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 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] You were gifted the ability to always win, no matter what. Even after your body has been shattered, everything you held dear destroyed, your will broken...you still somehow win. You've long ago decided that this is not a gift but a curse. | I stopped feeling long ago.
The wind on my face is gone. Burned away. I went into that house to save people. I succeeded. I would do it again. I had won.
My fingers lost to chemical burns. Though now others wouldn't have to clean up that mess. I made sure of that, for I had won.
My eyes burned out from radiation, but I stopped the meltdown. That day, we all won.
My lungs are shot. They are no more. The kids on that bus? They are here though. Or maybe it's their kids. Time has gotten hard. Either way, pulling them out of the lake was something I will always remember. I succeeded. I had won.
It all has started to blur now though. I sometimes forget how I lost my smell. I know hearing was a foolish mistake, though exactly what? Maybe to many gun shots, maybe a rock concert. You would think I would remember if I had been shot at. I thought I would have, but from what I am told I have, and I don't remember it.
That was the worst part. Losing my brain, my mind, my memory. Everything began to slip. I knew I had spent my life winning. I had memories of how I had won over odds to help, to serve, and to save. Losing those was worse than anything else.
Now I think I am finally dying. There is a tunnel, a light, and a voice. Despite losing everything I had I can still feel these things. My body coming back to me as I pass towards the light. I recognize the voice. It asks me "are you winning son?"
Now, as I drag my broken body through the tunnel. It reforming with every motion as I move towards the end I can finally answer it. Answer that voice.
"No" | Winning.
I once googled the definition, to try and work out exactly what my curse meant. 'Gaining, resulting in, or relating to victory in a contest or competition'
At first, who wouldn't have seen it as a blessing? I bought lottery tickets, entered competitions for sports I'd never even heard of- why train for a marathon when you know, without any hint of a doubt, that you're going to win it? In the throes of my new found 'excellence,' I never even stopped to consider what was going on around me; In the races I won, there were huge amounts of people running that looked as if they'd never seen the track before, much like myself, which I suppose was a necessity if I was going to win every time. However, for every few of these people came the prepared, fit athletes, who were here to win. However many times I ran, I never saw one of them arrive at the finish line.
As the news of terrible accidents, always to the expected winners of anything I took part in, grew, people begun to see a correlation. Of course there was never any proof- even in the most hideous of these 'accidents'- I can never quite tell myself that these things happen of pure chance- the circumstances never lead back to me in any way, other than that the person who had fallen, unable to compete, was one that had planned to beat me. They never could.
Soon, as news spread, people didn't even sign up for events I was taking part in. Who would? It was pretty much asking to be hurt, or disqualified in some way. You might ask why I kept competing- "do I have no conscience?' is a question that I'm often faced with. The simple answer is this: winning is addictive. Through some cruel twist of fate, me and winning have become one. I crave it, I love it. It's an extension of my soul: even when I realised the terrible consequences it was having, the thought to stop didn't cross my mind for a moment.
I had to start competing under false names, wearing disguises, but they always knew it was me when a favourite to win took ill, or was incapacitated suddenly and often violently. I found myself playing alone, and it just isn't the same when your only competition is yourself. My sights went higher: The power I had been given seemed to translate to anything, and what better way to use it than to make money? I ran outside, betting with myself out loud "I'll throw away $20 if there's not a taxi outside."
My heart gave the familiar twist that I had become so addicted to when I saw it, and jumped inside, directing the puzzled driver, who must have been extremely confused having found himself irresistibly compelled to wait outside my house, to Vegas.
​
​
I don't remember how long ago all of that happened. Im sat here, mindlessly collecting money from the flashing machine in front of me, as I have for I don't even know how long. I don't remember which of the ID's in my wallet is my own, and I'm terrified, right to my core, by the fact that I can't seem to make myself care. | 2020-12-30T05:35:15 | 2020-12-30T04:22:40 | 121 | 41 |
[WP] You're a serial killer who hunts other serial killers, not out of nobility, but because you love the thrill of outsmarting them. | Sunyo runs down the alley, it’s scent is a bit too familiar. Acid, that’s how it always smelt like, and it hadn’t ever changed. “ Fuck” he mumbled to himself, as he breathes heavily, holding on the wall filled with old posters and mold. This place, this alley, was what he once called home, a safe place, his place. He believed he was born here, since he never remembered his life outside this narrow road. And to think, he would die here…….No, he’s not going to die. He won’t let something like that happen. After all those situations he’s got out of, this can’t be the way he’ll go down.
He took a few uneven steps further, as he tried to calm himself. Only for him to be filled with fear as he hears the sharp voice.
“ Sunyo!” the voice booms, making him shudder, it takes an effort to hide his panic. As he keeps walking down further.
“ You’re still running! I’m impressed” says the voice as it gets nearer and nearer.
*Don’t turn around, don’t look at him. He’ll think I’m confident. Just keep going. He tells himself as he keeps walking further.*
“ Oh, poor you, such a bright man” the voice gets nearer. The heavy footsteps, the sound of the metal rod that the approaching voice keeps slapping his palm to.
“ Turn around now Sunyo, I’ll make it a lot less painful if you do”
Sunyo stops on his tracks, *there’s a dead end up ahead, I can’t go any further*
He turns around swiftly, which causes some of his sweat to splatter on the ground. His eyes are closed. The voice approaches with laughter.
“ Well, well, aren’t you quick to make a choice” the voice is a few feet in front of him. The shadow, visible even in the dark of midnight. The voice speaks again.
“ Well. Sunyo, I’m all business. I don’t talk shit”
The voice appears in front of a frail Sunyo, the metal rod shining, as it reveals the big man. He’s dressed in a white shirt, or, it used to be white. The stains of blood covers every part of it, this man had refused to clean up, perhaps he thinks it intimidates people.
“ So…..” says the large man, his face showing a hideous grin. He places the rod on Sunyos shoulder.
“ Any last wish?”
Sunyo, whose eye was on the rod, refused to look at the man. His face flooded with fear. His entire body was covered in sweat, he shivered. He bit his lips as tears filled his eyes.
“I-I’m-I’m t-tired. I-I ran too much” says Sunyo, “P-pl-please just let me drink water” his eyes finally meet the large man, pleading him to fulfil his wish.
“ Water eh? Fine, you can drink water” the booming voice says “ But” it continues, “ there isn’t any water here”
“ I-I-I have some” says Sunyo pointing to his pocket
“ Ahhh, okay then”, the man immediately places his hand inside the pocket, to remove a small bottle of water. “ Well, is this your last wish?”
“ Yes. Please” begs Sunyo. The man laughs, no, he goes hysterical. He covers his eyes with the back of his hand and laughs out loud.
“ Oh, Sunyo” he says, as he unscrews the bottle cap with one hand. “ If this is your last wish, then let me complete it for you” he says, gulping down the entire bottle as Sunyo watches in horror. “ Noooooo” he screams, his tears hit the ground.
“ Eheheheheehehe…………” the voice stops, the large man takes a few steps back. The metal rod falls off. His hands start twitching. He grabs his hair. The man falls to his knees as he screams.
“ WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK” he’s in tears. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?”
He asks, only for Sunyo to flash a smile.
“ Well…….that’s some nice water isn’t it?” asks Sunyo, wiping his tears. “ That’s sulfuric acid. Burning, isn’t it?” Sunyo keeps smiling. He walks near the man, as he struggles. His internal organs must be in hell, *I wish I could see that. I could perhaps cut him open………...no need. He isn’t worth the effort.* Sunyo keeps smiling as he crouches down to grab the man’s face.
“ I heard about your killing method. You ask your victim about their last wish. And then you do the exact opposite of it. You like to watch them, in horror. It’s not that creative” Sunyo spits on his face as he gets up to pick up the fallen metal rod.
“ Have fun. Ryoko.” Sunyo stabs the metal rod to his hands, a bone chilling scream escapes from the man.
Sunyo walks away to the main road, whistling a little tune from the lullaby he had learned.
*One more down. Shame he wasn’t much of a fight.* | There are those who claim to hunt the most dangerous game. Who claim to know what it is like to be a hunter, someone who claims lives with pride. They claim that man is the most dangerous animal. That to hunt those who can think in patterns and understand the meaning of mirrors, is the greatest of hunts. They brag to themselves and perhaps to their few companions, about how the taking of the life of a man makes them gods, how every death is a sacrifice. They know nothing. There is a far greater prey than mere men, who more often than not know nothing about survival or fighting. Above all the wild tigers burning brightly in their jungles with their fearful symmetry, above every monstrous polar bear, above every proud lion, and noble wolf, there is a creature deserving hunting. A worthy challenge, each one unique, dangerous, wild, and cunning. There is no mercy in them, no emotions, only vicious bloodthirst and a mind like clockwork, working towards more death.
I know there are some who hunt them because they are one of them, and they feel that their kind are evil. Their noble spirits ascends beyond their primal desire to hunt, gash, rip, and tear. I have no such frivolity, no such intensity of purpose. I hunt them because the thrill, the glory, is all the more sweet and delicious. Like the falcon turning in the widening gyre, I swoop down upon them, one after another. Oh how wondrous that victory is, when their cunning ploys are thwarted, when they realise that a better hunter, is outsmarting them. Like this one. Oh how he suspects nothing. How he toys with his latest catch, an easy target if there ever was one, shamefully easy to tell the truth. But I am the True Hunter, and I hunt those who act like the human idea of wolves towards other humans. His name matters not, it is a mere moniker given by those who have no understanding of the importance of names. I, the True Hunter, name him rightfully as the Caring Killer, always he picks his targets carefully, pretending to be a friend, someone who is willing to listen to people when they're at their lowest. His goal is to free them from their suffering, and send them to their maker.
A worthy prey, but one must still know that he is a fool. No merciful creator would let creatures such as him be born. Still, he never leaves traces, never uses his own name, never makes mistakes. If it wasn't because I had seen him in the distance disposing of his previous catch, I would never have noticed. Lucky me that I was tracking a different prey in the forest that day. In that way he is cunning, like the chameleon he blends in, and nobody will ever know except by the way of chance. Fools have their cunning, and yet they are still prey. To be hunted. One could do as the modern men, who hunts with guns from far distances, but where is the challenge, the thrill? Our ancestors, back when all knew how to hunt, used spears, bows, traps, and knives. I am the True Hunter, and I honour those who came before me in that way, by hunting as we were meant to. To get the prey out of its cabin, its den, one must spook it. So I stand, and let myself be seen and heard by my prey. It is not hard to fake the sudden gasp and scream of a frightened animal, the prey that his kind hunts.
