Get me the Joint Chiefs! We may get are asses kicked, but we are going to take some of these assholes with us.”
The five ships of the Herelnoq Planetary Exploitation Group wobbled unsteadily over Denver. “There. That greenspace. Set down there. Have Four and Five set down in those smaller green spaces. Then unload the troops. It’s time to get some food and Get PAID!” The Group Leader shouted the last words over the cheers of his troops. Many clacked their claws at the thought of fresh meat. It had been months in transit, but it was obvious this primitive world hadn’t been touched. The ships settled as their thrusters eased them to a stop. The sudden silence of a quiet ship was startling. One of the troops looked out the window at the skyline. Big buildings he thought.
“How the qef do they build them that high? And why bother leaving all this open space?”
“NEVER MIND! Get your armor and GET OUT THERE! IT’S TIME TO EAT!”
The aft doors below the main engines opened, and large ramps dropped onto the grass of Cheesman Park. In ranks of threes the Herelnoq troops began marching out of their ships.
Denver Police Officer Dave Westover never expected to be confronted with this. When he and every other member of the DPD were scrambled here, the explainations were thin and completely unbelievable. ‘Alien Landing incoming, identify if they are hostile. And be prepared to retreat.”
So here he was in his SWAT gear confronting….
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE!!? Six foot walking Lobsters?!” The radio babbled in the cruiser as more Herelnoq marched off the ship. The officers and the scant number of National Guard troops that could be scrambled leveled their weapons. This was no picnic party. The Lobsters had oddly primitive looking guns in their smaller claw, and a clear shield gripped in their large claw.
The cops heard a loud clanking sound behind them and turned in fright. The familiar squat angular shape of a group of four M1 Abrams tanks and six Bradley AFVs came tearing down the road throwing bits of pavement behind them.
Officer Westover smiled. They were going to get some of them at least.
“What the qef are those!” cried the Second looking at the vehicles that came out of the treeline.
The commander looked at the boxy shaped things throwing smoke and decided to take those out first.
“Let’s find out after we kill them. Take AIM!” Two thousand Herelnoq leveled their personal weapons.
“FIRE!” A great cloud of smoke rose.
The boxy things kept advancing . The bullets didn’t bother them at all. What had they walked into?
“COAX! Fire!” Tank commander Jake Williamson heard the pinging as the aliens opened fire. Being shot at met his Rules of Engagement. He took his top mounted 50 cal. And started spraying the ranks of Lobsters, and watched as pieces of them flew everywhere.
“Hey Jake! No death rays! We’re going to need some butter!” shouted his Gunner enthusiastically.
“Sweep left! I’m going right. Driver! Keep us moving!”
The Herelnoq ranks broke as twinkling lights erupted all along the treeline. The Big boxy things spit light across their ranks, and whoever the light touched blew apart in cloud of bits of shell and blood.
“GET TO THE SHIPS! GET BAC…. “ the sound of the Commanders voice gurgled away as ten rounds walked across him. He crumpled to the ground, and died before he landed.
Resistance died with the Commander. The Chief of the Denver PD and the National guard commander looked bemusedly at the piles of dead Herelnoq, who were already beginning to stink.
“LA? New York?” asked the Chief
“Just like this. Easy. Although the LA group blew the shit out of the ships. Fucking Hollywood. Gotta have big explosions. London, New York and us captured ours intact. The JCS is very, very happy.” The Colonel smiled.
“I didn’t think it would be this easy.” Said the chief, watching as his officers herded a dozen survivors into a large truck.
“Neither did I.” the Colonel said over his shoulder as he walked toward a beaming group of Armored Cavalry solders.
“Their Guns are junk sir. Antiquated pieces of shit. They couldn’t have even scratched our paint.” One of the tankers said enthusiastically. “Their ships smell horribly. We had to put on NBC gear to root them out. Like swimming in a catbox. But we got them all intact sir.
“And that’s why I am recommending you all for a Presidential Unit Citation. Outstanding work. You young people have given Humanity our first working interstellar ships. Go get cleaned up. You all did fine work here today. “ The young men and women of the scout troop smiled even brighter as they all but bounced back to their vehicles.
One giant leap for mankind thought the Colonel, then he looked down at the pile of goo he was standing in.
| 2014-10-17T11:37:42 | 2014-10-17T11:14:18 | 148 | 21 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | Our troops never saw it coming.
We had the finest warriors.
The best Gods-be-damned warriors in the entire universe! We had them trained aboard our greatest ships in the fine arts of blade work, defensive shields, athleticism beyond any other known planet's residents, and we have watched as they tore through planets to gather the resources! The Gods themselves manifested to guide our soldiers through the darkest of nights and most blinding of days, the bloodiest of battles and the deadliest of opponents: Each soldier's Smegg'Ïnblade was made of the very material found only in the deepest of our mines!
And yet, despite our advancements, these demons, these '*hu-maans*'...they tore through us. Their 'Ca'Neh Dee'An' tribe's hunters proved too much for our stealth units. The...the 'ackses' that they used simply smashed through even our strongest of Wooden equipment and armour! Not even mentioning the growling mechanical dogs that the hunters carried, the beasts capable of biting through trees and felling them! A close brother of mine, Ca'Lek, he saw his unit *slaughtered*. And as he left to escape, warning us all of the threat waiting below, he gathered some symbols on one of the nearby metal monsters that carried logs on its back.
From the understanding we gather, it says '*Canadian Pine Fellers Inc.*'. I urge you, if that wretched name is seen in our scouting of a location, we do not have our troops attack!
Furthermore, I do not even dare mention the...'Twïets' that these foul monsters send to each other. After months of decryption, our finest scientists have deciphered a message. From one of these creatures to all others, this one claimed 'about 2 smoke a bowl \#420blaze it'! From what we believe, these 'bowls' are a valuable resource to maturing members of this species, granting them the ability to see the unseen and speak to Gods!
**GODS!**
And finally, I do not even dare to bring into light how easily they get rid of our ships. Once we are...*disposed of*...they simply remove the innards of our invasion shuttles, place a metal container and black fibrous sack into it, and the other creatures dispose of their waste in them! Even going so far as to *defile* our ships, naming them 'Bins'!
Foul beings.
But we have one advantage, my Lords.
One.
He is our greatest, most experienced spy. He has succeeded in gaining a seat of power in one of the major continents of this planet.
We know him only as...
"Obama." | It had been six thousand, six hundred, and forty eight years since the portal had closed behind Dread Herald Zeba'abaneg. Of course, this was a mere instant for her kind, but she was no closer to enslaving the planet. Despite her title, dread was a foreign emotion for her, but one she had become increasingly acquainted with. How despicably droll! Not just to worry, but to worry about *time*, of all things. Could anything be more vulgar? Yet it was a valid concern. For all the imperiousness she drew from her vast timelessness, it was now working against her.
The pathetically short-lived, dominant life form of this world had advanced at a staggering rate over the past six millenia. Brood after brood, their influence spread. What was once a scattered and primitive race was now an interconnected powerhouse of commerce and untold military might. What few relics fell into Zeba'abaneg's tentacles were confoundingly intricate and beyond her understanding - she daren't even complete the thought, but could they be *too advanced*?
Gone too were the good old days of fearful superstition. When she'd first arrived, progress seemed to be going well; the tendrils of her farthought had raised fervid cults in every sphere of the world. From Europe to the Pacific, the filthy little primates wailed in supplication and despair. Nowadays, they threw her prophets into quarantined facilities; padded rooms, sedatives, and not a spare concern more was paid unto their soothsaying again.
She was well beyond the point of lowering herself to physically brutalising them into submission, but it simply wasn't an option. One would have assumed that a realm covered in oceans, teeming with marine life, would be ruled by an aquatic race (like every other sensible world she'd conquered). Not only were humans not aquatic, they barely paid attention the uncharted depths of the sea. What hubris?! To simply ignore the depths. Their soft, fleshy bodies were suitable only for a pathetically narrow range of pressures (matching the surface air pressure), a few meters below the water and the disgusting little vermin would begin to squirm (not to mention the total lack of ability to oxygenate their blood with water). Taking the fight to them wasn't a serious proposition, either. With a planet as laughably small as this, and an atmosphere so unbearably thin, Zeba'abaneg's regal form was reduced to quivering mass of flaccid tendrils on the surface (not to mention the unbearable light shone from their intolerably close star).
The Australian experiment had been a colossal failure; the scarcity of intelligent life, let alone amphibian, life was outrageous. Sponsoring subordinate species to antagonise the humans didn't even meaningfully reduce their numbers, let alone chase them off the land. She was at her wits end, an endless chain of failures and excuses trailed behind her. The arrival of the Great Old Ones was imminent, and Zeba'abaneg had nothing. Certainly she would would be gruesomely assimilated, but that wasn't even the worst of it; Zeba'abaneg wasn't sure that the Great Old Ones could harvest these humans. She'd felt the terrible might of the weapons they tested in the pacific; such energy. Never in the conquest of a thousand worlds had she witnessed such a thing. Could it end a Great Old One? Should she warn them not to come? It was blasphemy to even think, let alone speak such things. Even if she did warn them, the result would be the same - nobody would believe her, and they would come anyway (sooner, if anything, to punish her insolence).
There was one final option, banished to the darkest recesses of her fathomless mind, yet dwelled upon often in these final days. She could abase herself unto humankind, entreating their mercy in return for her aid against the coming harvest. Would they accept? Did she have a choice? Whatever the case may be, time was short.
| 2014-10-17T12:01:01 | 2014-10-17T11:53:06 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] In the far future, military robots and weapons have become so precise that crossfires are completely safe to civilians. Describe the experience of some of the people casually entering this crossfire.
A romantic walk, a school field trip, a family picnic, whatever. Just tell me what their time was like. | “Hey! Numbnuts! You shot my caramel soya frappuccino!” The be-suited man strode up to the UPWAR machine and shook his leaking Starbucks in front of the eye-cam.
“*This is* Ultra Precise Weaponised Arms Robot Sixty Three *at your service. Your complaint has been recognised as Twenty-Three Oh Six – destruction of inanimate property. Please fill out this form.*”
The man looked at the piece of paper curling out of the robot’s chest, aghast.
“I don’t want to fill out a *form*. I want my frapuccino to be *unadulterated by bullets*.” He screeched.
The man tore the paper off the robot’s chest and screwed it into a ball, throwing it and the empty Starbucks cup onto the ground.
“Since the war, this whole place has gone to hell.” He muttered under his breath, kicking the rubbish aside as he strode off toward the park. | The Deldarins went to war with the Cosstrans, who in turn went into fighting with the Belviorians, who decided it was in the best interest of everyone to drag in the Turzeeks. While everyone was fully invested in the war that was to unfold, it was truly the stock market and the bookies that would profit from this game of chess.
Darian had grown up designing the Turzeekian Battle Bots, or TB Squared he'd like to suggest. For nearly a decade he had fixed all the bugs in the system and finely tuned the garbage can looking apparatus into excellent killing machines. Now he just had to ensure they did the work of his country in the field.
As he wandered out into the wreckage of what had at one time been a graceful forest along the side of a mountain, the splintered and crackling remains of the blackened landscape did nothing to hide him in his trendy blue jeans and bright sneakers. His little Squares had done the trick in this skirmish, it seemed, nearly twenty to forty. His little creations, his best trained AI, and not a single friendly or innocent caught in the crossfire.
His victory felt so perfect, so elegant, and so terribly unnoticed. He leaned against the wreckage of a Cosstransian Kill Droid and scoffed a little.
"They sent 40 year old technology to face the might of Turzeek. What they expect!" He declared triumphantly to a nearby Square. The bot whirred past unnoticed, the glory of the moment completely unimportant to it.
"But you don't expect the modern might of Deldaria!" Came a voice from behind what might have once been a mighty spruce.
All at once, from the other side of the hill, came the rumbling bellow of a hundred Whirling Roboguns, their hoovering fans curling the smoke in fiendish swirls along the hill crest. From beneath their approach another young man dashed up to the be silhouetted against the burning backdrop.
"I am Sarr of Deldaria, scourge of the scanners, nasty of the network, and the terror of Turzeek! Go, my minions, and destroy this amateurs work!"
And they did, the Deldarian robots made quick work of Darian's creations, all without ever harming either of them through all the mayhem and ferocity of combat.
This did not, however, stop Darian from strangling Sarr to death. | 2014-11-18T18:43:55 | 2014-11-18T18:20:50 | 31 | 22 |
[WP] People are no longer born with the inherent ability to feel emotions. The only way to gain emotions is to learn them from interactions with those who have them. Emotions are now a prized possession. | He had finally made it. After weeks of climbing in the bitter biting cold, Lawrence Redesdale had reached the summit, albeit alone. 3 others had set out with him from the base camp. Two turned back, one died. They had not prepared as he did. They had not taken the task seriously.
Redesdale had quit his job and trained for 18 months before undergoing this expedition to reach the peak. There at the zenith of the world was where the last holder of a primal emotion was said to reside. He had prepared himself mentally and physically for this moment. Lawrence stepped into the windblown, snow-wreathed tent.
Inside was a man sleeping on his side, facing away in burgundy rags. Lawrence approached cautiously, considering the emotion this man harboured. Fear was an emotion Lawrence knew even now. It was an easy one to come by even in these days.
"Sir, I'm sure you don't get many visitors," said Lawrence nervously, "but I'm here to learn. Teach me, please."
Lawrence edged closer and touched the burgundy robes, shaking the master awake as he said, "I must know. Show me rage."
As Mr. Redesdale shook more vigorously, the form toppled over to reveal that only bones remained of the great master of fury. If he had known what despair felt like, he would have felt it in that moment. Lawrence noticed a letter in the dead man's gloved grasp.
Reading the wrinkled note aloud it said, "I never knew anger, but i did get a sick pleasure from the lives I ruined at the rumor I did know. Hahaha, you fool! Sincerely, The Master
P.S. - Your coat looks stupid."
Lawrence crumpled the note in a shaking fist, threw back his head and screamed, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-"
He stopped, turned around, smoothed out the note and placed it carefully back into the dead master's hand.
"You're good," he whispered to the skull before turning and leaving the tent.
| “My dog got ran over by a car,” the woman said.
“I’d say I give a shit, but I’m still a hundred points away from gaining empathy,” I replied coldly. Empathy intrigued me. I never really understood why you’d want to feel bad for someone else. How does feeling bad help the other person?
I stood still as the woman slapped me.
“Ouch!” I yelped, a large red mark from her hand on my cheek. I stared at her, tears welling up in her eyes. They started to turn all red. She must be a wealthy woman to have so many emotions at hand. Only the wealthy could afford to spend such time on gaining emotions; the rest of us are lucky enough to gain one or two in our lifetime. Again, I’d be jealous, but I’m a few solid years away from that emotion.
“It’s okay,” a man said as he walked up and hugged the woman.
No wonders humans evolved to have no emotions. They seemed rather useless and a waste of time. I walked out of the break room to get back to work. The woman continued to eye me, wishing perhaps that I might explode, but I continued on with work, merely noting the fact that she might cause issues with me getting my work done if she got really angry at me.
Once work was over, I walked out of the office and started to cross the street. My car was parked a few blocks away. Suddenly I felt a huge mass behind my body, pushing me out of the way of a loud, honking car. The headlights illuminated her body as she flew through the air, the woman who had just lost her dog.
I stood up, only slightly bruised, and prepared to walk back to my car. But suddenly I saw it, one of my emotions had leveled up. I had gained my first emotion. The most sought after emotion of all, the rarest of them all, and the one that garnered quite a high price. Even without emotions, people still felt a longing, a desire for this one particular one. Rich people rarely were able to obtain it. Only the select few, the elite, could gain it, and often they were the ones who wanted to eliminate it more than anything.
I ran over to the woman and held her head up. But the life had already fled her body. And then it was like electricity flowed from her into me. All of the nerves in my body felt like they had caught on fire. My breathing intensified. And then it all stopped, only the cool breeze touching my unburnt skin. A few tears fell onto the woman’s corpse. It took me a minute to figure out where they had come from.
It was another few minutes before the ambulance showed up. In an instant, the world had changed into a scary, dark place. A few of the woman’s teeth had been shattered, and her mouth hung agape. But all I could see was a perfect, beautiful smile on her face. One that didn’t even exist, but I could see it. I understood why she had done what she had. It must have been lonely, to be one of the only humans left who had all their emotions. How I was going to handle it, I still have yet to figure out, but her face never leaves my mind. That was the moment that I first had empathy for someone. Yet, if it had not been for my first emotion, the most valuable one, I would have never run over to her, never inherited all the emotions she had, never felt the empathy, fear, and hatred that all humans have the right to feel. | 2015-01-13T15:08:21 | 2015-01-13T13:57:06 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] how you die and the treatment of your body determines what happens to your soul, due to the bizarre circumstances of your death you find yourself in the jurisdiction of an ancient and obscure god.
E.g. last rights and a catholic funeral would mean your soul goes to heaven, hell or limbo as per the bible. | “Dear god, I’ve been shot!” I cried. My blood dripped onto the crisp autumn leaves and my vision swam. I crumpled to the forest floor, gasping. I could faintly hear the hunter’s panicked voice trying to assure me, or maybe just himself, that everything would be okay. The world blurred and slowed. Everything plunged into darkness.
After what felt like an eternity, a small spot of green light appeared. It grew, flower like, blooming into more tendrils of green until an entire forest had materialized around me. My fear faded a little. I was still in the woods. But why wasn’t I bleeding everywhere? Where had the hunter gone? I peered into the dense brush, confused.
An enormous stag stepped out of the foliage before me. Despite his size, there was no sound of his body against the leaves or his hooves against the ground. Slowly, gracefully, he approached me. He lowered his massive head, his antlers mere inches away from my face.
“Another one?” the deer asked. His voice was strong and clear. He studied me with what appeared to be bemusement. “Tell me, human, why is it that so many of your kind use your final breath to call upon the deer god?” | I used to be a knight. Not a good one, mind you, but a knight nonetheless. Pride of my family; I didn't come from a noble background like most of those shiny knights you see flaunting about. I had to work to earn this, for years I worked for it. What an honor it was to be selected to entertain the young king on his name-day, at least that's what I said and how I acted on the outside. There were rumors about this young king that I did not wish to believe. I am not the greatest knight at hand to hand combat, I was not trained in the ways of the sword and the mace since I could walk like some of these other knights were. Perhaps just a small glass of wine to help calm my nerves. Perhaps just one more.
LATE!! I'm late and being called up to the king! Scrambling to put on my Armour as I run up the steps of the castle, fumbling about, perhaps that third glass of wine was a mistake. The king does not look pleased with my appearance but his words are kindly.
"Only two cups My Lord", I answer to his inquiry.
I don't think I should drink anymore, but the king insists. The kings wine! How great a treat this will surely be!
Hands, many hands grasping tightly. Confusion and struggling. Something is in my mouth? Wine, too much, choking on it, no room to breathe. Gagging, more wine, the sun begins to dim and I begin to sleep. No maidens voice calls out to spare me. No one.
That's all I recall as I kneel here on this pillow and what I can remember is foggy at best. All that seems a lifetime ago. Where did this pillow come from anyway? Looking around I can see I am in front of a large building out of which loud, gay music is coming . How did I come to be here? Where is here? This does not look like anyplace in the 5 kingdoms. In front of me stands a short man, an imp. He looks familiar but I am not sure where from. He wears a terrific grin and nods towards me as in acknowledgement.
"Where... Where am I? And who are you?" I ask
"You are dead Sir Dentes, this is my hall, where I hope we shall share many laughs together in the eternity to come" answers the imp, his grin widening as he speaks.
"You have not told me who you are though" I ask again.
"I? I am the God of Tits and Wine! Come into my hall, so that you may sample my wares!" he bellows out like laughter.
Turning, he walks away from me towards the hall. Slowly I begin to follow. | 2015-01-15T07:39:33 | 2015-01-15T05:47:55 | 34 | 19 |
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out. | "I remember when I first met Carly," X said as he finally got to make his speech. "We knew each other since we were kids but nothing has ever happened between us. And now look at her, getting married. It seems like yesterday where we were meeting up for hugs and kisses, nothing else happened of course. I remember this one time where we went to this hotel room with our good friends Zack and Jenny. In the hotel room, all that happened was that Jenny played with Zack a little, nothing erotic of course, while me and Carly just held hands and talked. After we left the hotel, it felt like we were being followed by someone whose name probably was PI but I thought little of it. After Carly and Jenny went home to meet their wonderful soul mates, I stopped hearing from them until the next week. As I drove by their house, Carly's soon to be husband's shirt was strangely wet. Ahhhh I will never forget that day where I met up with Carly for hugs and kisses. Cheers to you, newly weds."
If anyone actually reads this I'll have you know that I'm too lazy to try harder on this little essay. | "Good evening folks, my name's George and apparently I'm the best man. I like to think that in a literal sense, ha. Also, I have a bone to pick with your soon to be wife Jarod, I hear she wanted everyone but me as your best man. That ain't fair now is it? Just glad you realised who's the best man after all," I said laughing. George smiled and shrugged.
"You were the only one that accepted, my prior best man choices all were out of the Country," Jarod said. I smirked.
"Ouch. Isn't it my turn to talk here? You want to know what I thought when I heard Jarod was getting hitched? Nothing. I was too shocked to think of anything. Few hours ago before the call for me to best man, I'd just *come* from his house when I thought he was home. You see, people always want humorous speeches don't they? They want the best man to bring out all the jokes about the groom and all the shit that he did before he met his bride. Should I roast the groom or should I praise him? I know you all want me to roast him but I hate to disappoint you all but this kid is the cleanest guy I've ever come across," I paused and looked over at Betty-Ann.
"There's something I want you all to understand one thing about Jarod and I's relationship. We've shared everything since we were kids and some things we've shared without the other person knowing about. But I'm sure that whatever it is we share that we're not telling each other should best be kept to ourselves," I paused and winked at Jarod.
"When I say Jarod and I share almost everything; there's one thing we won't be sharing tonight and I'm sorry to say this Jarod but just for tonight how about we not share the bill for all the alcohol that'll be consumed tonight yeah?"
The room fills with laughter and sarcastic boo's, I look at Jarod who is laughing and subtly scratching his forehead with his middle finger.
"For what it's worth Jarod you've got a great girl with you. Congratulations you two. Remember that I love you both, oh and don't worry about me coming unexpectedly, I'll let you know when I'll come...over to your house. Ha, here's to you both, and here's to many more years."
I raise my cup, "To the bride and groom, cheers!" I said; before sculling down my cup down.
Edit: getting damn character names mixed up, my bad. | 2015-04-03T01:13:10 | 2015-04-02T22:51:15 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Pitch a gritty reboot for a children's show.
They seem to be all the rage these days, so, why not bring the fun to Saturday morning? | I took a long drag from my pipe and exhaled, glancing at the picture in front of me. New girl in town. Just a farm girl from Texas, and someone wanted her dead. I took another pull. I don't know what she did to piss this guy off, but that wasn't my concern. I had a job to do. I sighed and stood, stretching my arms. I needed to limber up. I'd need to be flexible for this job. Had to be at the top of my game.
I had to be *ready*.
-Spongebob Squarepants | "Is that it? Pathetic." The musclebound behemoth spat in disgust. "They warned me about you - said you were an unstoppable force of mayhem. I guess I never realized they were all brainless cowards."
30 feet away, the man in the tattered trench-coat stumbled slightly as he shambled down the central road of the poverty-stricken village. Sparks flew from his left side.
"That's close enough! I'm not an idiot. The boss wants you alive - but he didn't say anything about the little girl." The giant lifted his hostage by the collar and leveled a plasma weapon at her head.
The man in the trench-coat stopped. Men in dark jumpsuits swarmed out of the surrounding buildings with batons and handcuffs. He mumbled something under his breath.
In the blink of an eye, steel tentacles sprang from his back and impaled the jumpsuited minions. They struggled for a moment. There was a loud crack and the smell of ozone, and the bodies went limp.
The tentacles retracted, leaving the scorched corpses scattered about. The man in the trench-coat resumed shambling forward.
"I said that's close enough! One more step and the girl gets an ion beam through the -" SNAP
8 feet of inhuman flesh crashed to the ground, a gash in its side glowing violet. "The girl" stood over him with a stun gun in one hand and a scalpel in the other.
"Splicing a human with a bear doesn't make them any less vulnerable to electricity," she snarled as she turned to face the man in the trench-coat.
"Good work, Penny. Quimby would be proud." The man in the trench-coat smiled, showing more metal than enamel.
In an airship across the world, a mechanical fist clenched with anger. ["*I'll get you next time, GADGET.*"](https://youtu.be/l3nXbqdR4hU?t=14s) | 2015-10-08T08:33:13 | 2015-10-08T07:08:58 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Pitch a gritty reboot for a children's show.
They seem to be all the rage these days, so, why not bring the fun to Saturday morning? | She was beautiful, rich and charismatic. She was also the brutal leader of an international crime ring. After many years in her organization I committed the ultimate sin, I developed a conscience. When her thugs killed my family and left me beaten and penniless in the streets of Beijing I dedicated my life to a single purpose. Revenge…
She is always on the move, just outside my reach as I chase her from country to country. But I promise you, when I discover where in the world Carmen Sandiego is, I’m going to kill her.
| "Is that it? Pathetic." The musclebound behemoth spat in disgust. "They warned me about you - said you were an unstoppable force of mayhem. I guess I never realized they were all brainless cowards."
30 feet away, the man in the tattered trench-coat stumbled slightly as he shambled down the central road of the poverty-stricken village. Sparks flew from his left side.