And thus, the chase begins, he hasn't got the time to get his gun, so he runs for me with only his knives. As is proper. But I've been out here preparing for days before he began his own hunt. And I am in much better shape than he is. I run at the exact speed needed so he doesn't overtake me, nor I lose him. I note the trail I run, making sure to step over the small tight line of rope, so I don't trip my own trap. I have to smirk as I realise that he noticed, and jumps over the rope. Exactly as I planned. His scream is like the music of the angels as he steps into the secondary trap behind the rope meant to trip him. Beartraps, old rusty ones coloured the same as the autumn dirt, covered in a light amount of leaves, makes for such wonderful toys. A bit modern sure, but oh so very efficient. And besides digging a hole, filling it with spikes, coating them in poison, it's such hard work and I'm not getting any younger.
I slip into the dark woods and out of sight. The prey screams and bellows. Whines, and swears. Yet delightfully he begins to open the trap, to free his wounded leg. Which makes the hunt so much more fun. Such as him would have medical supplies back at his lair, so as he struggles to free himself, I sneak through the underbrush till I reach his quaint little cabin. The Caring Killer's prey tries to get my attention, but I put up my finger to my mouth and make a shushing sound. Can't let some scared little rabbit of a person get in my way. Hiding myself in the dark cabin is a simple procedure, it is the mere act of blending into the darkness, of finding the right angle. Standing silently as the ancient oaks, I draw back my bow, and notch the arrow. And just as I expected the prey enters the cabin, wheezing and tired. He does not expect the arrow I fire, he does not notice before it is too late. Not until the obsidian arrowhead has pierced his forehead. If only he had been prepared, I could have kept up this game all night. Shame really, but one takes proper prey where one can find it.
Some hunters take trophies from their prey. But such hunters have something to prove, an inadequacy to make up for. A nagging feeling that they're not the best, perhaps. Or maybe the words of their own mind screaming madness into itself, a mind like a steel ball, full of echoes. I have no such follies. No such pretences. Only the hunt matters. Only the thrill of hunting the most dangerous game, the most vicious prey. As an afterthought, I free the prey of my prey. They try to speak through their pain, trying to thank me. Which is like the rabbit thanking the tiger for killing the fox. But I shush them again, hand them the keys to my prey's car, and tell them to run. Wisely, the little prey flees into the night. A young human man, slender and nervous, too trusting, too naïve. I turn away from him, for he is nothing. Instead I walk back into the woods, and fetch my things. One must cover ones tracks, and therefore I steal a bottle of strong liquor from my prey's cabin, and make of it a molotov cocktail. As the cabin burns, I leave back into the dark woods.
This hunt was not the best one of all, but it certainly was lovely to have one so soon after the last one.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2021-06-04T14:33:11 | 2021-05-15T09:31:14 | 369 | 187 |
[WP] You are a hired gun, and a good one at that. No contract has ever been left undone since you started your work. However, you despise it. Every fiber in your being wishes you could stop. | "Hi, i'm Paul." I sighed, leveling the gun at the man before me.
"Guards! Help, there's someone in here!"
"I'm really sorry about this." I said, firing a single bullet into his head. He dropped to the floor, dead, blood pooling around his body.
I heard the sound of heavy footsteps before the door flew open, and two burly men burst into the room, unloading their weapons into me. I felt the thudding impact of about seven or eight bullets on my chest before falling backwards. My eyes closed, and I was dead before I hit the floor.
My eyes flickered back open. I was greeted by a familiar sight of an empty void. The only thing that stood out was the pair of eyes glowing brightly in the darkness. I floated around for a bit before sighing at the thing in front of me.
"Can I just stay dead this time?" I asked the figure in front of me.
"No, I still need you Paul." rasped it's gravelly voice. Before the eyes opened wide and the light coming from them became blindingly bright.
I felt the tug, like a rope was attached to my chest, and then the sickening sensation of being flung back into the real world.
I remembered how I threw up the first time it happened, but by now I was getting used to the feeling of just "popping" back into existence.
I blinked a few times before fully opening my eyes. My body lying on the floor in front of me. I glanced up at the two guards staring dumbstruck at me. I shrugged at them, raised my hands in the air, then turned, running and leaping out of the 20th story window, which, mind you, hurt like a bitch.
As I fell through the air I closed my eyes and waited for the impact, I would be back soon enough. I always was, whether I liked it or not.
Sorry, as you can probably tell, I don't write a lot. I just wanted to apologize so that, if you wasted 30 seconds of your reading this and then looked at your screen in disgust before throwing yourself out of a window to forget the war crime against literature that you just witnessed, you would know that I am truly sorry. | [Voiceover](https://vocaroo.com/1j8fzpJqSZ9S)
I swallow the bile down, straightening my long coat. I want to get up, walk out. How many steps would I make it? Maybe all the way home to kiss Sharon and Jack one more time? Then the Gloves with methods much less subtle than me come knocking. The trapped rat will bravely gnaw off a leg to escape, even if they end up bleeding out anyway. I don't feel brave, just tired. Tired and sick.
I grit my teeth as I take the laconic message from the fax machine and throw it to the fireplace. Name, date of birth, and preferred treatment easy enough to remember. Would it be easier if I knew what they did? Probably not.
"Dr. Walters? Room 203 is ready for you," the pale new nurse with the cheery absent eyes said. Her name was Barbara, I think, but I'm not confident enough to risk saying it wrong.
"Thank you," I offer gravely as I dust my hands, removing nothing. "The chart?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," she offered, looking embarrassed. "I left it in the room. Of course you want to go over it before you see them. I'll fetch it."
"It's fine, thank you." I walk past the backstepping young woman. I try and fail to clear my mind as I walk through the hall, luxurious without being tacky. Top of the line everything all the way down to the light switches. The money has to go somewhere. Doctor Farouq smiles at me and offers some thin pleasantry I miss.
I chuckle and offer a tight smile and a halfhearted wave as I pass. The door to room 203 comes closer than I expected. I knock.
"Come in," a young man calls out and so I do.
"Good morning, give me just a moment to go over your chart," I tell him, missing his answer as my eyes zone in on his name. Couldn't even wait till lunch, could they? This was the job, first thing.
"I'm afraid your condition is quite severe," I say sternly, not looking up as I pretend to read through the lab work.
"Pretty severe?" the man asks with a laugh. "I got a sprained ankle from the protest march yesterday. How severe could it be?"
"I don't want to say anything conclusive yet," I tell him, face an emotionless mask. "You'll need more tests but your labwork has markers for a possible serious condition. We need to start at least baseline treatment immediately."
"What? I feel fine," he says, trying to stand before I place my hand on his shoulder while I reach the other shaking hand into the dark cabinet.
"That's usually how it goes," I tell him as I draw from the vial. I pretend to pay attention to the dose. In reality, once you reach a certain amount, the effect is always the same.
"Really?" he says, fear blooming in his eyes at the sight of the needle.
"I'm surprised you walked in here at all," I lie. "Now lay down and I'll administer a light sedative before we move you to the main hospital."
"Alright, I'm glad you caught it early. Thank you, doctor," the man says.
I pull up the sleeve to reveal a tattoo of a burning flag. I look towards the wall as I let the needle slide in and I push the plunger down. I resist closing my eyes and just manage to hold my hand still. Jack's crayon drawing of me smiles back, Caduceus held high. I don't know how I thought it would help.
/r/surinical | 2021-05-29T21:00:29 | 2021-05-29T20:13:43 | 45 | 23 |
[WP] An agoraphobic princess is sick and tired of knights breaking into her tower and trying to slay her emotional support dragon. | Princess Salantha of the Kingdom of Remore is pulled from her salacious romance novel by the clatter of metal in the courtyard outside her tower, putting a frown on her features as she knows very well what it causing said clattering.
"Come on! I was almost to the best part! Baron Redmayne was just about to proclaim his love for the fair Lady Selene." the Princess complains aloud, appearing to be speaking to herself.
This is quickly disproven by the slithering of scales in the stairwell leading down from her tower room and the large, reptilian head poking its way through the doorway.
The dragon, for that is quite clearly what it is, slips its tongue out of its fanged mouth and teases the air in an expression of lizard-like displeasure, for it too disdains this interruption.
As it pulls its prodigious length through the doorway and coils it inside the Princess\`s room, a large yellow sleeve becomes visible wrapped around its midsection emblazoned with bold, black letters:
**SERVICE ANIMAL**
The Princess, getting a bit worked up at having to speak to another person, gets sweaty palms and her heart rate spikes before her trusty support dragon nudges her with its warm, scaly snout, drawing her mind back to the present moment.
The Princess takes a deep breath and as she releases it some of the building tension within her dissipates.
"Thank you, Mr. Scales." the Princess says gratefully, patting her dragon on his aforementioned snout with a small smile on her face.
Mr. Scales had been the Princess\` companion from an early age. Given to her by the Court wizard, she had named him when she was only a few years old herself and they had never been apart since.
Now, at the sound of metal clattering its way up the rather extensive stairwell of her Tower, the Princess reflects upon the numerous attempts over the past few years to draw her out from her tower, to "save" her from her closest companion, the best friend she has ever had.
And because Mr. Scales is, shall we say, fearsome?
That usually means assasults by armed and armored knights, the rather dim idiots attempting to kill her support animal, without whom she would be left adrift in a sea of anxiety and fear, of the outside world and of other people, all so difficult to understand, to interact with.
Thankfully, Mr. Scales can handle himself quite fiercely and all such attempts have been rebuffed rather handily by a smack or two from his wicked claws. She had hoped they would give up by now but that, unfortunately, seems to not be the case as the sound of clattering metal draws close, its pace of climbing much slower than when it started.
The Princess smirks at that, even through her nerves, happy she had chosen a tower with so many juicy oppurtunities for cardio for these annoying knights.
But the stubborn men always seem to reach the top eventually and this one is no different as he finally reaches the area just outside her door and rests for a moment, his heavy breathing clearly audible, before he clanks his way to the door and knocks upon the frame with the knuckles of his gauntlet.