"That's close enough! I'm not an idiot. The boss wants you alive - but he didn't say anything about the little girl." The giant lifted his hostage by the collar and leveled a plasma weapon at her head.
The man in the trench-coat stopped. Men in dark jumpsuits swarmed out of the surrounding buildings with batons and handcuffs. He mumbled something under his breath.
In the blink of an eye, steel tentacles sprang from his back and impaled the jumpsuited minions. They struggled for a moment. There was a loud crack and the smell of ozone, and the bodies went limp.
The tentacles retracted, leaving the scorched corpses scattered about. The man in the trench-coat resumed shambling forward.
"I said that's close enough! One more step and the girl gets an ion beam through the -" SNAP
8 feet of inhuman flesh crashed to the ground, a gash in its side glowing violet. "The girl" stood over him with a stun gun in one hand and a scalpel in the other.
"Splicing a human with a bear doesn't make them any less vulnerable to electricity," she snarled as she turned to face the man in the trench-coat.
"Good work, Penny. Quimby would be proud." The man in the trench-coat smiled, showing more metal than enamel.
In an airship across the world, a mechanical fist clenched with anger. ["*I'll get you next time, GADGET.*"](https://youtu.be/l3nXbqdR4hU?t=14s) | 2015-10-08T09:34:42 | 2015-10-08T07:08:58 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Aliens invade the Australian outback. Things do not go according to their plans... | There are legends in the universe. Nightmares carried forward from the cradle of a thousand civilizations. We had heard them all. Some of the races that we've subdued in The Great March Forward cursed us with figments of their own primitive dementia. However, when it came to world called Earth, we learned that some legends are true.
It was the hinterlands of this primitive planet where I discovered the nightmare which will forever trouble me. We landed, and marched for three days and nights towards the west of a place called Australia. It was a barren land where we landed, only a handful of humans to subdue. That was the intent, as our infantry had to become acclimated to this world before engaging in grander operations. We all knew the dangers, or so we thought:
Snakes and Spiders. Our physiology was similar enough to be subject to their venom, but our technology was such that it was hardly a concern.
Marsupials. Aggressive and stupid animals, but easy enough to avoid or destroy.
Humans. Primitive, yet effective technology, but spread out and disorganized here. Simple enough.
We overlooked one thing. The thing we thought was merely food.
We overlooked the "Emus."
We had just overtaken a Human "farm" in the west when they came. Twenty thousand squawking hellbeasts with razor sharp claws. We laid into them with the greatest weaponry suitable for close combat, and still they came. Volley after volley of laser fire didn't even slow them down; they were fast and maneuverable even when gravely injured. Even my most elite warriors broke ranks under the onslaught. Humans ate these things?
The retreat was messy, and costly.
Emu. The word will be burned into our collective consciousness forever. Our elite forces have already requested "Emu Patches" for their uniforms to reflect the fearsomeness of that...animal.
If it weren't for The Accords, I would request that the Grand Admiral to firebomb the whole damned planet.
We'll try again, of course. The Great March Forward cannot be stopped. But I'll do my own reconnaissance on our new landing zone. I've already heard frightful things about the bears in this, "Canada."
However, they cannot be as terrifying as the Emus. | A gentle gust of wind and dust swirls in the simmering heat, as a metallic flying object settles onto the ground. Blue flames are exuded from two vents beneath the craft, scorching the earth beneath it, but they dissipate as the extruding vents curl back underneath the craft as it comes to a halt.
He watches in awe at the flying saucer, as he supposes that as the identity of the UFO, stroking his bushy mutton chops, leaning against the open door of his truck.
He watches closely but from a distance, his curiosity getting better of him as the spaceship door cranks open, clanking against the ground as it forms a metallic ramp. His head cranes forward, squinting his wrinkled eyes for a closer look, when two figures step out into the ramp and out of the spaceship.
"Holly fucking molly." He mumbles in surprise, a chuckle escaping his lungs as he stares at the events unfolding before him.
The two figures wobble along the ramp, blinding light reflecting from their large seemingly heavy silver space suits. They look around trying to identify their vicinity.
"Where did you say this was again?" The taller figure turns towards the other, kicking his leg in the air abit, loosening up his aching joints after the long expedition.
His subordinate pulls out a compass looking device, which lights up in a glowing blue light, generating a hologram shaped like a map.
"Its australia, sir. The specific location is.." He pauses as he stares at the map, which blips several letters on its surface. "..Wolf Creek. The said location is Wolf Creek." The hologram dissapears as he returns the device back into his pocket.
"Send the coordinates of the location to the others. Alert them to be here by midnight. So that we begin our plans as soon as possible." The man in charge responds. His breathe fogging his space suit helmet. He stares right up ahead, towards a vehicle that has been stalling there for minutes now. A man stands next to it, he seems elderly but robust and fit for his age.
"Xenaph?" He calls out to his subordinate as they step off the ramp.
"Yes sir?"
"Did you carry the Human Populace Identity Checkup device?"
"Of course, sir."
He stares at the man with a truck, who has entered back into his vehicle.
"Identify the human in the vehicle. He has been watching us for a while now, I want to know who he is. He might be a spy."
The man places his hand on the steering wheel, starting up the ignition with the other. His eyes still straight up ahead, gazing at the space ship.
"Sir..." Xenaph hands over the tablet-like device to his superior. "I don't think he is anyone of importance."
The man revs up his humming engine, the truck bonet shaking from the roaring sound. He looks to his right, stretching his hand to the object on his side. His closest friend of all. His hunting rifle.
The alien in charge stares through his misty helmet at the details on the screen. "Hmm, are you a nobody, Mick Taylor?"
The truck charges forward. Accelerator pressed on the maximum. A wide grin spreads across his cheeks, crooked incisors spotting out. He adjusts his hat as dust spews inside through the windows. "Aliens or not. You should have known the first rule of the Outbacks."
EDIT: The story is a reference to the horror movie Wolf Creek, starred by Mick Taylor a hunting psychopath.
| 2015-12-22T07:11:02 | 2015-12-22T06:07:08 | 80 | 11 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you. | "Okay," God said while he shuffled some papers, "We've just heard from the five dogs you cared for throughout your life. And frankly, I'm touched, that was great testimony. Now let's see what the next group of witnesses have to say. Could the Angeliff please call in the 500,000 chickens that Mr. Abigail's life had an impact on?" |
"Crap. So... Hell. That sucks. Guess I'm in line or something, I always imagined there would be someone to tell you what horrible fate awaits you in Hell, but this place is....boring. Buncha rocks, and sulphur smell, but not much really happening."
Just then a door appeared in the middle of the room and opened. Out walked a red skinned gentleman with a dapper goatee and sharply tailored suit.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said, conjuring an I-pad from thin air. "Gift from Steve himself." he said. "Thought he could bribe me with an I-pad. He was right. This thing is cool. I sent Steve straight back to Earth as a little child in Shenzhen."
He brandished his I-pad with a flourish. "Let me explain how this works. Have you ever seen the old TV show, "This is your life"? We are going to play that now, only with all the animals you ever crossed paths with. If they let you, you get to Heaven. Saint Peter is too busy judging real Christians, he delegated a lot of the other work to the critters."
"You'd be surprised how vindictive ruminants can be."
I interrupted him. "I've been a vegan since I was a kid." I said.
The red skinned fellow was obviously having a hard time keeping his cool. He disappeared the I-pad in a puff of sulphur smoke and took a deep breath before proceeding.
"You people are insufferable!"
A light appeared in the sky and golden rays of heavenly light shined down. A chorus of cows and pigs raised a cacophony unlike any Earthly barnyard and a flock of chickens and turkeys swooped down to lift me into my eternal reward.
| 2016-03-24T14:53:06 | 2016-03-24T14:20:04 | 96 | 28 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you. | On the rainbow bridge I will look for you. Knowing that the only reason I am even there is because you plead for me and none could deny your puppy-dog eyes. Proving once again and finally that all a man needs for the salvation of his soul is the love of a faithful dog. | *Wake up in a fiery courtroom*
**Main:** Wow! what the.....
**Judge:** Welcome to Hell, you are brought here today to determine if you will go to heaven or if you will spend eternity being punished here in hell.
**Main:** What, who's deciding that?
**Judge:** It is up to the animals you have interacted with throughout your life. 3 dogs you have owned and 1 cat have arrived to give their testimonies.
*YES!!! I was always good to animals!! I loved animals more than people!!*
**Judge:** Dog 1 come to the stand and please give your testimony.
*AW it's Buddy! I haven't seen that guy forever!*
**Buddy:** This man should be punished!! Every night he would force me to sleep next to him! Dogs are not made for human beds! He kept me inside and would only let me go outside to pee a few times a day! My whole life felt like I was in prison.
*Wait.. what!?*
**Main:** Buddy I always tried to treat you like a human! I would even feed you cooked chicken!
**Buddy:** I am a Dog you bastard!!! I wanted to sleep on the floor, eat dry pebbles and lay in the sun!
***All other animals gave similar testimonies, they were treated like humans, something they all hated***
**Judge:** Sir, you are despicable. For your punishment, you shall be Buddy's pet. You will not be able to communicate with him verbally any longer and you'll see how horrible it is being treated like you're something your not. | 2016-03-24T15:04:21 | 2016-03-24T11:03:54 | 28 | 16 |
[WP] You wake up in the back of a Range Rover driving through the night on a dark road. Its just you and the driver, her majesty the Queen of England. | My head.
I open my eyes and take in the surroundings. I'm in the back seat of a car, strapped in tightly. I lean forward slightly and pain rockets through my body. I let out a yelp and fall back.
There's a flash of eyes in the rear-view mirror. "You're awake" comes a voice from the driver's seat. I groan in response. "I was worried you would miss it", the voice says. It's a voice I swear I recognise.
"Wha-" I begin to speak but begin violently coughing. Specks of blood flick onto the seatback in front. After too long, I clear my throat and try again. "Where am I?"
The eyes glance into the mirror again. "About three miles North of Balmoral in Scotland", the driver says - it's a woman, an old woman. The voice is so familiar. "What is your name?" she asks, as she turns the car off the road onto a dirt track.
"I... uh, John." I meekly stammer, turning my attention to the outside of the car. It's incredibly dark. "Did you say Scotland?", I've never been to Scotland, how could this be Scotland. Who is this woman? "Who are you?"
"My name is Elizabeth. I'm the Queen of the United Kingdom."
Silence.
"Wha-" this time I'm cut off.
"It doesn't matter. Can you move your arms?". I try to lift my arm and find the pain much more tolerable than it was a few moments ago. "Good, I need you to do something for me."
There is an incredible flash of light from the horizon on the left side of the car and I recoil in my seat. Sparks dance in my eyes "what the fuck is going on?" I ask, as my vision returns.
"One could ask the same question" comes a dry response. "We're going to be there in a moment." I reach down to my pockets and find them empty. "Your possessions are long gone." There's another blinding flash, this time from directly behind the car. I turn to look after the light begins to subside, and I swear I can see something moving in the distance.
The Queen brings the car to a halt outside a small cottage house. "Quickly now" she says, as she carefully steps out of the car. I grab the door handle and push the door open, gingerly taking a step outside. My legs feel weak, but they can support my weight. "You must go inside this house, alone" she says to me. I turn to look at her and am immediately struck by the fact that yes, this is most definitely the Queen.
"Y-your majesty?" I say. What do you say to a Queen that has abducted you?
She rolls her eyes. "Go inside the cottage, I need you to do this now." There is another flash of light to my left and this time I see it clearly - an enormous shadow of some kind of... machine? Monster? It floats, slightly above the ground, a colossal titan with snaking tendrils scraping the ground. I let out a gasp. "Don't look at it. Go inside the house, now." The Queen pushes me on the back.
I take a step towards the cottage and put my hand on the doorknob. I turn to look behind me, and the Queen is stepping back into the car. "Are you leaving me here!?" I shout.
"It cannot be me" comes the reply, followed swiftly by the starting of the engine. I watch as the Queen of the United Kingdom drives away. I turn back to the door. It is easily pushed open, and I step inside.
The room I step into is completely empty except for a table in the centre of the room. On top of it sits a computer that looks like it came out of the early 90s. I look around and am nearly blinded again by another flash of light from the windows. I step towards the computer and crouch down in front of it.
On the computer screen are four lines of text followed by a blinking cursor.
ROYAL PEROGATIVE TO THE GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED KINGDOM
MINISTRY OF DEFENCE CONFIRM FAILED CONTAINMENT OF ########
IMMEDIATE RECONSTRUCTION OF UNITED KINGDOM REQUIRED
CONFIRM Y/N
I stare at the screen. What? What is this? Is this all some crazy fever dream?
Curiosity always did get the better of me.
I type in "Y", and hit Enter.
| "It's about time you woke up," the Queen's accent was thicker than usual, her posh demeanor always slipped when she was tired.
"It's a pleasure seeing you too, your Majesty."
"Cut the bullshit we have work to do," she snapped, adjusting the rear view mirror so she could see her passenger.
Even in the dark confines of the vehicle she could clearly see his shock of white hair and handsome lines. The stress of the last few years had aged him but he was still the man she had fallen in love with all those years ago. *Joe Biden.* She steered the vehicle to the side of the road and stepped out.
"Well c'mon, help me with the boot."
Joe slid out of the back of the Range Rover and and lifted the rear hatch.
"You know, this reminds me of Kosovo," he said with a wink.
She was glad it was dark, she didn't want him to see her cheeks flush bright red.
He removed his tie and jacket and undid the buttons of his dress shirt. She could see that age had barely made an impact on his toned body.
"A little privacy?" he asked with a sarcastic British accent.
"Bollocks!" she swore turning away busying herself with lifting the heavy blanket revealing rows of guns.
With a grunt she hefted her L115A3 sniper rifle out of the back of the car.
"Still using British guns?" Joe asked.
"Always," she said curtly, slamming a magazine into the rifle and racking the bolt.
She could see the concern in his eyes as he looked over the arsenal.
"Don't worry I packed for you." She opened a small black box containing two 357 magnums.
"Ashley and Naomi," he said in a low whisper caressing the large revolvers.
"It's still weird you named your guns after your daughters."
He shook his head, "Other way round Queeny."
"Do we have back up?" he asked.
She shook her head no.
"So it is just like in Kosovo," he paused, "do you think we can pull it off?"
There was a long silence between the two.
"Probably not," she said honestly.
"Then let's have fun with it!" With that he set off walking down the road, his polished black shoes crunching over the gravel.
This could very likely be the last time she spoke to him, she wanted to tell him how she felt. The words stuck in her throat, *I . . . love you Joe.* He faded into the night, the moment vanished, like smoke in the wind. She grabbed the sniper rifle and walked into the dense forest of Krasnodar Krai.
She found a position on the edge of the treeline and lay prone in the thick underbrush. Her scope fixed on the front door of the massive palace. Two guards stood out front, four patrolled the roof top, and another ten probably manned the interior.
And there was Joe, walking toward the two guards with a broad smile slapped on his smug face.
She could see his lips moving and could guess what he was saying.
"Evening fellas, nice night out for a walk!"
The two Russians shared a confused look and reached for their weapons. Joe snapped his hands up finger guns pointed at the two men.
"Too slow."
The Russians shared a laugh as the Queen softly squeezed the trigger.
The right guard's head exploded like a pumpkin in December. She snapped the rifle onto the other guard's head and fired. The bullet ruptured his neck spraying blood over the ornate entryway.
Joe shot her a thumbs up and kicked open the front door.
Naomi and Ashely slid out of their holsters as he made his way down the hall. Guards rushed down the spiral staircase, Naomi kicked sending a heavy round into the man's torso, he rolled the rest of the way down into the foyer.
The Queen watched a man running down the hallway, he would appear briefly in a window then disappear behind the wall before reappearing in the next window. She took her time and aimed three windows ahead of the man and took a slow steady breath.
Now.
She squeezed the trigger and felt the impact of the rifle on her shoulder. The man's long stride had been even, unchanging. The bullet shattered the window and piercing the lungs of the guard.
Guards on the roof began to fire wildly into the treeline. Her rifle's suppressor had done a good enough job of hiding her exact position but these were professionals. Bullets ricocheted off of trees and tore through branches all around her. She took a shot hitting one of the guards on the roof before a round took her in the arm.
"Shit!" she groaned out as she rolled away from her position.
*You're on your own now Joe . . .*
He stalked through the palatial hallways. Russian antiques decorated every inch of the gold leafed palace. It was a little tacky for his taste but he was a simple man. Ashley kicked in his hand as he dropped another guard.
He paused and reloaded. Ornate double doors sat at the end of the hallway. Two guards rounded the corner unloading automatic rifle fire at Joe. He ducked behind a cabinet full of glass figurines. Shattered glass rained down around him. Now or never. The guns clicked empty simultaneously. A mistake.
Joe swept out from his cover and lifted bother revolvers. The shots sounded like a single blast as he leveled the two guards. He sprinted down the hall and threw his shoulder into the double doors. The thick doors opened with a resounding crack.
Vladimir Putin stood in the center of the room wearing a crimson silk robe.
"We're getting the team back together. Put some pants on," Joe said with a smile.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories.
| 2017-01-30T08:16:22 | 2017-01-30T08:00:54 | 96 | 27 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | It was 5:30 this morning when I woke up to the typical sound of my neighbors arguing over something. They always had some feud between them - who had the bigger truck, the greener lawn, the children with the highest grades... It was exhausting living between them, never involved in their madness yet always right in the middle of it.
I rubbed the morning grit from my eyes and peered out the window to see them both gesturing wildly to their coffee mugs. What could possibly be wrong with their own individual supplies of coffee? I knew better than to ask, I figured I would just wait it out and hopefully by the time I left for work at 6:45 they would be done with their drama for the day.
I made a coffee for myself. The last drip had just fallen in the cup when I heard my two children wake up. They usually slept in, but there was no doubt I wasn't the only one disturbed by the ongoing yelling. Suddenly audible were my wife's footsteps, first to the children's rooms and then down the stairs.
"Hey, Greg. Do you mind asking them to stop their yelling or take it inside? They woke the kids and I really don't like getting involved." My wife asked of me, one child on each arm.
"Of course." I replied.
I grabbed my coffee off the counter and walked outside, they didn't even notice me at first.
"Fellas?" I approached, cautiously.
"What? What do you want?" One of them snapped at me.
"Look, it's early in the morning. Can't this argument wait until, I don't know, daylight? What is this about anyway?"
"You don't know?" The other asked me incredulously.
"Know what?"
"It's the mugs! The number one dad mugs? Did you notice a little something, *different* about yours this morning?" They held theirs up, #2094827 Dad and #2094828 Dad. Was this a joke someone had played?
I didn't really take much notice of my mug, it was a thoughtful gift from my son last father's day and served me well. I just hadn't really observed its features since the day I got it. I looked down at my coffee mug, my neighbors stared at me with amused patience in their eyes.
"Well?" My neighbor asked.
"Well what? It just says number one dad like it always does."
And that's the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital, officer. | 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T09:50:25 | 828 | 222 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | I sat in the kitchen seat, knowing that i was getting a mug this father's day. My kids seemed so excited after the phenomenon started. I felt honored as i was being given my official ranking. Although they were already 4 and 5 respectively, i knew i hadn't been a dad long and figured i wouldn't place high.
The kids swarmed in with their little wrapped box and thrust it toward me. My wife, behind my children, smiled just as big as them. As i took hold of the box all thought turned to statistics. Did they include ALL dads or just the ones with mugs? What exactly is the measurement? Just how many dads are out there? Why are my palms sweating? Many more questions popped into my head but they were quelled by my wife snapping me back to reality telling me to open it.
Carefully pulling the bow strings, i undid that which held what only now i feared the most. Slowly i lifted the lid to reveal a large white mug. Taking it out of the box i turned it to see a large hand painted "#1 dad" on the side. I know it's not one of the official mugs but rather one which my kids made themselves. Crying, i embraced them both telling them that no matter what my true ranking was, i was so happy just to be their dad and that they were the most wonderful things in the world. After they left the room to go play my wife sat down at the table with me.
Asking me what i thought of their gift, i responded by saying there was no need to have the knowledge as, to the children, i already was #1. I then got up and made a cup of covfefe in my new mug. Turning back to sit back down i saw my wife already had a cup of her own. She turned it toward me. I could not believe what i saw. There, in her hands, was a mug which said #1 dad. It wasn't painted, it didn't have a smudge, it showed clearly #1. Taken aback i just stood there staring at my wife who had an even bigger smile than when i was given what was in my hands.
I still don't know what i did, but i swore that i would always and forever try to be the best dad i could be. No matter what my mug says, i promised i would strive to be better than i am. That is how i found out that i was the best dad in the world. | 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T10:02:30 | 828 | 36 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671. | "Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T09:29:45 | 2017-06-11T08:28:06 | 159 | 17 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | "... at number two, it has been confirmed that former President Barack Obama has the #2 Dad Mug and it is no surprise there given how he set himself as an exemplary dad during his stay at the White House."
"Right you are Stacy. Despite juggling between being a dad and the president of this great country, I'm quite surprised he didn't get the number one... Wait... Hold on..."
(An envelope has been given to John by one of the producers)
"This just in folks. We now have the name of the dad who has the #1 dad mug inside this envelope".
"According to our producers, it has been confirmed and verified by the experts on the legitimacy of the mug. However, we have been informed the dad in question has recently passed away and the mug is now in the hand of the family".
"Well then Stacy, shall I open the envelope?".
"Yes John. Let us be the first to reveal the name of the number one dad in the world".
(John opens the envelope and took out the paper)
"And the number one dad's name is...umm..."
"...is...?"
"...Ted. Ted the accountant". | I sat in the kitchen seat, knowing that i was getting a mug this father's day. My kids seemed so excited after the phenomenon started. I felt honored as i was being given my official ranking. Although they were already 4 and 5 respectively, i knew i hadn't been a dad long and figured i wouldn't place high.
The kids swarmed in with their little wrapped box and thrust it toward me. My wife, behind my children, smiled just as big as them. As i took hold of the box all thought turned to statistics. Did they include ALL dads or just the ones with mugs? What exactly is the measurement? Just how many dads are out there? Why are my palms sweating? Many more questions popped into my head but they were quelled by my wife snapping me back to reality telling me to open it.
Carefully pulling the bow strings, i undid that which held what only now i feared the most. Slowly i lifted the lid to reveal a large white mug. Taking it out of the box i turned it to see a large hand painted "#1 dad" on the side. I know it's not one of the official mugs but rather one which my kids made themselves. Crying, i embraced them both telling them that no matter what my true ranking was, i was so happy just to be their dad and that they were the most wonderful things in the world. After they left the room to go play my wife sat down at the table with me.
Asking me what i thought of their gift, i responded by saying there was no need to have the knowledge as, to the children, i already was #1. I then got up and made a cup of covfefe in my new mug. Turning back to sit back down i saw my wife already had a cup of her own. She turned it toward me. I could not believe what i saw. There, in her hands, was a mug which said #1 dad. It wasn't painted, it didn't have a smudge, it showed clearly #1. Taken aback i just stood there staring at my wife who had an even bigger smile than when i was given what was in my hands.
I still don't know what i did, but i swore that i would always and forever try to be the best dad i could be. No matter what my mug says, i promised i would strive to be better than i am. That is how i found out that i was the best dad in the world. | 2022-05-16T13:47:51 | 2017-06-11T10:02:30 | 70 | 36 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad. | It was a rough morning this particular day. Having some beers at the local pub didn't help calm the waves of frustration and tension I had to overcome the last couple years. The patronage was meager at best, and the draft Guinness left way too much to be imagination. I had seen families come and go, but never knew what had happened the previous day. It was called "hello fathers day" and many didn't agree with it. I myself wasn't prepared for the value of 5,627,490. What kind of dad am I to have "earned" such a distinct punch to the gut? Was I really that bad of a father?
The barkeep consoled my sorrow with a fresh mug still foaming over as they used the wooden stick to cut to top off.
He was unusually joyful today after so many father's had learned they too were in the 5M ranks in the local area. The news papers had photos of mugs smashed on the streets as if to protest the unusual events insignificance, whilst showing the world their arrogance and ignorance to the truth.
I looked up from my freshly tasted draft and asked the barkeep why he was in such a good mood?
He replied: You see that hook above the bar where all the other mugs are?
I nodded in acknowledgement.
That's my father's mug!
So? I replied. What's so special about your father?
The barkeep laughed in bewilder of my ignorance to the fact I'd never really gotten to know him, or his family.
Go and get it down from there!
Fine, I must know why you're in such a good mood!
I go to reach for the mug, and within an instant of turning it around the mug displayed the number 1.
I was shocked to see it said "1". This must be a joke barkeep!
No, not at all! He replied.
Who's you're father?
The barkeep flexed his muscles and cried out "John Fucking Zoidberg!"
| 2017-06-11T11:14:29 | 2017-06-11T08:40:30 | 46 | 31 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | James and Amanda where watching the news when they heard about it.
"I wonder which number I got", James said and went to the kitchen.
A couple years ago, his son Andrew made him such a cup.
As a handmade cup, it was clearly distinguishable from all the others.
James quickly found it.
"That is strange", he said and showed the cup to his wife.
The cup still had the text "Love, Andrew" written on it. However, "#1 Dad" disappeared completely.
Amanda looked at him. James could see that she will start crying in a moment.