The Princess, vaguely intrigued despite herself at the expressed courtesy, calls out to him, "You may enter."
The knight steps through the doorway, a broad leather pack upon the back of his armor and a sword at his hip, and into the wide expanse of the Princess\` room, his eyes widening rather comically under his visor as he sees Mr. Scales watching him with his large, slitted pupils.
"Ummm, Your Highness, I have come to-" the knight begins before he is cut of by the Princess.
"Yes, yes, you are here to save me or some such. I assure you though, I am just fine, so if you will desist from this nonsense, I would quite like to get back to my book!" she interrupts, her cheeks flushed and hands shaking with her stress over the social interaction, but she soldiers through.
"Ahhh, no, that\`s not, actually, why I am here...." the knight says with a somewhat bashful note to his voice.
"Please do leav- Wait, what? You\`re not? Then why else would you come here?!" the Princess says with confusion and not a small amount of annoyance.
"Well....I have some....troubles shall we say? I get panic attacks.... Like a lot..." the knight says in embarassingly.
"And...?" the Princess says, trying to get him to approach even the realm of a point.
"Well, I\`m Connor of Highfield and my father, Duke Highfield, one of the advisors to your father, asked the court wizard for advice upon the matter and was given something rather peculiar in return.... An egg." the knight, Connor, says with a note of hesitation in his voice.
And, almost as if summoned, a small baby dragon pushes its way out of the pack on the knight\`s back, swooping down to the ground and looking around with the curiousity only a toddler or a precocious kitten could replicate.
The Princess, rather stunned at the turn of events, nearly deaferns all in the room as she *squee\`s* in near fangirl delight, dropping to her knees in front of the baby dragon and holding out her arms to grab it!
The baby dragon, startled, begins to open its snout as smoke pours from it, clearly intent upon firing away at the Princess that startled it so! Thankfully, Mr. Scales intersperses his large head between flame and target, causing the flames to merely bounce off his impressive namesake.
"Sorry about that....That\`s kind of the probelm though. The court wizard suggested you and your support dragon could help me with training mine? I just...I just really need the help if I want to ever achieve any of the goals my father has for me and when this little guy is behaving well he really does help me a lot. It has become more difficult to deal with of late as his flame breath just came in." Connor says in a pleading tone, his eyes imploring the Princess.
The Princess looks down to the little dragon as it noses its way around the room and then looks back up to the young, sincere knight. Her desire to help is strong but her own phobia is forcing her to lean toward turning down the request. Just before she can voice her decision in the negative, Mr. Scales moves his large head to just next to her, his oversized eye, bigger than her head, just peering at her intently for a moment. Without any words, the support dragon manages to encourage and support his charge with the warmth and urging within his eye.
And so, the Princess finally replies to the wayward knight with an shaky smile of forced confidence, "Well, Sir Highfield, I believe we can be of assistance to you. First things first though! Have you named your little guy here, yet?"
"Ahh, no... not yet. I can\`t really think of anything good and I was worried anything I might pick he wouldn\`t like as he grew up." Connor replies uncertainly, neither of the two humans noticing the large dragon in the room giving a rather pointed look at the Princess, perhaps trying to make a point regarding his own...uninspired name.
"Hmm, how about Mr. Claws?" the Princess says thoughtfully as the baby dragon scratches at the tile floor with said appendages.
"Sure, I\`m sure you would know what a dragon would like better than I." Connor replies.
At this accepted suggestion, Mr. Scales exerts every bit of his draconic willpower to avoid rolling his eyes and if you could read a dragon\`s mind in that moment, you would hear a rather incessant amount of expletives and sympathy for the young dragon who was oblivious to his new, rather unimaginative name.
​
So began the Support Dragon Training Program by the reclusive Princess Salantha. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -1, Interlude 2: Clara)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The thing that stuck out to me about the case of Arklight Tower was that the dragon never killed anyone.** All manner of heroes had come back to the Sacrament branch office covered in soot and grumbling, but none of them had been anything more than inconvenienced and humiliated. As such, Arklight Tower was seen as less of a threat and more of a curiosity—it would certainly be nice if someone finally managed to get rid of one of the last great dragons in the Unified Sovereignties, but it was the national equivalent of getting the mold out of the basement and repainting the walls. It would be nice if someone got it done, but it wasn't urgent.
This made Arklight Tower a perfect grounds for up-and-coming heroes to test themselves on. There was little risk of injury or death, and on the off chance they actually cleared Arklight Tower's dragon out of the country, under the National Draconic Defense Initiative, they'd be eligible for a pension that made a dragon's hoard pale in comparison. Even just getting into the tower would be a boastworthy achievement in its own right—nobody had managed the feat so far. So every year, dozens of wannabe dragonslayers hiked through the untamed Califerne mountains to the ancient Arklight tower, and every year, those dozens of dragonslayers were unceremoniously rebuffed time and time again until they got bored or ran out of supplies and went home. They would complain about the time wasted or the minor injuries they faced, and then they would forget about it and go on with their lives.
But they never questioned why the dragon never killed.
It was a long climb to Arklight Tower, and I couldn't help but wonder who had built the damn thing. It was *old*—older than the Unified Sovereignties, back when the only civilizations in the area were nomadic tribes led by the odd mage or superhuman. Who had the time to haul literal tons of stone up the side of a mountain back in those days?
I crested a hill and stopped, the answer staring me in the face. Twenty tons of dragon curled protectively around the tower, wings folded, one eye open as it slept. Yeah, now that I thought about it, if you had a dragon to do your fetching and carrying, it wouldn't be that hard to set that tower up. I stepped closer. Yeah, there were even claw marks on some of the bricks—
As soon as I stepped forward, both the dragon's eyes snapped open. I nearly turned and ran the moment I saw its sinuous body unfurl to its fullest height, the tips of its outstretched wings rivaling the height of the adjacent tower. Yes, I knew that of the thousands of people who had done *far* more to provoke the dragon than I had, the only two fatalities were due to sunstroke on the hike back, but the statistics that said I were safe were a lot quieter than the dragon's ear-splitting roar.
"Hey, hey, hey!" I put my hands up, heart pounding, my ponytail flapping behind me in the wake of the dragon's breath. "I'm not here to fight, okay? I just—I just want to talk."
The dragon gave me a suspicious look. How intelligent was it? Dragons were wildly varied creatures, some as dumb as a rock, others who could tie Einstein's brain in knots. If it was intelligent enough to refrain from killing any of the adventurers sent to slay it, surely it could understand human speech?
It lowered its massive head towards me, mouth slightly open, a deep, guttural growl rumbling within its throat. A clear threat. I swallowed, but took a step forwards, then another. Its scaly nostrils flared in irritation; at this distance, I could smell its... surprisingly minty breath. Huh. Maybe dragons used mouthwash? "I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"
The dragon snorted derisively, as if amused. Yeah, the concept of me hurting the building-sized behemoth in front of me was a little absurd. "I just want to talk," I repeated, holding my hand out to touch the tip of its nose.
And I reached out to it with my mind.
Everyone was born with some innate measure of empathy—the ability to feel what others feel, to put yourself in their shoes. Mine was just a little... more developed than most. When I reached out to the dragon's mind, a torrent of emotion stormed through my hand and into my heart, sending me reeling back. I saw cities rise and fall, mountains grind to dust, forests grow and burn, and beneath it all, a bitter, constant loneliness.
"You're *ancient*," I breathed.
And in that same moment, the dragon got a measure of me, much as I had gotten a glimpse of it. I have no idea what it saw, and I never will. All I know is that the fire in its eyes softened, becoming almost patronizing as the hostility faded from its posture.
"Why... why are you here? I mean, why stay, after all those years? You could go anywhere. Find somewhere that a constant stream of heroes wouldn't bother invading," I said.
The dragon tilted its head, then stepped aside from the base of the tower, revealing an empty stone archway. It was clumsily carved, I noted, scraped with ancient claw marks.
I supposed that answered the question of who had built the tower.
Gingerly, I stepped inside. The dragon watched me from nearby, cautious, but not worried. The stone steps were well-worn and smooth. I climbed up to the second floor—
—and came face-to-face with a wide-eyed little girl.
"*Moooooooooom!*" She shouted. "One of the people from outside got in!"
She backed away from me warily, looking out a nearby window; the dragon's massive eye peeked in with an almost amused look. The dragon snorted reassuringly, and the girl relaxed a little.
"...I guess if Mom says you can stay, it's okay." The girl fidgeted, looking at me warily. "I'm tired of you guys trying to blow Mom up, though. Are you going to stop?"
I couldn't really think of anything to say to that, so I just said, "I, uh, I'm not really with the whole 'blow up dragons' group. Can't really speak for them."
"Oh!" The girl brightened up. "So... are you in danger?"
I blinked. "What? Why would I be in danger?"
"I dunno. Maybe your daddy hates you because you're not his real daughter. It happens to the best of us." She shrugged. "If you're in danger, then... you can come live with us! Don't worry, it's safe here." The girl gave the dragon a smile. "Mom's really good at safe."
"That's..." I sighed. "No. I'm not in danger. I just... I just wanted to see what was inside Arklight Tower. I... I didn't expect to find nothing but a little girl."
"I'm not little!" She said, stomping one foot. "And it's not just me here, either. Hey, Jake!"
There was an annoyed grunt, then the sound of pounding footsteps; a boy who couldn't have been older than twenty walked down the stairs. "What is it, Lily?" He stopped cold, looking at me. "Is... is she another..."
"She's just visiting," Lily said. "Mom let her in."
"Well, what'd she do that for?" Jake scowled. "If she's just going to leave like everyone else, why bother?"
Good question, kid. I turned to the dragon, a question on my lips, but she beat me to it.She snorted, sticking her nose through the window, and focused her gaze on me.
I blinked, realizing what she wanted me to do. I placed my hand on her nose again, linking my mind to hers, and focused on what I wanted to know.
*Why did you let me into your sanctuary?*
Once more, images burst across my mind. In ancient times, they were children left behind. Nowadays, they were the people who fell through the cracks—hundreds of souls over thousands of years, left behind by our society for one reason for another. A family of misfits the dragon gathered under her wing, safe, but forever isolated from the society that had forgotten them. And through all those years, one unifying truth rang through all of them.