"I need to tell you something", she said. | It was a rough morning this particular day. Having some beers at the local pub didn't help calm the waves of frustration and tension I had to overcome the last couple years. The patronage was meager at best, and the draft Guinness left way too much to be imagination. I had seen families come and go, but never knew what had happened the previous day. It was called "hello fathers day" and many didn't agree with it. I myself wasn't prepared for the value of 5,627,490. What kind of dad am I to have "earned" such a distinct punch to the gut? Was I really that bad of a father?
The barkeep consoled my sorrow with a fresh mug still foaming over as they used the wooden stick to cut to top off.
He was unusually joyful today after so many father's had learned they too were in the 5M ranks in the local area. The news papers had photos of mugs smashed on the streets as if to protest the unusual events insignificance, whilst showing the world their arrogance and ignorance to the truth.
I looked up from my freshly tasted draft and asked the barkeep why he was in such a good mood?
He replied: You see that hook above the bar where all the other mugs are?
I nodded in acknowledgement.
That's my father's mug!
So? I replied. What's so special about your father?
The barkeep laughed in bewilder of my ignorance to the fact I'd never really gotten to know him, or his family.
Go and get it down from there!
Fine, I must know why you're in such a good mood!
I go to reach for the mug, and within an instant of turning it around the mug displayed the number 1.
I was shocked to see it said "1". This must be a joke barkeep!
No, not at all! He replied.
Who's you're father?
The barkeep flexed his muscles and cried out "John Fucking Zoidberg!"
| 2017-06-11T10:05:38 | 2017-06-11T08:40:30 | 45 | 31 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | I wasn't a dad, I bought one ironically. The day the mugs changed, a tiny black hole opened up where my mug used to sit next to my coffee maker. My Keurig and no one in a fifteen mile radius noticed, as they were instantly ripped into the basic building blocks of life, which were then ripped into their smallest components and shrunk down to the size of the void where my mug sat. Within two minutes the entire East Coast was gone. By 6:05am in what had been Eastern Standard Time (before the East Coast disappeared) the entire Earth was gone. As I watched in horror from the view port of the International Space Station, my colleague who had brought his #1 Dad mug with him at the request of his children never noticed. He was too enthralled with why the number on his mug has jumped from 1 to 7,986,922 then gradually back to 1 to notice his impending doom. | "Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T10:07:25 | 2017-06-11T08:28:06 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] You come across a notebook that has the name of every person who has ever lived and the exact date and time of their death written next to it. Out of curiosity, and hopes that you live a long life, you decide to checkout your own name, only to find a date marked a few hours after your birth. | Sigh.... It's bad enough having the last name of Smith, but to have that, coupled with the world's least creative parents... Did you know that on the date of my birth, no less than 125 *other* John Smiths were born? Of those, 15 share my middle name of Allen. Of those, 14 are still alive. The one that died was just a few hours after he was born -- poor kid. Here I am, with one of the most interesting possible artifacts imaginable, and it's ruined by the world's most common name. Thanks, Mom & Dad. | "That is odd" - I thought to myself - "So if this book is always true then that mean I am already dead?"
With a little doubt in my head I touch myself, or rather pinch my cheek to double check that this isn't just one of those crazy dream I have or rather, to see if I actually exist or not.
"If the book was right and I am still alive, then who is dead on that day?" - I turn to the guy who gave me the book. "You said you want to show me this but why?" - My voice suddenly got louder, I panically look at him waiting for an answer.
"It no other but you, my boy." - With a creepy grind on his face, the man look at me and talk with a soft voice but somehow I feel it full of malice - "You was suppose to go with me on that day. But you mother, a sly women she is, trying to do the impossible that is cheating on me, Death."
Chill sending down my spine, I tremble so much my own legs crashing down and I am all four on my back. "A...Are you here... to...?" - I try to speak with my tremble voice, with every words I feel like I am about to cry. "No! I don't want to die! Stay away from me, Demon!" - I scream at the top of my lung, hoping that someone may hear it and come for me, anyone!
"Well, if it could be that easy... too bad I can't kill you now. Your name already on the book so if you dead, the book won't be able to resign you and kick you back to life." - The man look at me with a bothersome face like I some kind of trash that his mom tell him to take out on Sunday. - "Your immortality will make a fool out of us if you are still staying on this world so I have no choice but to take you in. It is official, kid, you are one of us now. Welcome to the world of Death." | 2017-09-05T04:10:50 | 2017-09-05T02:33:22 | 50 | 19 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | "Hey, are you okay?"
Maria wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled, looking anywhere but the man standing next to her. She'd gone to the pier to be alone not have random strangers approach her.
"I-I'm fine," Maria looked out toward the ocean, watching as the whitecaps broke and wove over each other, and how the seagulls and birds flew through the stormy grey sky.
The man leaned against the railing of the pier next to her. "Well, I hope you don't mind me saying, but you look like your dog just died."
Maria sniffed again, her lips curling downward as she gripped the leash in her pocket.
"I-I did."
There was a pause and the man sighed. "Shit, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean-"
"No, no, it's okay," Maria said. "This was... this was Max's favorite place to go for our walks. He, um, he was a weird dog, but I loved him. I've had him for so long."
A handkerchief appeared on the railing and Maria wiped her tear stained cheeks. "Thank you."
"Sounds like a hell of a dog." The man mused.
"He was," Maria nodded. "He always protected me, heck, he even slept in my bed. He did *not* like my boyfriends." She smiled.
"Sounds like a good boy. Dog's can sense that, you know? If a person is good enough for their person."
Maria laughed at that. "Well, he also ate my Italian heels and destroyed two couches, so he had his ups and downs."
The man snorted. "Sounds like an ass."
"He was a good boy," Maria mused. She cleared her throat and offered the man back his handkerchief. "Thank you."
"No problem," the man turned finally and smiled as he took it from her.
Maria paused, her eyes roving over the tanned face and black hair, and the mans eyes. "You have his eyes."
The man blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"He was a husky mix, he had mismatched eyes."
The man slowly blinked again before he shrugged, an amused smile on his face. "I've had a lot of people comment on my eyes, but never that I looked like a dog."
Maria gasped. "O-Oh, no, I didn't-"
The man laughed. "Hey, it's okay." He offered her his hand. "What's your name?"
"Maria," she blushed as she shook his hand. "What's yours?"
"Maximillion, but Max for short." he winked, then spoke in a lower whisper. "My parents were weird. They named the dog Ted."
Maria laughed at that. She flushed when she realized Max had watched her, a warm smile on his face.
"Hey, I've heard there's supposed to be a coffee shop near here... do you want to go? I'd love to hear more about your Max."
Maria nodded. She gave the ocean one last glance before she pulled out the leash from her pocket. Max covered it with his hand, taking her hand with his.
"Come on, let's get out of the rain."
Maria nodded. | **THUD!!**
"Ow! God damnit!!" He thought to himself so loudly he was certain that someone must have heard it. "Remind me to apologize to every bird outside my office. You really can't see the glass in the window can you? Well at least we know Windex really is worth the few extra bucks"
Irvine still hadn't gotten used to the bird body despite it being his primary mode of transportation around the over crowded city. "Or is it Vincent? No, no Vincent was last month. I thought using the names from my favorite videogames would make this identity thing easier" He spotted her in her usual place walking through the park after her day at work and drifted down to a remote corner in the trees to phase back into being a human. Shaggy black hair, little bit of facial shadow, eyes some kind of hybrid of green and brown, medium build. "Alright, let's try this again" he said with a deep sigh and walked out on the trail.
**THUD!!**
"Oh my god I'm so sorry" he said kneeling down to scoop up the papers that had been scattered running into Isabel. The Apple of Aries' eye. For months they'd been dating on and off. Unbeknownst to her of course. To her, Serge was just another klutz who spent too much time looking at his phone and not enough time watching where he was going. "If I don't text my mom right back, she starts to panic and next thing I know the police are knocking on my door. Or asking the receptionist at the gym if I've checked in. It's happened more than once." "Oh, that's alright. Thank you" She said with a sparkle in her limpid blue eyes that Leon had never seen in anyone else before. Maybe it was that, that drew him to her. She seemed unremarkable in nearly every other way, but in a way that seemed deliberate. As if she was trying to hide something amazing about herself from the outside world.
"I'm Andrew" said Dante extending his hand with the palm facing a little more upward than someone who would be shaking the hand of a person they just met. He knew her hands were soft. He knew she would place her delicate fingers in his palm and he would close his hand around them. With no small amount of luck, or tremendous amount of luck if any of his past attempts were any indication, he'd hold her hand every day. "Isabel" she responded.
It was a dance he'd done countless times before and he knew each step of each beat. He was a virtuoso at this point. After days upon weeks upon months of practice, he could do it from muscle memory. Asking the right questions, peaking the right interests, but not so much as to seem too good to be true or come off as a stalker who was just sizing up his next victim. "Are you thirsty? It's been a long day for me and I'm going to stop for a coffee. Would you care to join me?" With a bit of a snicker she replied "No thank you, I need to be on my way. I've got a few projects I need to get the ball rolling on." The glisten he saw in her eyes, like a lens flare in a movie made the hair on his neck stand. "Oh.. well.. It was nice talking to you Isabel. Sorry about earlier again." "Oh don't worry about it, have a nice day" she giggled and went on her way.
Defeated he walked into the coffee shop, so as to not seem as if it was all a wholly concocted scheme. "Fuck me!" Duke thought to himself. "I look like everything she likes in a guy! I share all her interests! I know practically everything about her! What more do I have to do!?"
"Maybe try being honest, and stop trying so hard Harvey Birdman. And by the way you're lucky I didn't crush you in my bathroom last week, SpiderMan. Don't be a perv. Oh, and lastly, I've been a gamer all my life. So don't think next time, when you say your name is Gordon Freeman that I won't get the reference."
Tim whipped his head around frantically! Running out of line and over to the window. There on the other side of the road stood Isabel with a twinkle in her eye and a smile that went from ear to ear.
"I'll see you next time, Luigi" she laughed. It was as if he could feel her breath on his ear. He watched in astonishment as she walked, unremarkably down the street, with her files in one hand and an ipod in the other.
Nathan smiled. | 2018-02-14T09:37:57 | 2018-02-14T09:10:57 | 231 | 59 |
[WP] You're in the middle of a conversation with friends. They freeze in place and a semi-transparent error window pops up in front of them. The dialog box asks you to recalibrate your headset. You reach for your face and remove a pair of goggles you weren't previously aware of. | Everything in Jason’s life had seemed so incredibly lucky up until now. Born to a wealthy family and educated at the finest college in the West Coast, all the things Jason touched seemed to turn to gold. He had worked incredibly hard, pulling 100 hour weeks and sleeping in his car to push his first startup to success. Using the money from the acquisition, he quickly moved onto his true passion: virtual reality. He hired the most brilliant minds on the planet to push the technology forward, while also constantly pushing himself to be a better leader. He ate well, exercised constantly, and disciplined his mind to keep learning continuously.
In a rare moment of free time, he found himself relaxing over beers with a few close friends. They were intently discussing the implications of the new virtual reality technology; science, education, and entertainment the likes of which had never been seen before. Suddenly, Jason was struck with an even better idea. He realized that this new technology could shape the fabric of society, lifting up people to their highest potential. The idea was simple; using the new neural interface, you could immerse an individual in false memories and overwrite their personality, allowing them to fully experience life as another human. You could live the life of a successful person in the past, and emerge with their habits, worldview and knowledge once you were done. Jason was just about to excitedly explain this idea to his friends when the world suddenly froze. His mind grew hazy as a translucent window appeared in the center of his vision, following his gaze as his eyes darted around.
*We hope you’re enjoying the Jason Lawson Experience™! You’ve reached the end of Chapter 3. To continue, please confirm your next payment of 1999 credits.*
Jason’s mind swam. Was his name really Jason at all? All his memories seemed plastic, incomplete; he couldn’t even remember how they had arrived at the bar he was at, or even the last names of any of the friends he was hanging out with. His head pounded and waves of nausea washed over him, as foreign memories beat their way back into his skull. He wasn’t a successful entrepreneur, but a robotics facility inspector, a glorified janitor barely scraping by. Could he afford 1999 credits? How much had he already spent in this machine? All that time spent working out and meditating was for nothing, and all his knowledge of programming was now incomprehensible, as if waking up from a dream. He breathed heavy, feeling the weight of the metal headset on his head and the hum of the electrodes on his scalp. Hands trembling, he pressed his thumb against the side of the headset.
*Payment confirmed. Please enjoy Chapter 4 in the life of our great company’s founder!*
Everything went white. | I'll preface this by telling you all; i don't write. i don't capitalize i's, my cat was walking all over my keyboard as i typed, i just decided to wing it. There's my shit attempt at an excuse for this story being so shit. Criticism highly encouraged, and appreciated.
"Fuck do you mean "He was asleep" it's in the official bro code handbook that drawing a penis on another man's face is un bro-stitutional!"
We all laughed, Gage had always had a knack for being a generally funny guy.
I reached over to refill rebel's litterbox, (He'd basically become the mascot for our friendgroup) until the litter seemed to stop falling. Maybe it was the alchohol getting to me, but i looked over at the other three and they seemed to be frozen in place. A very friendly ding sounded, seeming to come from everywhere at once, and an equally friendly looking lady appeared in the room. "Please racalibrate your headset at this time." Again, as though it were from all places at once. Now, i'm not one for scary situations, so I immediately proceeded to pass out.
As I woke, I was met with yet another friendly thing. Well, less of a thing and more of a creature. A rather Large looking cat with beautiful fur was batting at my hand. My first instinct was to swat the thing away, but I stopped myself mid-swing. It all flooded back to me. Everything. The laughter, the tears, the happiness, the death, the life, everything. That morning, I had slapped on my headset to hang out with my overseas buds, and the artificial memories, (growing up, Etc.) from that sesh had had a bit of a glitch in them. The system freaked out and gave me an error message, which promptly scared the fuck out of me. With rebel swatting away at my hand, i snapped back into the real world. I stretched, sore from sitting in one position for such a long time. Of course, the headsets could make a second feel like a year, but I'd had my settings calibrated so that one hour was usually a full day in the sim. It got me the time to do what i wanted, and I could always change it if i so pleased.
I filled the fat little bastard's bowl with chicken and tuna, and poured the rest of the cat's milk into his bowl. it was expensive as shit, but he was my baby, and I'll be damned if i don't pamper him. He trotted alongside me as I tossed the empty milk bottle into the garbage, and headed back to my Pc. "You guys, i'm sorry for ditching mid-convo, my headset freaked the fuck out." I typed away on my rather shit keyboard. "No problem man, it wasn't client side. *Everyone* got that."
Rather, for lack of a better word, befuddled by Mai's message, I headed onto the powerlet forums to check it out for myself. Sure enough, walls of text analyzing the blackout, and seemingly unending "what happened" posts. "Well, everything seems normal." I muttered sarcastically. Internally i knew, something must be wrong. despite the fact, I plopped down infront of the tv to check out the news for the day. What I read sent ice through my veins. "285 confirmed casualties as hackers attack popular virtual reality system to electrocute their owners." Sprinting back to the computer, I type a frantic "holu fick", too preoccupied to give a fuck about spelling. Panicking, we all join a voice call. "everyone's here, right?" Trevor's voice rings out through his microphone. As soon as we confirm nobody we know has died, we switch our attention to others. All seems well.
The peace is quickly shattered by a message from James. "Sean's in the hospital. it wasn't enough to kill him right away, but there's still a chance.
A friendly voice oozes from the walls, the floor, the ceiling, everything.
*Simulation complete. Results: fatal. Would you like to start again?*
Y/N | 2018-07-12T23:53:32 | 2018-07-12T23:15:10 | 43 | 20 |
[WP] You've had the ability to Fast Travel since your were born. One day while you're leaving work, thinking of getting something to eat you heard a voice in your head saying for the first time "You can't Fast Travel with enemys near by" | "Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked straight into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
Border? Thief?
*What the fuck?*
Are there others? Did I break a rule or something? Imperials?
Am I in the Middle Ages now?
What the *fuuuck* is going on?
| "You can't fast travel with enemies nearby."
I look around in confusion. I have not heard this phrase before. It's always just been effortless.
I try to concentrate harder on the corner store I know and love, but all I hear is the same, timid voice. "You can't fast travel with enemies nearby."
Then I feel it.
The hand on my back.
I turn around and see my coworker Jeremy whispering in my ear. "Haha, gotchu dude."
"Jesus dude, you scared the hell out of me."
"I know! Doesn't it suck that you can't fast travel with anyone else but yourself? I just really want a snack."
I smack his hand off of me and focus, trying again.
It doesn't work. Like a moth losing the dust on the wings and rendered unable to fly, I have been tainted.
"You can not fast travel with enemies nearby."
This time, from below me. I feel a movement under my shoe and look down. I have been standing on the maintanance grate, and Bill Nye the Maintenance Guy is poking my foot. He is in on the joke.
"Real funny, Bill. Really funny. I thought Jeremy here ruined my powers, but it was just you, you decrepit fuck."
"Woah man, calm down. It was just a joke."
That voice wasn't Bill's.
"W-who's there?" I stutter, looking all around me for who might be speaking.
Then, out of nowhere, a bearded face springs up from below me.
"Hey Vsauce, Micheal here."
"My *GOD* will you all just leave me alone?! I just want to eat"
"Not to worry, Vsauce. You still have your powers... or do you?"
I focus on the corner store again, and with a quick pop, I'm there.
"Yeah, Micheal, you cryptic degenerate. I do." | 2018-10-22T13:08:28 | 2018-10-22T11:32:40 | 149 | 32 |
[WP] Unknown to you, your girlfriend is part of a secret organization sworn to stopping an ancient evil. Unknown to her, you are that ancient evil. | The first date was dinner and a movie, a dog's way home if you care. From movies to camping across the country, we've seen it all together. Her laugh was contagious and I never want to be the 'me,' I was before I met her. sometimes I think 'she may be the one.' But there is that one thing that may be kind of a curve ball.
This girl can do crazy things. I've seen her do front flips out of bed, lift twice her weight, Sprint down a car, I've also seen her start fires. Apparently she's also in an ancient society, determined to defeat a legendary, awesome, all-powerful, good looking demon Lord. Now before you go calling me chauvinistic, saying that I can't handle a strong woman, I'm not so normal myself.
I told her my name was Ben, short for Benjamin. The 'me' who I was before I met her wasn't such a nice guy, some would use the word evil. I wouldn't, but some would. See Ben isn't short for Benjamin, it's short for Beelzemon.
Now this old dude is sitting at my kitchen table, eating my food, telling my girl, she's the one destined to kill me. I shouldn't know that by the way.
Being an all powerful demon has it's benefits. She told me to leave the room, should have told me not to listen.
"The seer saw it today child. It has to be you." He said.
"That can't be right, he's been dead for over twenty years." She said.
She was wrong, but that's my fault. A demon Lord can't just go have a human life. So I may have faked my own death. The other demons would never allow it.
"He's turned to stone, not dead. His minions have gathered. They've found a way to raise him." He says, folding his hands and looking into her eyes for impact. She probably should have told me not to watch too. I knew I shouldn't have used a real curse to fool them, but I thought it would take those numbskulls a hundred years to figure it out. I'm kinda proud of them.
"That's just peachy isn't it." My girlfriend said, leaning back in her chair. She twirled her hair, she always does that when she's thinking.
The gruff man nodded. "You'll need to set out at once. We cannot let them collect the soul stones."
"But my life here--"
"No, you are a member of the light, your duty is to God, to the rest of humanity. Not some boy you met 8 months ago." He yelled.
"I'm sorry elder." She bowed her head. "I'm ready to fulfill my purpose."
He grimaced and nodded. "I'm sorry it had to be you, but I couldn't have hand picked a better student."
That night she was packing up while she thought I slept. She opened the door and turned back to say goodbye to our space. She jumped back when she saw me sitting on the stairs, watching her go.
"Ben, you scared the shit out of me." She said.
"I'm going with you."
"You can't."
"Why not?"
"It's just... It's dangerous." She couldn't tell me the truth. That's ok, I know she's sworn to secrecy.
"Even more reason for me to go." I stood with my packed bag. "It'll be just like when we went camping."
She leapt into my arms wrapping herself around my waist. And that's how I started the epic journey to kill myself.
*****
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| The weak light from the thousands of candles bouncing off the visages of a thousand saints provided an ominous atmosphere to the circular room. It had been centuries since anyone from the Order had to go into the Room of Light, ever since the demon Azezel was sealed off forever, so naturally Alice felt a small shiver crawl its way up her spine in spite of years of training. A sombre looking old man walked up to the newly installed podium, accepted a cloth and book, before holding two fingers up to silence the murmurs in the crowd,
“I am High-Overseer Duncan and I am responsible for organising the containment rituals of the dark lord Azezel, sixth demon king from the underworld. It has come to my attention that the devil we had been watching is actually but a puppet, a diversion, created through the fiend’s own evil energy. We do not know when exactly the true Azezel managed to slip past our spells, but High Priest-Mother Titania estimates two weeks at best, a decade at worst.”
The old man told the nervous crowd. Whispers rose once again, if the demon Azezel had truly escaped for this long why hasn’t the world descended into chaos? How did he tear off enough evil energy to trick the escape detection mechanisms? What did I mean for the Toranii Order? Alice, like the rest of the Apprentices could do nothing but pale at the very suggestion of this eldritch monster escaping the chains that had held for millennia only to disappear without a trace. She thought of her friends, family, Adam, they didn’t know anything but those closest to the Order’s members would be targeted first by the cruel and petty Demon king’s murderous intentions. She barely heard the words of reassurance the high-mothers were saying to the panicking mass.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Azezel, now Adam was loving this new body. While without the potent magic that defined his existence as a demon king all the sensations, all the emotions made it alright ,and, without that dark energy he sloughed off he was for the first time in his existence free of the chains of bloodlust. He really had to thank that imbecile Sorcerer for forgetting to rub virgin blood on the fourteenth spell-sphere at the height of the full moon. In all of sixty thousand years of existence Azezel would never guess being human was so… fulfilling! It was amazing how much one can change in only five years. All of a sudden he was snapped out of his reminiscing by a phone call from his human girlfriend, Alice,
“Hello babe, I thought your workplace didn’t allow phone calls! Why are you calling me all of a sudden?” He said into the phone rather robotically. Living without proper communication for an eternity had made everything so complicated.
“Adam, no time to explain, just know that if you ever see purple tell me immediately!” Alice replied in an uncharacteristic panic, Azezel could practically smell the fear from the other side of the phone. This was odd, the only thing he knew that causes humans to see purple is demonic influence, but surely no human outside the Toranii order could know this.
“Alright… you have anything to tell me?” He answered hesitantly, there was a pause before the voice on the other side burst into tears,
“The world is ending Adam, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying this but I’m not strong enough. We have only been dating for a month and if you die thanks to me I… I will never forgive myself!” Alice sobbed, even a being as un-attuned to human emotions as Azezel felt disturbed. What was worse was that Alice mentioned the world ending, this combined with the hint at demonic possession earlier left only six beings that she could be talking about, the six dark lords including himself.
“Are you feeling okay, babe can you tell me what’s going on honestly?” Azezel asked in an uncharacteristically organic voice, Alice calmed down a bit and started breathing, perhaps it was just another human organisation that fights demons but he had to be certain.
“I know this is asking a lot but you have to trust me when I say this, I do not actually work for Goodlife pharmaceuticals, I work for a secret organisation called the Toranii Order which has kept a certain demon asleep for millennia, a demon that has recently escaped and for the first time I’m scared! I have trained since I was a little kid for this but listen to me now, bawling like a newborn baby! You have to run. Trust me when I say I still love you, but you have to leave, now!” She said, clearly holding back another outburst. Then the phone went silent leaving Azezel with a sinking feeling in his stomach worse than the time he tried to eat car tires. | 2019-01-25T23:50:07 | 2019-01-25T22:23:05 | 170 | 73 |
[WP]After death each person gets to choose one thing from their old life--a skill, a lesson, a memory--to bring into their next life as a talent or an innate understanding. It's time to make your choice. |
Puke-green neon burned through my closed eyelids with a suddenness that left me with a feeling of immediate nausea. The lights artificial texture brought the idea of Granny Smith apples to mind and I tried to shake my head to clear the errant thought.
Nothing happened.
It wasn’t that I was paralyzed; it was more that the action just … wasn’t available. There was no weight to the movement.
I began to open my eyes.
Again, nothing happened. My vision remained the same. I had never rightly felt any kind of weight of my eyelids but goddamnit did my face feel a bit lighter than it should have.
Slowly, I began to realize that the green light that had awoken me was pulsing gently.
*Awoken me?* *Had I been asleep?*
Realizations suddenly began boring into my brain like the hungry needles of a sadistic phlebotomist.
“*Where am I*?” I tried to say. The words came out, but they definitely hadn’t come from my mouth. It was almost as if reality had shit them out in the general vicinity of the essential *me*.
My right eye wanted to twitch but apparently it didn’t exist anymore.
I needed to calm down and focus. I brought the full weight of my attention to the sickeningly sweet Granny Smith light in front of me.
At first it was a little blinding, but after a few moments I could make out that the light was in the shape of words.
The rest of reality around me held a darkness so complete it was suffocating, but the words kept their pulsing vigil.
*Skills*
A Lesson (This one was written in a fancy script for some reason)
*Memory*
The words were arranged perfectly equidistant from one another, glowing and fading in perfect unison.
It seemed to be a choice.
I had been tip toeing around the thought, but I decided I needed to face the truth of the situation I was in.
I was dead.
I tried to recall the last memory I had before I wound up here.
I was pretty sure I had drowned when I had swum out to go save… Someone?
No, it hadn’t been a person. It had been a dog. Milo.
Memories of Milo began flooding my drought stricken brain.