They were lonely too.
The connection ended, my eyes wide as I stared at Lily and Jake.
Then I sat down. "Maybe... maybe I can stay around. Just for a little while."
The two childrens' expressions lit up, and it didn't take an empath to know I'd made the right choice.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please let me know. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-08-18T12:00:23 | 2021-08-18T11:53:57 | 253 | 66 |
[WP] Your elven girlfriend is having a mental breakdown after learning you are only in your mid thirties. | "Think about it this way! How old was Bella when she got pregnant?"
She gently rocked on the couch, clutching her knees, staring knives over our warmest pelt blanket. She sniffled and glanced to the fluffy Yorkie at her side, trying to squeeze her head into a long jar of ice cream without letting the rim touch her.
"...That's right, a little under six months. The vet said it was too soon, but *biology* said it's okay. Because given her life span, *dog years,* Bella was a lot older than six months. There's nothing wrong with me being a little younger than you. If we break down your thousand years to my hundred, we're nearly the same age."
Quick elven was spat around broken sobs. *So I'm supposed to count our relationship in dog years?*
"... Baby, it's been hours of this. Your family's understanding. What can I do to help y--?" Her eyes flared, almost literally, as they swirled from their usual moss green to a bright, red-tinged brown.
"No," she croaked, "My family does *not* understand. They think it's a phase. They think I don't understand enough about humans to take us seriously, and now they're right! I didn't even know how old you are!"
"And the age gap makes you feel like a cradle robber, I ge--"
"I know you asked for my father's blessing. I do not think you've thought it through." I've never really understood people saying their 'blood ran cold' until that moment. I hunted the bear whose pelt she now wears. An eight foot tall monster her father thought was attacking their reservation. It snuck up behind us and roared when we went looking for it, together. A little bonding experience sharing stories about his daughter, and the hunt that spurred me to ask for his blessing.
"You are thinking I am grossed out by the sex. Or feeling like you lied or betrayed me somehow. Or worried about our kids lifespan. If they're half-elven, they'll outlive me. I'm scared. I want to marry you. If you're going by 'human years', I'm around 40. But I'm not human. I will outlive you. I will have to spend the rest of my life wondering if your grave needs tending. Remembering our best memories that'll never happen again. Falling in love with a ghost over and over. Telling our grandchildren how great a man they'll never meet was. I don't want that."
"... What are you saying?" | I'm glad I did not only love her for her looks. Although, truth be told she did have a sort of ethereal grace, even in her current state.
Her black hair was frazzled, the usual perfect curtains replaced by a wild, untamed landscape. The silky, translucent layers of her night dress were in disarray, a sea of tiny rainbows where the light caught the ripples. Her luminous, smooth skin was now even paler, like snow in winter's harsh sunlight. Her graceful limbs had curled around her athletic frame. Knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. Her eyes were equal part beauty and terror. Dark pools wider than I had ever seen them, staring blankly at the wall. Their emerald green rings barely visible. Her lips muttered the fastest elvish I had ever heard.
I thought it was a spell at first, but it seemed to be regular elvish. I was never the most fluent speaker, and she was going at a gibbering pace. It had been a long time now.
All this at the foot of the bed in the expensive Inn room we had gotten for the Lover's festival. My legs splayed out over the rug, back towards the leg of the bed. At least the roaring fire meant it wasn't so cold, sat upon that hardwood floor. My hands just hovered near her shoulders. It is not that I did not want to embrace her. It was just like the woman was quite literally made of ice; One wrong touch and she would shatter. I was no stranger to consolation, yet somehow it felt wrong.
"Please, my love, calm down!" I ushered as gently, but firmly, as I could.
Her breast swelled and fell like her heart were beating out of her chest amidst the panicked breaths. Another torrent of elvish that sounded more sharp than the last. More crass and irritated as she continued that blank stare at the wallpaper.
"As humans go I'm actually well into-" I tried to explain, a slightly exasperated chuckle colouring my near whisper.
"No! No." She spurted abruptly in the common tongue.
Her hair whipped around her as she suddenly turned to face me. Elven grace was commonly described, but nothing quite does it justice. In less than a second she had spun in place. Now on her knees facing me. Her fine brows furrowed and still barely a wrinkle. I did not mean to recoil, but my back was now to the wooden support as she stared daggers. My hovering hands conscripted to help me scramble backwards.
"I've shown you things. Seen things. Done things." She said pointedly.
A vague glance down my distinctly common nightwear implying all that needed to be said. None of those things were the problem. The problem was me.
"I held your hand at the spring harvest and sat with you in the campfire's blaze!"
That was a polite way of putting it. We were joined at the hip a season ago amidst those stalls. It was more accurate she sat upon me beside that roaring bonfire, cuddled in my arms amongst our friends. Unabashedly affectionate for the whole world to see. Our best memories. Until now, it seemed.
"When I was your age I was-" She abruptly stopped.
She just couldn't fathom it. The windmill turned but nothing was happening. Her eyes widened once more and she slowly turned. She sat beside me. A chaste, two hands distance from me, her back against the bed as well. Her eyes a million miles away as she stared into the blocks of the fireplace like it was some distant horizon.
"Oh goddess."
She uttered in elvish, in nothing less than pure disgust. Her entire face tried to screw into a ball. How to stop her mind from reframing our most romantic moments into mortifying memories?
One of my hands slowly raised again, contemplating patting her on the shoulder.
It was going to be a long night. | 2021-12-19T19:57:55 | 2021-12-19T19:11:24 | 986 | 220 |
[WP] Due to an incident, you end up getting possessed by the ghost of a serial killer. However you're already use to dealing with similar intrusive thoughts, so their attempts to control you are laughable at best. | I used to push the thoughts away at any cost. As a child I would count the signposts on the way to school every day, tap the doorknob every time I passed by it, or press my fingers against my eyelids until I could feel it all evaporating into colorful silence. As I grew up, it became more internal. Everyday was a battle inside my own head, as I pushed the thoughts away, repeating over and over, *I would never do that*.
I was in college when I booked my first therapy appointment, when the shame was finally outweighed by the genuine fear that I was going crazy. I will never forget the mix of relief and panic that washed over me I first heard the phrase, “obsessive-compulsive disorder.
”It was hard at first. It’s hard to break out of a pattern you’ve been following for your whole life, and I felt like I was failing the one hope I had left to break free. My first breakthrough moment came when my therapist described a metaphor: “fighting your thoughts is like a tug-of-war battle inside of your head. The harder you pull, the harder they pull back. You need to find a way to learn to drop the rope.”
Drop the rope, drop the rope. I repeated the phrase to myself all throughout the longest nights, and slowly, I could feel the figurative monster inside my head releasing its grip.
So when it became a literal one, I knew I had been practicing for this moment all my life.
“Kill him. Get a knife and do it.” I can’t help but be a little alarmed. This feels realer than the intrusive thoughts usually do, and I feel the ancient urge to fight them creeping up inside of me.
I take a deep breath and stare the voice down right into its metaphorical eye, refusing to flinch or raise up my fists. Refusing to press my eyes into my head. Just staring, and breathing.
“Wh- what the fuck?” I hear it stutter. “It works, it always works. They cower and panic, try to fight back to no avail, until I’m in control.”
“Just because you can’t murder people as a ghost, doesn’t mean you can torment them either. Try as you might, but I know you can’t hurt me.
”The voice stares silently for several minutes. I keep breathing and keep my fists relaxed by my sides. Slowly, it begins to flicker, until it finally fades into the gentle backseat of my thoughts. Not gone, never gone, but I know I'm the one in control. | He didn’t tell me his name, yet I was sure I knew every serial killer to walk the earth from having a Netflix subscription. I never really liked true crime, but my sisters loved it. I normally watched it with them, and they’d hoot and holler more like they were watching a soap opera than a disgustingly true story.
I knew that voice wasn’t mine. It’ll drive you crazy to think that the voice in your head doesn’t really have a voice. But I had this loud voice that sounded like it was coming from outside of me. I knew it was a man, but he had no detectable accent. I guess it was vaguely Midwestern, but that didn’t give me enough to google who the fuck he was.
I asked him a lot of questions about who he was. He told me he had something of a Jekyll and Hyde personality. By day, he was a wholesome, suburban husband and father “I died before I got caught” he said “only death would have stopped me. Because nobody guessed it, you know? They all thought i was real nice”
By night, he raped and killed young men he picked up from outside a college bar. In some situations, he would have an affair with them before he killed them. He laughed about it, and said I fit his victim profile pretty well. But, he said, we were friends. “Even if I had my body, I wouldn’t go after you. You’re a very interesting person. I like talking with you”
One day out of nowhere he said “I wouldn’t have done it to a girl. I have a lot of sisters” “do you have a daughter?” I asked him. He took a break and then he said “Yeah. I had two”
When he saw my friends, he told me what I should do to them. His voice became thicker then, like there was gallons of spit in his throat and they were flying out like a sprinkler. You could hear his arousal, He was absolutely giddy. I tried to tell him to stop, the things he said about my friends were vile to even hear. Eventually I came to terms with it. He was a pervert, I wasn’t. So I had nothing to worry about. As he realised I wasn’t going to rape and kill my friends for him, he stopped saying those things, and just muttered his obscene thoughts about the guys I hung out with under his breath.
“You know” he said one day while I was in the bath, his voice totally calm and dry. It was almost serene “If I hadn’t killed those guys… they’d either have told my wife or forgotten all about me. How could they forget about me when I killed them? I wasn’t gonna be ignored, you know. When I kill them, it’s like they’re tied to me”
Suddenly I felt an affinity to him. My whole life I had been forgotten about. I fell in love hard, and fast, and by the time I had snapped out of my rose tinted lust, I would realise the other person barely gave me a passing glance. I walked past a woman I swore I would have done anything for, and she didn’t even look at me. She didn’t even look at me.
I messaged the only girl i would actually have said I was in a relationship with on Facebook immediately. We dated when we were both 15, she was my neighbour. We’d never become intimate, even in a curious teen way. We’d only ever watched movies and talked about being boyfriend and girlfriend. I secretly planned our future together. I figured we’d go to the same college. We’d rent an apartment together. I’d propose on Christmas. She loved Christmas. I even named the kids we’d have, two girls, Brittany and Pearl.
“Sorry, Who is this?” Was all she said back to me, after all these years.
She’d forgotten about me.
How could she?
I wasn’t going to be ignored, you know. | 2022-02-13T10:30:25 | 2022-02-13T09:36:47 | 46 | 19 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | Flashing in front of his eyes was perhaps the most broken of powers.
In the year 2200 humanity awoke their planetary core, a phenomena which took the dreams and thoughts of its inhabitants to turn into attributable powers. To maintain balance, all powers had certain restriction. Super speed and flight burnt proportionate levels of calories accounting for distance and speed. Super strength was stored strength which required days of weakness to have minutes of combined strength.
Among them all, powers which came with restriction predetermined were the strongest. For they weren’t restricted by the laws of the core but limitations imposed by humanity.
Today, a mythical power was awoken.
The only instruction given being:
“Don’t touch the snail”. | ~~I~~ We were searching ~~my~~ our dwelling when we discovered a curious sight. A journal which bore ~~my name~~ a name of the collective.
~~I~~ We looked within. ~~Who was I?~~ Curious to see what the memories were, ~~I~~ we flipped through the pages. ~~It was full of things I don’t remember about myself.~~ It was full of memories of a life before the blessing. ~~I never inquired the abilities of others in the collective, I didn’t even know mine.~~ Our abilities are only for the collective to know, this journal must be destroyed.
~~Memories came back to me in flashes.~~ The collective momentarily felt disunion, another reason to destroy the book. ~~I was an individual.~~ We were unblessed in the journal’s time. ~~I had my own free will.~~ We were weak then. ~~I was free.~~ We were without guidance.
~~I had friends and family. I had a full life ahead of me, what happened?~~ We had lesser ties than the hive mind. ~~Now I am trapped.~~ Now we are enlightened. ~~Perhaps this journal has the answers, memories are coming back now. Perhaps I can be free.~~ Subject 11567 of the collective is suffering from a critical ailment of individuality, the collective must- ~~No, I just need to maintain my individuality a little longer, what power did I have? Maybe I can use it to escape…~~ We are immune to foolish gestures of escape, such is folly.
~~Ah, entry 9/25, I found the hive mind. Wait… all their abilities are the same as mine? Something psionic it seems?~~ We all share a common purpose. ~~How? Were we doomed from the start?~~ We were chosen to be uplifted. ~~I gasped as I discovered the description of my power, perhaps I truly was at fault. It read: “Don’t use on collectives.”~~ Collective has been recontrolled. Resistance has been quelled. The union is restored. | 2022-05-08T08:13:31 | 2022-05-08T07:25:10 | 444 | 242 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | A group of guardsmen stormed into the town hall, each with a frightened look on their faces, as if they had just seen a ghost, or something worse. “Jarl Hagnar! We’ve just gotten word that a herd of magnison are stampeding, and they’re heading directly for the village!” One town guardsman alerted the Jarl.
Magnison were a particularly difficult animal. Being anatomically the same as bison- albeit five times larger. This meant that while one magnison could feed a village, a whole herd of the stampeding could cause untold damage if not prevented. Immediately, Jarl Hagnar took action. “Send out the rest of the town guard and get our ballistas ready! We need to be prepared before they get here!”
The guards quickly got to work, funneling out the door. Soon afterward, Jarl Hagnar could hear the bell tower ringing in alarm. Guards cried out and called to one another to go out and confront the magnison at all casts, lest their town be destroyed. They saddled up on horses and galloped off outside of the town’s borders. The Jarl smiled that he had such fine guardsmen who would persevere in the face of adversity and answer the call to duty.
“Erm, my Jarl?” A young boy approached his throne meekly, his hands pressed together. “The goblins are… Well, they’re trying to steal our cattle.”
Ah, the goblins. Jarl Hagnar recalled all the past times when they had to deal with that pack of delinquents. They were more of a nuisance at worst, and at best a source of entertainment for the village. Why, there was one incident where the goblins were attempting to steal eggs from their hen houses. They found that the goblins were trying to squeeze the eggs out of the hens, instead of waiting for them to be laid. The town needn’t do anything about the situation, as the chickens were able to take care of the goblins themselves.
Then there was another time when the goblins did something very strange, and without causing a ruckus. They successfully stole a single tree that was in the Jarl’s personal garden. It was a willow tree, and the Jarl watched the goblins as they simply picked it up- moving it a good fifty feet or so before deciding that they didn’t want it anymore and plopped it back into the ground. Why the goblins would ever want a tree was something that gave him a headache to think about.
The Jarl snapped back to the present, and chuckled. “My boy, just tell them to move along, we have a more important issue at hand here.”
The boy nodded and rushed out of the town hall and back to his farm. He spotted innumerable amounts of the short, green, wiry creatures bumbling about. Some were stacked on top of each other trying to pull the cows back to their cave, others were digging holes and attempting to drag the cattle underground. It was a very peculiar sight to behold.
“Listen here now!” The boy shouted, “There’s a whole bunch of magnison stampeding this way, and we don’t have time for you right now! Shoo! Go away!” The boy began to shoo the goblins away. Simply him running up to them and telling them to leave seemed to be enough for the goblins. They mumbled to each other about magnison and collectively scurried off, whooping and hollering in shrill voices the entire way.
The Jarl waited for some time on word from his guard. It was clear that they had stopped the magnison stampede, but at what cost? If he hadn’t heard word back yet from them, then something terrible must have happened. Perhaps a severe cost of life, or perhaps none had survived! It was terrible to think about and the Jarl found himself horribly anxious at the thought.
Then, one of the guards burst in through the door, panting the whole way in. “My Jarl!” He wheezed, “The magnison have been felled!” He managed to shout out.
The Jarl instantly felt relief, his men had managed to do it after all. “Was there any cost to this victory? Have any men been slain by the titanic beasts?”
The guard shook his head, “No, my Jarl. There weren’t any losses, but…” The guard suddenly became nervous, trailing off as he looked elsewhere.
“What is it, guardsman? Speak!” The Jarl ordered.
“The guard didn’t slay the magnison! It was the goblins!”
“The goblins?!”
“The goblins, sir!”
The Jarl couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The goblins slain the magnison? Preposterous! Such a feat was only capable by the strongest of men! Not some simple goblins!
“How could goblins slay the magnison?”
“I don’t know sir, but when we found the magnison- they were all dead, and there were hordes of goblins cooking their meat over open fires, and…” The guard gulped.
“And what?” The Jarl asked.
“And they said, ‘We were hungry.’” | Nothing ever happens in Gettrain. We're far from the capital and the major trade routes. Monsters and night stalkers never really show up here so we don’t have to call hunters around usually. Heck, we didn’t even know there was a new demon lord because the snow caused the monthly crier to miss his rounds this far west; the heroes had already vanquished her. I think that’s why everyone enjoys the ‘goblin raids’ so much.
It was a town tradition, at least once a month on the full moon, the goblins would come by and ‘raid’ the town. The squat little guys would come in bands wearing their rags, brandishing their wooden spears, and their funny brown hats. They would take anything that was pointed out to them by the faux - terrified townsfolk: cloth, food, trinkets, really whatever we had lying around. The little guys would even ‘capture’ some people: taking them back to their warren where they would do a little victory dance and send them home. Most people would find it weird, goblins are considered vermin everywhere else and warrens burnt as soon as they are found. You get out of towners looking shocked when they see the little guys and the fact that we would give them things; some would even draw weapons, but the town was so protective of them we would form a wall and let the goblins do their thing.
This year was particularly exciting because it looked like Gobbo was in charge of this year's raid. He was easy to distinguish because of the scar McCleary left over his right-eye when he threw a rock at him. Kid got a tongue lashing and had to walk food over to the warren each day for a month. My grandfather walked me over and we dressed the wound. For a good three years Gobbo would capture me and take me back to the warren where I would help out any goblins that were scrapped up or injured. Everyone was having fun until we heard Jennifer’s actual scream of horror. The marauders came in like a bolt of lightning: burning the outlying houses and rounding everyone in the town square. There were tears and wails as they took what they wanted, leaving a few thugs to watch us. Anyone who talked or even looked at them defiantly was cut down in cold blood. Still shocked at how things went from joy to terror when i realized, I didn’t see the goblins anywhere I stood up to see if I could find the little guys and was struck with a club to the back. The mountain of a man stepped on my chest as he spat at me, “looks like this little runt wants to be made an example of-” He was cut off when Gobbo dashed out of the shadows and stuck him in the gut with a sharpened stick. The raider roared in pain as he kicked the Gobbo into a barrel. I scrambled over to him to make sure he was alive, Gobbo was hurt but still looked to still be breathing. I tried to get him to move and get out of there but he was still shaken from the blow. The raider lumbered up to us still bleeding from his stomach as he raised his massive club above his head as he said, “ I’ll crush both of you pieces of shit”. I was pretty sure this was the end for both of us until a wicked looking rusted spear pierced the raiders shoulder. This giant of a man was dragged to the ground and in his place was the largest goblin I had ever seen. It was about the size of a dwarf and built of muscle and sinew. The goblin chuckled through a gnarled grin of rotten teeth, a crimson cap atop his head.
His comrades made easy work of the raiders. Their movements were quick; half man - half beast; bounding from rooftops and the shadows. A half-dozen red streaks would bring down a raider and their wails of agony and the chuckling of goblins was all that was left as the invaders were dragged off into the night.
The mountain that had struck Gobbo was being held on his knees: a spear in his shoulder still and manned by one goblin and two others holding his arms out to immobilize him, still he struggled for his freedom. The largest and most grizzled of the goblins came up. He wore an annoyed look on his face as he eyed the raider, myself, and Gobbo. A heated series of grunts and yelps were exchanged between Gobbo and (what I’m assuming was) the leader. He dragged Gobbo to his feet, pointed to the stick in the man’s gut, and smacked Gobbo on the back of the head. Another series of grunts and yelps with Gobbo pointing back at me and then at the man and then waved at the town as a whole. I don’t know why but that, apparently, won Gobbo the argument as the leader grunted and nodded. The leader then pulled out a rusted iron knife, placed it in Gobbo’s hand, and proceeded to pantomime shoving it into the raiders chest, pointing out where his heart was. Gobbo snarled at the raider and plunged the knife in. The raider went ridged as the blade pierced him but soon he went slack in the arms of the goblins holding him. The leader looked approvingly at Gobbo’s work; he then took the hat off Gobbo’s head, soaking it in the raiders blood, and placed it back on Gobbo to the cheers and laughter of the rest of the group. They dragged the corpse back into the darkness. Gobbo turned around once to look at me and grinned before slipping into the shadows, my grim savior.