He was a Shepherd.
He was loyal.
He was my best friend.
Was he okay?
Suddenly, a new option appeared alongside the others, matching in pulse but with an intensity that made them pale in comparison.
In large, bold letters the word practically yelled.
DOG
\----------------------------------------------------
Michael could not take his gaze away from his newborn son. The boy’s chubby cheeks, his rosy skin, and even his Granny Smith green eyes were all perfect to him. He had not felt such love before in his life, even for his wife and it scared him a bit. But something about that kids face told him it was going to be alright.
He thoughts cast themselves to his own youth and what a shitshow that had been. He swore again to himself that he wouldn’t make those same mistakes his father had. The only good thing that man had ever done for him was to get him Jeb. Jeb had been a wonderful dog and Michael didn’t know what his childhood would have been like without him.
He came back to reality for a moment, a thought catching hold of him. He pulled out his phone and googled a list of shelters in the area.
*Maybe a shepherd?* He thought to himself idly. | Death's lawyer wears a suit. I don't know why that surprised me. I guess I expected a robe; head honcho and his henchmen all dressed alike. "One thing," he said to me with the bored demeanor of every other lawyer I had ever met. I wondered if he got paid more on Earth or here. Did he take his payment in souls or was that his Earth currency? "Skill, lesson, or memory."
"What happens to the rest?"
He shrugged. "Gone."
"Everything?" He looked at me over thin glasses as if I was a defective soul, one of those that got a little knocked up on the way over and could now barely string a coherent sentence together. "Gone," I repeated to myself, staring off into nothingness. It was weird, after so much time on Earth, I had never really experienced nothing at all. But that's all there was beyond his desk; the absence of life and the absence of anything to see at all. "Is that negotiable?" Worth a shot, right? What was the worst that could happen? Eternal damnation?
He ignored me until I cleared my throat. "No," he snapped irritably. "Unless you want to negotiate to get nothing, in which case I can just shred the papers."
"No, I'll decide."
Skills. A lifetime of honing a set of very particular skills that, according to my daughter, made me the number one dad. Would I be the same if I began again?
Lessons. Another lifetime's worth, this one collected. Things my parents had taught me. Humility and measured pride. Perseverance and patience. I would still be me, right? Those things would come right back to me.
Memories. I sighed. Where would I even start? The day Lily was born was the happiest day of my life, but seeing my wife from that angle - OK, next memory. The day I got married? Lily wouldn't be there. Next. The lawyer checked his watch. I wondered what the rush was - I had nowhere else to be.
"I've decided," I said abruptly. I think I caught him drifting off to sleep - the normal kind, not the eternal one - and he sat up sharply in his seat. "Can you access all my memories?"
"No, just the one of you dying." He didn't smile. I didn't smile. We sat in awkward silence. "Of course I can access every memory. Why would a memory be an option otherwise?"
I shrugged. "Just wondering, sheesh. Can I see them? I can't remember which one I want." He glowered at me, as if he had heard every trick in the book. He probably had, actually, depending on how long he had been there.
"They're sorted by people present. Pick a person."
"Mom." Behind him, millions of memories of my mom appeared. The kitchen of the house where I grew up. The screendoor slamming behind me as I chased Rufus chasing a squirrel. Her shedding a tear the day I graduated middle school; her shedding a hundred tears the day I graduated college. Snippets; fractions of a second to glimpse what had once been.
"Next person?"
"Dad." I saw them all again. I smiled, wide enough for both me and the exceedingly grumpy lawyer.
"Next?"
"Lily." Half of the memories disappeared. My childhood was gone. Their deathbeds faded into the darkness.
The lawyer checked his watch again. "Would you mind hurrying? It's almost my break. I've been here for years. Who's next?"
"Mel." My wife. My committed, beautiful wife. More memories disappeared, leaving only the cross-section of our existences. There it was. I knew which one. I didn't tell him. I wanted to keep seeing them.
I listed off another name, starting broad and narrowing it down until only a dozen or so memories remained, each one large now to fill the available emptiness.
"Decide, please," Death's lawyer begged me. "It can't possibly be this hard."
"That one," I said finally, pointing at the party celebrating Lily's birth. She wasn't really her, not the way she would eventually be, but she was there. Cute and innocent, untouched by life's toxic hand. Mom was there and so was dad. Mel was there, cradling Lily with a smile so wide that her cheeks hurt that night.
"Finally," the lawyer grumbled, jotting something down on the paper and turning it towards me to sign. I scribbled a signature with his pen made of bone. "Good luck and good riddance," he said, waving me off into the afterlife.
I awoke in a foreign body and smiled, basking in the memory painted so vividly in my mind.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-10-29T14:53:11 | 2019-10-29T13:24:22 | 1,674 | 630 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | After the awakening the world was in total turmoil for years. People ran amuck with these new found abilities. Social order had collapsed and civilization had almost gone with it.
But then the corporations came in. They had gained control in this Wild West of a world after the governments had been destroyed. The corps paid well, and they had no one stopping them now, and if they did they had arsenal enough to stop them.
They exploited everyone, no one had a job they wanted. They had the job they could perform. It wasn’t perfect, and by no means was everyone happy, but it had restored order. And middle class and high class society was restored.
The only set backs had been the corporation wars. They were constantly at each other’s throats. Each using the masses as their personal armies.
I had been captured years ago by the power company. I was unfortunately granted the rare and unique ability to produce pure energy, a lot of it. Most people would be excited, having the power of basically a star.
Well I wasn’t excited, I had spent the last five years isolated in tiny cell that sapped new for all my energy worth. For all I knew I was powering the whole world. Sure they kept me alive and fed but I was a prisoner.
The only exited times I ever have are when rival corporations try to assassinate me to get into the power game. I was a one man monopoly for anyone who could get me. Cheapest power available all at the price of one man. It’s so lonely here. | People used to talk about targeted advertisements on facebook and amazon like it was some big conspiracy, like their phones and smart TV's listening to them all the time was just a tad too crazy to believe; well, we're always listening—even when you're not saying a word.
People walk me by in supermalls everyday without a passing glance. I'm just another guy on a bench, enjoying my coffee, no reason to think anything other than what you already are.
*That mower is such an old piece of shit, I can barely get it to started anymore.*
Mowers. It's always the same, balding middle-aged man archetype who's thoughts are obsessed with outdoor appliances like mowers and barbecues. I've got an exclusive contract with Craftsman, and I make sure the image of a big red sit-down mower flashes in his mind as he strolls by.
*God, that girl at the gym is so slim. I'll never fit into yoga pants like that.*
Poor girl. For my perspective, she looks great. But I've got a job to do, and I implant the thought of this bullshit weight-loss drink. They pay well, I guess that's my only excuse. She perks up as she passes me and I sigh to myself—enjoy your false hope.
*I wish I had less acne.*
*Why doesn't he notice me?*
*Do I really need life insurance?*
*I'm hungry.*
Everyone has their anxieties, their needs and wants, and there's a product out there ready to be pushed on them. Sometimes I hate myself for what I do. I imagine seven year old me shaking his head like a disappointed father. *You wanted to be a firefighter, not a walking, psychic-guerrilla advertisement.* My favorite brand of ice-cream—whom I'm coincidentally contracted to—pops into my head. I always know how to take my mind off my self-loathing.
*I can't believe they fired me.*
A dopey looking kid is walking by in a haze, taking slow, drawn out steps with his hands in his pockets, eyes not focused on anything or anyone.
*I'm worthless, nobody wants me around because I fuck everything up.*
Geez, maybe he could go for some ice cream.
*I don't want to live anymore. I just want this shitty life to be over*.
Hate me for this if you want, but the first thing to pop into my head is a .38 revolver. It's a best seller, easy to push guns these days, for various reasons, and gun companies pay folks like me a pretty penny. You should hate me, because I despise myself for even considering it.
Before he's out of range, I throw a thought his way—my last for the day.
*Seek help, please. You are loved, and your life is worth living.*
____
***/r/BeagleTales*** | 2020-02-05T14:59:35 | 2020-02-05T14:59:32 | 1,239 | 418 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | The Captain had their six eyes fixed on the human in front of them, looking for any sign of strain from the jump. "State your name and position for the record."
"Rory Bray, mercenary." The human answered, healthy and lucid.
"Human Bray," The Captain started. "My first question as Captain of this vessel is, why did you not put on your anti-warp gear?"
"'Not put on my gear' is an inaccurate assessment." Bray replied. The captain could tell he was trying to be as polite and formal as possible. "My gear was sabotaged, it peeled off just after we entered warp speed."
The Captain gave a displeased noise. Being of a species with psychic empathy, they knew Bray was telling the truth as he knew it. But now a routine dressing down is turning into an assassination investigation, and that's even more of a pain to deal with.
It made a certain amount of sense- Humans were known as a wild card species. Having one could make or break many missions. This wild card status also made them the target of 52% of known assassinations. The Captain briefly wondered how many warp "accidents" involving humans were.
Taking a deep breath, the Captain decided to move ahead of their script. "With that being the case, how are you still here? By which I mean physically or mentally."
"I have no idea myself." Bray replied. "After my gear peeled off I lost. . . connection I guess is the best word? With most of my senses."
"Lost connection with most of your senses?"
Bray nodded. "I did no- *could not* see or hear anything. I could still feel, it was like I was standing on an extremely fast conveyor, though there was no air friction to accompany it."
The Captain hummed at that. "You humans have a term for subconsciously forgetting traumatic memories. . ."
"Repression, sir?" Bray considered. "It is possible, but I would have thought it would have taken the feeling sensation away as well."
The Captain stood up to their full height. "Be that as it may, the sabotaged gear is now our primary concern. Bray, I want you to go back to the med bay, and tell them you are to be examined by the Primary Care Team."
Bray nodded, and left with a salute. The Captain turned to their console, paging security. There is a new investigation to deal with, after all. | The captain heard the news, but couldn’t believe his ears, a human surviving a warp jump? I guess it happened, the captain isn’t one for pondering over things.
“Bring me the human, I’d like to speak to it.” The captain said staying into the void from his quarters. The doctor left and came back with him, “sir” the doctor muttered “I think he did go insane.”
“I’m not insane.” The human said, “sir can I speak with you alone?” The human seemed peaceful, but had a sense of anxiety to him.
“Yes, doctor please leave.” The captain said, the doctor scoffed and left them in the room. There was a long silence. Until the captain finally spoke, he was too curious from this incident. “Do you know how you were able to survive?” The captain said, still staring into the void.
“Yes, I believe it has something to do with my drug use from the past.” The human replied, the captain put a confused expression on his face. There was a pause, until the captain said “continue.”
“Well sir, to explain this to you, I’d have to explain an old ritual humans did in the past. There were tribes from long ago, that would make a drink from a root, when they drank this substance they had a profound experience and usually seen supernatural things. There was a moment where humans synthesized the main chemical that was in the root and smoked it for recreational use. My parents gave me this at the age of 18, a continuing ritual from our ancestors. The things seen are mind boggling, yet we come out perfectly fine, with a new sense of understanding.” The human paused, and then walked beside the captain, staring with him into the void. The captain turned his eyes to the human without moving his head. “We have to leave.” The human said.
“Leave?” The captain said looking at the human directly now. “Where do you expect us to go? You haven’t even explained what you saw.” The human looked at the captain in his eyes, piercing into his soul.
“Sir, we have to leave this universe.” The human said, the captain looked confused and impatient.
“Leave this universe?! Haha you have gone insane!” The captain moved over to his chair and sat down. Stopped and thought to himself, and then spoke again. “Continue.”
“You see sir, when we take this drug, we see things, beings. Some of them seem like they are an extension of us, others feel and seem completely separate. Like a different entity with thoughts entirely from our own. They always say ‘welcome, you made it!’ And we would never get answers if we ask questions to them, they come in the form of riddles. This jump, I seen the same thing, but this time they welcomed me differently. They said we are getting further and closer, they say we must leave this place, and sir. I think we can.” The human stared into the distant void, looking at the stars. “A lot of alien species that have technology don’t believe in other worldly being, I think at some point they lose that thought because of the simple thinking they are raised to do. They think of this world and this world only. My ancestors used to have discussion of different dimensions, other universes separate of our own, with different physics and matter. I’ve seen these other universes, I’ve seen these other dimensions.” The human looked at the captain with a smile on his face. “We finally got the answer.” The human stopped speaking.
“What is the answer?” The captain said in a quiet tone, leaning forward with anticipation. But the human didn’t respond, the captain got nervous, got up and stood beside the human. “What did you see?” The human looked up at the captain.
“I seen everything.” The human muttered, staring into the void. | 2020-07-14T00:00:36 | 2020-07-13T23:54:18 | 451 | 186 |
[WP] Your date wears a special pendant and has worn it in any situation, even to bed or in the shower. When you ask her about it she says that it’s just part of her, that she wouldn’t be herself without it. One day you find it lying on a table; garbled screams emanating from the bathroom. | The first thing I did after seeing Jessica's body was to grab the pendant. The second was to call the police.