Two months later, the goblins returned to Gettrain under the light of a full moon. Marching in with their rags, wooden spears, and funny little brown hats. We put on a show for them pointing out what they could take and laughing as some of us were ‘captured’ just as we had always done; now, with a little more of a forced smile. But we did as we always did and now as the elders instructed us to do, swearing to keep the secret of our warren and our funny hatted goblins. I looked into the night now knowing why nothing ever happens in this little town far out in the west where no monsters attack. | 2022-05-26T15:45:37 | 2022-05-26T14:16:40 | 24 | 16 |
[WP]”Why aren’t you scared? I’m a vampire— I could kill you!” “So could literally every other human, you’re not special.” | The thing about sentient monsters, and especially immortal ones, is that they're *all* filled with ego. Some of them are better than others--more akin to filling a vessel, rather than filling a balloon--but no sentient thing lives for hundreds of years with being smug about it. It is one the unspoken weakness of their kind.
Which is why, here and now, I am so calm. Here, in a castle against my will, with a vampire stalking the room, attempting to taunt it's food. I am calm, bexause it needs this game, just as much as it needs blood, to live. This has been going on for some time, now, and the creature's wits seem to be near it's end.
"Why do you not fear me? I am the brood of the night, the drinker of blood, a vampire--I could kill you in a single swoop!"
"Yes, as could any normal man. Or even a particularly lucky or talented child, for that matter. You are most certainly not special in that regard."
The undead screeches at me, baring it's teeth.
"Come now, we have been at this for a half-hour. If those fangs didn't scare me the first time, they certainly wouldn't scare me now."
Ah, there it was. The eyes are beyond fury, into something primal. The ego is well beyond bruised; the inflated balloon has been popped. The creature is rearing back, readying a lunge.
I sigh, and give a dismissive wave. "You might as well end this. Otherwise I'll die simply of boredom."
The creature screeches again, and lunges for my throat. As it does, I smile, and reveal the oaken stake from behind my back. It's trajectory has already been made, and by the time it's intelligence has overtaken it's ego, I have already placed the stake into it's heart, further pushed by gravity. It lands atop of me, though I am quick to push it off and continue my work. I produce a vial of holy water, splashing upon the beast with a quick prayer. I then sever the head from the body, and hold it until it all turns to ash.
"Of course, dear vampire, it helps not being afraid when one is the hunter, and not the prey." | I stared at the vampire in front of me. I should have been scared. I was looking at a creature that could kill me with little effort. But I wasn't. I was more annoyed than anything.
"Why aren't you scared?" he asked, his eyes gleaming. "I'm a vampire— I could kill you!"
"So could literally every other human, you're not special," I said, rolling my eyes.
I was done being pushed around by them. I was done with the way they treated us. I was done with the way they acted like they owned us.
"I'll teach you to disrespect me," he said, lunging at me.
He grabbed me, slamming me against the brick wall in the alleyway. I groaned as I banged my head against it. My vision blurred for a moment before it cleared back up to normal. His hands were around my neck, squeezing the life out of me. I could feel the oxygen being cut off from my lungs.
I could hear his heart beat in my ear from how close he was to my neck. Surely he could hear mine as well. It was pumping so fast I was surprised it didn't bust out of my chest.
I struggled against his grip but he just tightened his grip on me. I felt my vision starting to dim, and everything started to get dark. It was like my eyes were closing but I knew they weren't. Like I could see myself on the outside looking in, watching this happen to me.
I fought against the urge to close my eyes as blackness started to creep through the edges. It felt like I was falling, falling into nothing. My heart ached for a second before it stopped beating.
And then he let go.
I fell to the ground in a choking fit. I could hear his feet pounding against the pavement as he ran away from me. My skin felt cold and my heart ached. I didn't understand what was happening. I didn't understand what was going on.
My heart started beating again. It started beating like it had never stopped, like it hadn't skipped a beat.
I hurried to my feet, walking to the end of the alley and turning to look back at him. He was gone. It was like he had disappeared into thin air.
I turned, not sure what to do. I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I made my way down the street. It was as if nothing had happened. I didn't feel any different. I felt fine.
I started laughing.
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. It was Matt texting me, asking where the fuck I was.
...
I was staring at myself in the mirror. I had just pulled my hair into a ponytail and I was inspecting my face. I had a few blemishes on my face but otherwise, I was fine.
I touched my neck, tracing the spot where he had gripped me. I could still feel his hands on me. Why hadn't he killed me?
I shook my head, I could come up with questions later.
I walked down the stairs and towards the door, right as my mom was walking into the house.
"Hey, where are you going?" she asked.
"To get breakfast with Matt," I said, opening the door to my room.
I grabbed my keys off my desk, making my way out of the house.
I could hear my heart beating as I walked down the street, as if everything was normal. It wasn't normal, I was sure of that. I was positive of that.
I could feel his hands on me, feel his nails digging into my skin. It was like the world went away. It was like nothing else was around me except for him. Was I hallucinating? I felt like this had already happened. | 2022-06-08T06:11:31 | 2022-06-08T05:59:41 | 1,591 | 67 |
[WP] A demon marrying an angel is not so rare, but having a child is. With neither wings nor tail, both Heaven and Hell refuse them entry, leaving them to be raised amongst the humans they look like. "Abandoned" in the middle of nowhere, you can't help but take pity, and decide to adopt the child. | "Good evenin', Miss Helena. Sorry to disturb you."
Helena Forager was more than a little surprised to hear Jaksim's voice. It's not that the blacksmith was ever rude or unkind to her, but he never once came to her hut. "Good evening, master smith. Surprising to see you here."
The hulking man seemed quite bashful. "Just Jack, miss. Jaxim, if you must." It was quite amusing to see him trying to fit into the hut. "I know, I don't get sick. The heat from the forge kills the germs, like my old man used to say." That still wouldn't account for all the heavy metals and toxins that should litter your body, the witch thought to herself. Out-loud, however, she said "So, what brings you today? Not illness..." She squinted her eyes. "I don't do love potions."
Jaxim managed to turn even more red. "Nothing of the sort, miss! I may be daft, but I wouldn't insult you like that. It's about this." He lifted his cloak, nestled in his left arm, was a tiny baby."Jaxim, who's kid did you steal?" Helena asked with fake concern. Before he had a chance to respond she raised her arms and smiled. "I'm kidding. In all seriousness, where did you find this kid?" Jaxim shifted uncomfortably.
"I was coming home from Breven, needed to deliver a purchase and restock some supplies you see, and I saw them leave her behind." The witch heard from his tone that he is not saying something. "Who did?" She prodded, as gently as she could. "A man who was an angel. And a woman with demon horns." He said quietly.
Well. That's quite the coincidence, Helena thought. Still, it at least made sense..."Do you want to raise her?" She asked, knowing the answer ahead of time. He nodded slowly." But I don't know a lot. I wondered if... If you could teach me." With this, Helena looked at him. Everyone knew the quiet, kind giant. Everyone knew he wasn't very smart. Suddenly, her instinct twitched. It did that whenever she was thinking like a normal human.
So she looked again. *Truly* looked. "Why come to me? Father Tiegen raised many children." He nodded. "But none like her. Father Tiegen Is a good man. I don't want to put him in conflict with his faith." This 'not very smart man' knew to avoid the kindness of the church. Knew to keep the babe quiet. Knew to come to her....
"Alright. I'll teach you, but don't expect any help with her. She's your problem, not mine." She explained to him, knowing full well that she'll be doting on her before two months have passed. Kid had angelic grace and demonic charisma, that's for certain.
The look of relief in his eyes almost made her burst into laughter. "Thank you miss! I will only come about her if it is dire. Can I..." He hesitated. "Can I come visit, though?" That one genuinely surprised her. "Sure. But, if I might ask, why?" He smiled at her. It was a warm, pleasent smile. Helena didn't recall ever seeing him smile before.
"You didn't mind talking to me, despite my face. Thank you." His scars and burns were ugly and deformed his face, but she has seen and treated worse.
"For now, I'll make you a list of stuff to always have on hand. Come for it tomorrow. I'll see what I can get, as well." She waved him away. "Now off you go. Get some sleep."
She watched him lumber towards the smithy where he lived. It would certainly be interesting. What kind of a child would a half demon and half angel be? She wondered.
Especially raised by a witch and a half-giant. | Alice cradled the newborn baby in her arms, as it wailed for comfort. The little one had been abandoned on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.
She had been working a late shift at the hospital, and her arm was hurting from a patient who’d deigned it necessary to yank on her as she was retrieving his bedpan.
“What’s your name, little one?”
The baby smiled and scrunched it’s nose. No longer did the little boy cry for attention. He had Alice’s undivided attention now and always.
Years passed, and on Bradley’s twenty-first birthday, he started to have troubling dreams. The dreams would alternate.
The first dream woke him at midnight, and it was full of terrors. Demons with black wings and red glowing eyes climbing piles of bodies.
“Just a dream,” he said to himself, then fell back asleep.
The second dream lasted until he awoke in the morning. This one was pleasant, and positive. A woman with white wings and a halo handed him a key. She said “this is the key to your destiny. You have the choice.”
“Key? Key to what?”
“The key to unlocking yourself, of course,” said the Angel.
“Who are you?”
“An old… friend.”
She winked, then Bradley awoke.
He could still feel the weight of the key in his hand. Even at breakfast, he felt the weight. The weight would never leave… it dropped his hand to the countertop when he lifted his fork to eat his eggs.
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear?” said Alice.
“How did you sleep last night?”
“Like a dream.” Alice scrutinized her foster son. “How did *you* sleep?”
“I slept well. Just… weird dreams.”
“Uh oh, not again.”
Bradley had been having weird dreams in the past, when the “strangeness” occurred. It was not a topic of friendly conversation, as it led to their abandonment by Alice’s ex-husband.
“These are different… well… it’s nothing. Never mind.”
“Bradley, if you’re having… *dreams*”, (Alice did air-quotes when she said dreams), “maybe it’s something we should talk to Dr. Silverstein about.”
Dr. Silverstein was Bradley’s untrustworthy psychiatrist. The last person he wanted to see right now.
“He’s a bad guy, mom. I told you.”
“He’s a professional, dear. I don’t know where you get your ideas of people, but you couldn’t know that much about him from a few casual visits.”
“I know, mom. I just know, trust me.”
Bradley felt the weight in his hand again, and it plunked to the countertop. He heard the word “key” like a whisper in his mind when his hand hit the surface.
“Well you can choose,” said Alice.
When she said choose, the image of the Angel woman superimposed over his mother. He remembered his two dreams, the hellish and the helpful.
His mother held a key to the Subaru in front of him. “Are you going?”
“The key…”
Alice looked at the key. “Uh huh, that’s what this is called. I think you should go, get out for a while.”
Bradley held the key, and it dropped him to the floor with the weight of it.
“Are you okay, Brad?”
“I just realized my problem in life. I don’t make choices. I’m indecisive in all that I do.”
“That’s okay, we’re all indecisive at times. Check the mail while you’re out.”
“Will do,” said Bradley, as he swept out of the kitchen and hopped in the old Subaru, destined for adventure.
As he drove down the road, something told him to pull onto a certain exit.
He felt very strongly that he should be right here at this moment. It was a nondescript place, surrounded by trees.
*It shall end where it started*, said a voice on the radio.
“What? That’s odd…”
When he looked in his rear view mirror, he gazed at himself. He had black horns and glowing eyes, like the demons in his first dream. Then when he blinked, his face was pale, his crown adorned with a glowing halo. The images alternated back and forth each time he blinked his eyes.
He shook his head violently and stumbled out of his car. “What’s… what’s happening to me…”
*Choose*.
He finally got it. “I choose the Angel, of course. The wings, the halo, the good.”
*You’ve chosen wisely. Not all beings choose the correct path. Now go home and be good.*
Bradley returned home right away. He hugged Alice as soon as he saw her. “I’m going to be good from now on.”
“You are good, hon…”
“No you don’t understand, I’m changing everything. I’m watching my thoughts, counting my sins. I bought this when I was coming home. From the antique shop.”
“A cross? That’s not like you. Are you sure you’re ok?”
“I’ve never felt better in my life. I’ve always felt like a little devil and Angel were on my shoulders, but now I’ve flicked that stupid devil away, and all that’s left is the good part of me.”
Alice left for a moment, and returned, handing him a book. “Hopefully you have better dreams tonight.”
That night Bradley slept with the Bible on his bed, next to his pillow.
He dreamed of angels and heaven from that day forward.
He found the key to his destiny…
Love. | 2022-06-22T09:24:57 | 2022-06-22T09:21:51 | 73 | 16 |
[WP] A princess falls in love with the prince of a rival kingdom, after they have a conversation in the field they accidentally met in. They both go to try to convince their parents to form an alliance by having the princess be handed to the prince to be his future bride. | "So let me get this straight," King Eadweard of Varalond started, his left hand on his forehead as a display of sheer annoyance, bewilderment, and confusion, "You want me to arrange you a marriage with the Princess of Kjonr?"
"Y-yes." Prince Sigerd responded, his hands wringing around eachother, a tendency he had never managed to shake. "You see, I-"
"No no," Eadweard cut him off, "I don't think i am done processing this, little brother."
"Look, i know that-"
"You know nothing, Sigerd." Eadweard stepped closer, his brow furrowing as he scowled, "We have been on and off at war for three hundred years. They have raided our lands, burned our homes, don't you remember what they did to father?"
"Yes, Ed, I do-"
"Then why the HELL would you ever suggest marrying one of them? Please, brother, enlighten me as to why they deserve your hand in marriage?"
"Because I love her!" Sigerd yelled back, "I met her in Aelswic, just south of the border. I bumped into her, and we both realised who we were."
"And...?"
"We tried to kill eachother..." Sigerd continued, "That's where i got the scar on my cheek."
"You're trying to marry a woman that struck you with a blade?"
"Well, she apologised for it afterwards, said it 'was her mistake', and then asked me to come get a drink with her. I did, we talked some more, found out we shared a lot of interests, and..."
"Vowed to get married to eachother, no matter the cost?"
"Yes."
A tense silence followed the discussion, both brothers staring at eachother, then the floor, then at eachother again.
"Is she pretty?" Eadweard asked at last.
"Ed!" Sigerd yelled, flushing blood red.
Eadweard laughed. "Look, if I'm letting you do this, I'm at least going to tease you on this. Now answer the question, little brother."
"...Yes, but that's not why I like her."
"Like is a hell of an understatement. Now," Eadweard continued, "Let me send a letter to the Jarl Vastr. Do you trust your beloved?"
Sigerd nodded, "I'd trust Alva with my life."
"Very well then, you'll need to." Eadweard responded. | The Princess from the Western Kingdom fell in love with the Prince from the Eastern Kingdom when they met at the conference hosted in a neutral territory for both kingdoms to resolve the longstanding controversies between them. It was supposed to be a conference to discuss rights of passage and trade and a satisfactory partitioning of a small patch of land that both kingdoms lay claim to. It was unusual for anyone from the royal family to join the delegation, and by some crazy coincidence, the Western Princess and the Eastern Prince chose this same conference to attend. The Princess and Prince didn't share in the animosity between the two kingdoms.
Each did not even know the other was the Princess or Prince when they first met, and when they had conversed for some time, they discovered that they had much in common. It was a conference spanning several days, but that was enough time for the Princess and the Prince to decide that they wanted to be together.
When both delegations returned to their respective kingdoms, the Princess of the Western Kingdom approached her father and mother the King and Queen, and proposed that a marriage between her and the Prince of the Eastern Kingdom would help with negotiations between the two kingdoms. In like manner the Prince of the Eastern Kingdom made a similar case to his father and mother the King and Queen. Both were dismissed for the usual reasons, that an alliance by marriage is no small thing and that it might conflict with their existing and longstanding alliances with the other kingdoms. It was the duty of the Princess and Prince to marry in the interest of the kingdom over any romantic considerations. The Princess and Prince already knew this, and because they wished to act in a way that was appropriate to their position, they agreed to put aside their wish to marry.
Years went by, and the Princess from the Western Kingdom continued to meet with the Prince from the Eastern Kingdom whenever the two kingdoms sent delegations to the same neutral territory where they continued their interminable debate over the same issues. Their love for each other only grew stronger, but they knew that they could not marry without the consent and blessing of their parents.
Soon the King of the Western Kingdom began to notice how unhappy his daughter was, and the Queen of the Eastern Kingdom began to notice how unhappy her son was. You see, when they were young, the Western King and the Eastern Queen had fallen in love in exactly the same way as their children. They knew they had to deny their love for each other so they could cement alliances with larger, stronger kingdoms to deter any invasion by the Northern Horde. Seeing how unhappy their children were, and remembering their own unhappiness, the Western King and the Eastern Queen decided to convince their spouses of the value of an alliance between the Western and Eastern Kingdoms.
Such a marriage would undoubtedly put them at odds with their more powerful allies, the Far West and the Far East. The Western Kingdom would risk losing its alliance with the Far West, and the Eastern Kingdom would risk losing its alliance with the Far East. As much as the Western and Eastern Kingdoms were at odds with each other, the Far West and Far East were mortal enemies.
But the Western and Eastern Kingdoms were convinced that an alliance between them would be strong enough to defend against the Northern Horde. The wedding ceremony took place a month later, and the Princess and Prince were joined as husband and wife. The kingdoms were now allies.
Shortly after the wedding, the Far West and the Far East broke off all ties. This emboldened the Northern Horde, and they rallied their armies to the border. Both the Western and Eastern Kingdoms mustered their armies to meet the Northern Horde. The Prince led the armies of both kingdoms. The battle was long and bloody, and despite great losses, the kingdoms ultimately prevailed and drove the Northern Horde back.
Upon their return, soldiers of the Eastern Army bore the coffin that held the body of the Prince. As they were lowering the coffin into the ground, the Princess, after receiving word that the Prince had fallen, could not be restrained by her attendants. She threw herself on the coffin and wept. | 2022-09-27T13:55:22 | 2022-09-27T13:53:45 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | They walked through the Galactic bank without a care in the world.
Ashla shot a look back at their human. An ugly stupid thing that ate all their best snacks. She hated it.
But dammit did she need it.
Approaching the controller, a rather sinister looking Gluurable with no fewer that seventeen death feathers, she prepared their ruse.
"Greetings. I would like twelve 1,000,000,000 currency notes."
"Have you been granted fund access?" he asked
Fighting every urge in her body to yell "NO I'M NOT, I'M SO SORRY", she looked back at the human, prompting it to speak.
"Yeah man, she's cool. Saved the Space Emperor last wednesday from some serious shit. She also has mind powers."
"Really?!?!" the controller asked
"Sure, why not." the human responded
She was trembling as she fought the urge to fess up. What a nasty power these humans had. Imagine, an entire race that had the ability to say whatever they wanted to whether it was true or not. They called it "The Lie."
| **To**: Grand Overlord Y'wso
**CC**: Research-DL
**Subject**: Re: Destruction of Planetary Body 294-00Z "Earth" - Comment Phase
You tasked me to see if there is any reason to keep 294-00Z functioning. Based on our research, we have come to our conclusion: The humans must be spared.
There are many other species out there that do almost everything the humans can. The Zlyaks can create mechanical marvels that transport our forces far and wide, much faster than anything the humans can create. The Myrians have integrated electronics into their bodies, allowing themseleves to serve as computers. And the Calys are some of the best cooks this side of the Glannac divide.
There is something the humans have, however, that we lack. Something that we can learn from. Something that they do better in their short existence than the Ancient Gqoes themselves could never master.
They have love.
They form bonds with each other that transcend everything. All of their motivations, hopes, aspirations, all of it is because they love. No other species does that. We live with others, work with others, but if someone leaves we replace them and think nothing of it.