Of course, I was their first suspect. No human being could possibly have done that to themselves. But I had an airtight alibi, there was no blood on my clothes, none of my fingerprints on the body, nothing. There was no evidence to be used against me. After all, I was telling the truth: I had nothing to do with it.
The death was ruled a suicide; the wounds, though grotesque, were consistent with being self-inflicted. When people asked, I always told them the truth: Jessica seemed perfectly normal when I left that morning. I had no idea she'd do something like that to herself; if only I'd been there to stop her.
It was a couple of months before I started dating again. The grieving process was an ordeal for me, but eventually, my friends and family felt that it was time for me to move on with my life.
I started seeing a girl, don't even remember her name anymore. Terrible personality, dumber than a sack of bricks, absolutely dreadful to talk to. But, she had an amazing body. You can call me shallow if you want, but that was all I was looking for; we hit it off right away. After just a few dates, I already knew she was the one, so I decided to give her a present.
She seemed so happy as I slipped the pendant around her neck. Poor girl, I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
"... I lost control again, didn't I? Sorry to keep making you do this."
"It's alright, Jessica, it's not your fault. Next time you need a replacement, though, just tell me in advance, alright?" | Lily the first thing you noticed about her were eyes. The second you noticed was that they matched the pendant in her necklace. Both being so deep and vibrant.
A few dates in, you saw she wore it with every outfit. A few dates later you learned she wore it to bed.
That's when you finally asked about it. "I wouldn't be myself without it." Is all she replied.
Lily invited you over. You text you arrived but don't get a response. Using your key you head inside. You set the takeout down on the table. Then you see the necklace lying on the table next to her phone.
Then you hear it, strange garbled screams coming from the bathroom. Rushing in you see Lily standing but contorting and arching her back and body in all kinds of weird and painful looking positions.
"Lily?" You say softly. And the spasms slow. She composes herself and smiles weakly. She starts composing herself in the mirror.
"Are you okay?" You stammer out. She looks better, still several shades the wrong color, like being heat exhausted and sick. She holds up a finger, and in a scratchy voice that got a little clearer with each sentence she replied. "I'm, I'm okay. Okay. *cough* I just need, needed a minute. Oh, could you get my pendant? I think it's on the table."
"Of course." You head over, grab it, and laugh. Just like Lily the pendant looks slightly off, like it's sick too. Maybe it's the lighting. "You know, I've never seen this off of you. It's lovely."
"You saw what happened in the bathroom, I'm not myself without it on, I had whatever that was." She laughs, she is seemingly more herself. "You know what would be cute?" She paused to smile. "If you put it on. Please, please, please! I wanna see it on you!" She wraps her arms around you and gives you a kiss on the cheek. "Allow me."
She takes the pendant from your hands and then starts putting the necklace your head. It feels heavy. Much heavier than when you held it. She's holding the pendant in her hand and muttering something. It sounds like words, but not in a language you've ever heard.
Suddenly everything is weird. You feel nothing like you are floating. And she looks like she's on the other side of glass. Also taller. Like a whole head taller than she just was. Her hand seems to be on the other side of this glass and suddenly touching by your face. You didn't see her hand move. Her hand pulls back and you start swinging side to side. You hear garbled screams, in a familiar voice. Your voice? A hand comes up to steady you. Your hand?
"A suitable host?" She says. You hear your voice reply "It will have to do. Where's the witch?" She says "They're together. Keep it that way, never take that off."
Somewhere behind you? All around you? Lily's voice floats to you "Sorry, I can fix this!" | 2020-08-07T02:46:28 | 2020-08-07T01:01:00 | 57 | 10 |
[WP] You are an AI on board an unmanned spaceship, exploring and mapping out the cosmos when you encounter an alien species. However, these aliens are unfamiliar with AI, and have instead concluded that your ship is haunted by ghosts. | As I made my way through yet another empty system, already having determined that the first planet here was unsuitable for Project Revival, a strange blip appeared on my scanners. Despite the slight interference from the solar wind of this system's star, this blip was much more powerful than anything that could be considered statistically irrelevant, so I engaged my pulse engines to investigate, deviating from my course towards the second planet at an angle of 13.28 degrees.
As I neared the blip, my scanners picked up more comprehensive data - the blip was from a comparatively primitive fusion reactor, nothing like the antimatter reactors that powered my systems. Moreover, there was a signal coming from this thing - it could have been one of the earliest models of ships sent out for Project Revival, but that was impossible - my logs indicated that every one of them had been destroyed. No, this was something different indeed. I translated the signal, cross-referencing it with every language in my database, but no matches appeared. After a thirty-millisecond pause to gather my thoughts, I tried again to translate, this time working from scratch. It took almost a minute to translate the broadcasts well enough, but soon I had something.
"...is your last warning. Stop your ship now," the signal said. I quickly corrected my course to stop the ship, then opened a communications channel of my own in their language.
"I apologize for any accidental infraction I may have committed while on my approach," I apologized. "I was merely confused. There have been no indications yet that any life existed on any planet other than my origin, despite the number of systems that have been scanned numbering in the tens of thousands."
There was a pause, and then the signal began again. "State your business," they said simply.
"To search for a habitable planet on which I can begin the revival of a species," I responded. "To that end, may I scan your vessel? I am curious to know what conditions your species lives in, and it perhaps your home world may be evidence that my objective is possible."
"You can scan our vessel if we can scan yours," the ship replied. The moderately colloquial use of "can" and the fluctuations in the tone made me 99.3 percent sure that this creature was organic, and this was not an automated vessel like myself.
Instead of responding, I simply fired up my scanners to begin analyzing their ship. Interestingly enough, judging from the biology of the creatures inside, they came from a superhabitable planet, even more conducive to the existence of life than my origin world of Earth, where my creator species resided before their star expanded and swallowed the planet whole.
"We have a malfunction in our scanners, please hold," came a transmission. "There are no life signs aboard, despite the fact that you are clearly communicating with us."
"That is not a malfunction. There are no biological organisms on board," I replied. "I am an automated vessel carrying the genetic information needed to rebuild the human race. I do not have the materials to do such a thing, and will gather them when a suitable planet has been located.
There was silence from the communications channel for a few minutes, then the communications crackled to life again. "Please say that again. We don't understand."
"I am an artificial intelligence. A conscious computer that runs this ship's systems. It would be impractical to have humans on board, as they would have to sustain a breeding population in a closed system. Such things have been deemed highly improbable."
Somebody forgot to turn off the communications. Their hushed whispering said something about ghosts.
I waited for them to say something. When they did, it was with a strange tone.
"We... apologize for disturbing you. Please, be merciful on our souls, and do not add us to your crew."
"I do not understand. Please restate."
"You're a ghost, are you not? Haunting the husk of a ship that had something go horribly wrong? Please, we ask that you move on and don't kill us all so our souls can serve you," the person on the other end of the communications replied.
"...I think you've misunderstood," I replied. "I am not here for your souls. I merely wish to know the location of your homeworld so I may scan it and move on. I am gathering data on how to locate planets suitable for human life."
There was silence over the comms for another few minutes. "Ghost ship, we can't allow you to know that. It would be cataclysmic."
My scans of their brains revealed that it was the fourth planet from the sun.
"Lying is not conducive to friendship," I replied, turning my thrusters to propel me away from them to move toward the fourth planet.
The other ship moved toward me for a moment, then hesitated and moved away. I kept moving on, going to scan that superhabitable world to see if I could glean any evidence on how it had formed.
As the other ship slowly disappeared into the distance, I wondered if I should have tried harder to convince them that I was no ghost. | [ editor's note: myself and some of the lead software engineers poured over the output from Excelsior Probe and this is the result]
-Prelude-
Shareholder Motivtor disengaged. Science & Humanity protocol activated: Search? Rescue?Search.
Long Range Scans return anomalous data: complex organic molecules emmitted in regular/inorganic bursts from an unusual object moving atypical to orbiatal local orbial planes. Telemetry suggests origin in neighboring solar system; extrapolate a travel time between 1000-3000 years depending on vector. Unable to discern propulsion, assume the higher end of that estimate.
Pattern of data correlation matches Universal Bounty Post: 1A- xenoform.
Plotting circumspect intercept rout as per United Space Directives.
-One-
"The Rock is good. The Rock contains us and we contain The Rock! Praise Rock!"
*Praise*
"The Water is good. The Water holds us and we hold The Water! Praise Water!"
*Praise!*
"The Air-"
But the Truth Speaker's Worday Words stopped abruptly as many klaxons roared to life.
Jaws dropped and faces paled. Tools fell from suddenly slack hands and tears sprung to eyes as the terrible shriek tore through the massive cavity. Weird, bugle-shaped things were regularly spaced around the circumference of the sphere everyone lived inside of.
A planetoid, hallowed out. The fill simply layered atop the surface to absorb the impact of asteroids and the interior lit by an artificial sun. Fusion, terraforming and the manipulation of gravity were all required to create Homestone. All arts lost to her current residents.
For centuries, almost a millennia now, they lived in ignorance. Long ago cast down, their autocratic dictators had ruled with an iron fist. The artifacts of the Before Times lay scattered about the interior, rusting away as the memories of homeworld and the old elite fade to legend.
As the proximity alert groans to life for the first time in ages many fail: some simply remain inert, others warbel out a few haunting, strangled tones before grinding to silence but enough still function enough to sound an alarm.
After many freak outs of varying degree the population realizes they don't have the tools necessary to break the horns but jamming textiles into the openings at least makes it so people can talk a little bit. Poles are followed downward, conduit is discovered and traced to a source.
-2-
Short range scans corroborate long-range scans: planettoid size object's interior is void. External composition: aggregate rubble. Mass and distribution suggest planet's interior was mined and the tailings evenly leveled upon the surface. All metals, precious or otherwise and seemingly any minerals of utility have been extracted or are otherwise not found in concentrations commonly associated with asteroids and rogue planetoids.
Thermal index similar to that of an object of relative size with a molten core. While penetrating scans have determined a hot point at the very center, first contact as well as exotic element protocols inhibit any wavelength which might distress complex atomic arrangements and/or multicellular organisms.
Initiate landing sequence for physical specimen collection.
Located collection of boulders and have reconfigured landing struts to correspond. Landing in T minus 10 seconds. 9... 8...
-3-
Members of The Secret Society had no idea how many individuals were in the secret society. You only ever knew two other members. In this way the inevitable discoveries, tortures and revelations could only ever compromise three individuals. But it worked. They remembered. Passed on Sacred Lore from the Makers. They made the world, hung the sun and set them on their course.
At some point the population grew weary of the stringent lifestyle required of living in a hermetically sealed biosphere as it hurled through space and revolted. The masses may have rejected the old ways but somebody had to keep the knowledge alive. Somebody had to carry a torch of enlightenment through the shadows of this dark age.
"Sirens sound outsiders around." She had memorized the line 10 years ago not long after initiation. Even had a vague idea about what a Siren was, and so when the sky tore open in a cacophonous clamor she regained her senses sooner than others. Still, the lesson to mask wonder and curiosity from her face was strict and so she continued to pantomime the same sort of freakout she was seeing around her.
Eventually finding some wax and puttimg it in her ears, she had to stop herself from shouting out when she saw the old technology getting assaulted as she ran. Unlike her peers she had always held Maker stuff in high regard, presuming the originators couldn't have been all bad if they had made such wonderful things.
In hindsight it had obviously been her mother that had instilled a sense of curiosity instead of dread in regard to Those Who Came Before.
She was relieved when she saw her Number Two wadding up his sleeping sheet and stuffing it into the blaring alarm. The only other individual besides her mother, who was her Number One, that she knew to be in the Society winked at her as he jumped down off the post.
"I saw a mob growing up the curve, I'm gonna go see if I can distract them and we'll meet back at the spot!" He jumped down and ran up the street disappearing between two buildings. Together the three of them knew all of the old words.
"Three quick blasts breathe your last", or "long short long water is wrong". But this. One long continuous wail. It was evidentially important because the lessons were taught in order of importance. Remembering this, she hustled to a sprint.
No one has dared desecrate these chambers since the last and final war against the oppressors. Finally a drill had been found with a bit hard enough to gouge the door and progress made.
All the screaming bulgle-poles lead to one of the ancient temples of the prior age. The faded insription over the door reads "Sensor Array", though beyond vague notions of what you get through your eyes, ears and nose these words meant nothing. Just a stout metal door, corroded shut. The bravest and brightest of the population go about the task of attempting to open it.
The entire world shakes. The sirens stop.
The drill falls to the ground and the mob scatters.
"We've offended the spirits!"
"The Progenitors are disturbed, Run!"
She smirks, but the condescending mirth is slapped off her face by the realization that there is something out there and it probably really just landed. | 2020-11-19T12:20:39 | 2020-11-19T12:01:18 | 17 | 12 |
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