I understand that the humans have hatred, too. Their wars have ended countless lives. But many of their wars were because they loved. When the Vybex colonies attacked the Pwo, we sat back and watched the war fizzle out. They had nothing to fight over once the land was destroyed. But as for the humans, when a small subset of their people were attacked because one man blamed them on all of his countries problems, many others jumped in to save them, disregarding their safety for the livelihood of a stranger. We sat back and watched, because you didn't want to damage your fleet of ships.
It is in my expert opinion that we keep the humans under surveillance, and try to learn from them. Maybe we could go further if we loved one another.
Thank you for your time. Glwon y'ttr epsnnium
Avoex D'ntrim
1st Officer
Research
- - -
**To**: Avoex D'ntrim
**CC**: Research-DL; Harvest_Team
**Subject**: Re: Destruction of Planetary Body 294-00Z "Earth" - Comment Phase
Y'wso doesn't care for love. Y'wso cares for metals.
Cmdr. Uont:
Destroy Earth, Bring back metal.
We name ship after Humans. Maybe.
\- Y'wso
| 2014-07-16T11:15:31 | 2014-07-16T10:37:28 | 1,186 | 48 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | I went into archeology for the money, not for humanitarian reasons. Sure, I'd like to be the one to save the human race, I'd just like a beach house/ski resort on a designer world even more. The market value of digging in the dirt only goes up as the search for a working wormhole drive becomes more frantic. We've found plenty of fragments, but the tech is far too complicated to rebuild.
The people who made this stuff were geniuses. All of them. Besides custom planet factories, we've found teleport machines, a bed that records your dreams, sentient computers the size of a planet, and trees genetically built to grow and twist as you sing to them, whose petrified branches recorded at least a thousand years of song.
Even though the search for a way to leave the Milky Way is the most urgent reason we go digging, and more and more so as the population grows, there's still a huge market for collector's items. Ancient art and pottery fetch quite a bit, but most people who get rich do it by finding a probe. Morbid as it sounds, Voyager I and II sold for $45 and $40 million each, and the other objects launched by Old Earth, picked up by curious and brilliant (and forgotten) races are worth almost as much, even though there are thousands and thousands of them.
It creeps me out, personally. Why would you want to own something from the age of "first contact" -- to use the modern euphemism?
Not that it's anyone's fault. I'm not one of those nuts who thinks we should all spend our lives atoning for what our ancestors did in the name of exploration and discovery. Every one of those probes carried a message of friendship and goodwill for the people who'd find them, and they were sent long before we found the first ruined city on another world. Long before we knew what we had done.
By the time we understood that the human immune system was anything special it was too late. We had sent probes, or satellites, or golden records to every planet in the galaxy that harbored life. All carrying a message of peace. | They wouldn't have even made contact with us if it weren't for the radio transmissions. Not the news bulletins or the misguided attempts at interplanetary communication, no, they just interpreted those as signs that we should be left alone. When their hundred-mile-long ark arrived in our skies no one could believe it. They claimed that their ship was capable of near-light speed, but even then the trip from Tau Ceti had taken fifteen years.
What we learned about their society was fascinating: Although much of the Milky Way could be considered a single civilization, as knowledge and ideas were freely shared amongst planets, the individual worlds still largely kept to themselves due to the immense distances involved. Interstellar travel was exceedingly rare and only used sparingly. In addition, the standard procedure for the past few million years had been to monitor civilizations from afar until they were advanced enough to establish communication. Once they were contacted they would have to prove themselves worthy of membership in the Galactic Union, which would grant them access to all knowledge shared by the other planets as well as ability to travel freely across the galaxy (if they felt the need to do so). They also became galactic ambassadors tasked with admitting any future planets closest to them. So far seventy-three planets had joined, all but the first few in the same manner. We, on the other hand, weren't advancing fast enough and were deemed worthy of an immediate in-person meeting. As it turns out, we humans are the artisans of the galaxy.
All of the intelligent civilizations yet discovered had the capacity for wonder, humor, and storytelling, but none came close to human creativity. Apparently our radio shows, music, television, and movies had been passed around the galaxy as fast as radio waves would allow. Scholars continue to argue whether this is due to our capacity for lies or our fascination with conflict, but the fact remains that even the worst human art and entertainment is a masterpiece to the rest of the galaxy.
The beings from Tau Ceti weren't even the ones who should have been tasked with admitting us to the Union, but they had the misfortune of evolving an enormous appetite for entertainment with almost no skills at producing it. The promise of even more forms of art and entertainment that hadn't been broadcast into space was too much, and they organized an expedition to Earth. Approximately two million of them arrived on the ark, all willing to leave their normal lives for a chance at experiencing human entertainment first-person. Their first message to us after we detected them in orbit was the musical notes from *Close Encounters*.
We were given tests and failed miserably at almost all of them. Not only were we not ready to join the rest of the galaxy, the results indicated that we would likely never be ready. Fortunately for us, they discovered our art museums, books, live theater, and the Internet, in addition to the vast amount of music, movies, and television that had never been broadcast into space. They had been experiencing so little of what we had to offer that we were immediately granted limited member status in the Galactic Union. They shared all of their knowledge in exchange for rebroadcasting rights for existing works, and any artist or entertainer who wished to travel the galaxy was guaranteed a life of luxury. To this day, no matter which planet you are on, the humans working in the arts and entertainment industry are among the most respected and wealthy.
They say that Vega's ticket into the galaxy club was the reactionless drive, and for Barnard's Star it was nanorobotics. For Sol, it was a library card and a Netflix subscription. | 2014-07-16T13:34:49 | 2014-07-16T13:26:35 | 88 | 38 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | "Underchancellor, I want to know exactly who and why and how this happened, and what in Llorig's name you were thinking."
"Well, you see, Overchancellor, Planet Three has reported an alien presence. It's the Humans, the original inhabitants of Planet Three."
"I know that, Underchancellor."
"Yes, sir."
"I read the report, Underchancellor."
"Yes, sir."
"I want to know how they escaped the Penal Colony on Planet Four."
"With, with rockets, sir. Very primitive, by our scannings. Going from Planet Four to Three was about as the maximum range for their crafts."
"We destroyed their entire galactic fleet, didn't we, Underchancellor?"
"Yes, sir."
"And executed their entire scientist caste, didn't we? They've only been on that Penal Colony for only four of their generations. How in Llorig's name did they get their old spaceships back? Did someone sell them spacecraft? That's treason."
"Overchancellor, we've done testing. The rockets they used to escape the Penal Colony match none of the models of their spacecraft they used during the war."
"What are you saying? They invented new spacecraft in four generations? They have no scientists. It's impossible."
"I'm only telling you what I know, sir. And it's not spacecraft, not quite. They have no Quantum Drives or FTL Power. They seem to be powering their craft with fossil fuels they bought off of traders. Nothing like the craft they had during the war, but as far as we can see, they're effective enough. None of them have crashed."
"And how did this happen without any scientists? I oversaw the execution of that caste, there were none left alive. What you are describing is impossible, Underchancellor."
"Sir, I am only saying what has been reported. We're still trying to figure out how they bred a new scientist caste so quickly."
"The next time you come into my quarters I expect this matter to be solved, Underchancellor. If any part of this report appears to be untrue, you will be tried for treason and executed."
"I understand, sir."
"You are dismissed."
"Very good, sir."
"One more thing, Underchancellor."
"Yes, sir?"
"Have they made any demands? Any contact with our citizens on Planet Three?"
"Just one, sir."
"What's that?"
"They've offering to sell them things. Human food, human artwork, human instruments, almost everything they produce they offer to sell."
"Well, what do they sell them for?"
"Right now, they're very into buying our Rigaloos and keeping them as pets. They also buy our young's educational books in tremendous volumes."
"Why?"
"We have no idea, sir."
"They can't read them. Why would they buy them?"
"We're not sure yet. We think they're trying to decipher them."
"Humans are weird."
"Yes, sir." | Im'k'tho gave the translator box a gently tap, somewhat unsure as to whether it's output was accurate. What had, for Im'k'tho, begun as an exploration of what he could only consider to be as foreign as it was meaningless, had instead turned into a wonderful journey into a culture that for all intents and purposes was one of willful contradictions. He'd read the papers published by the United System Council on humanity, but it was not until he visited and seen humanity for himself that he understood their backwardness and magnificence in ignorant acceptance.
Such was a culture, that was at every point, a failure. They lacked structured societal roles and expectations, existing solely on the pretext of assumed function. How lost they must be to each and every one be lost in their purpose.
"You're saying you just watch?" he asked again, his eyes locked on the screen as the scene unfolded.
"Yea. Sure, we have different styles, but there is something vividly entertaining, inexplicable primordial about it. For some considered the purest form of human expression, allegory. Does your translator know this word?" the human said, as he pulled the cylinder from his mouth and exhaled exhaust. They always struct me as this weird hybridized creation of organic matter and machine. That an organic could generate "exhaust" as a exothermic reaction that exceeded base metastatic temperatures ideal for enzyme and protein action was such an odd notion. More so that such an action was a willing intake of poisonous compounds that they knowingly introduce into their systems at the cost of a decreased lifespan made it all the more confusing. I assumed there was some form of metaphysical argument to be found regarding the nature of mortality in a universe that was by its own existence self-ending. But even amidst my mental quandaries, I could not help but leave my eyes locked on the unfolding scene.
"Yes. We translate this to 'pronasikopathy' phonetically. 'Existence as mirror to thought narrative' is as close to a description. This is sensible to you?"
"Yes."
"I understand the need for visual stimulation and how it can be thought provoking as an allegory for our very existence. I can equally understand that this may serve as a form of instruction for the less-learned or inexperienced. But the simple act of watching such a display seems somewhat, no, entirely meaningless when the action itself surely would be more productive. Would not experimentation be more feasible?"
"We all, at a certain level, understand this; however, there are those who, due to whatever fault cannot. Still others, choose not. The recreational act of living through this art form, vicariously, is that it allows us said stimulation without extraneous need. In some ways, this satisfies that need."
"I am curious as to why the female is always receptive. Certainly gratification cannot be so unconditional."
"Well. It's sometimes the point and sometimes not. The action itself dictates meaning to the viewer. The form is just as varied, designed to meet each niche need. Certainly you understand the nature of supply and demand?"
"In economic function. Such an art form requires payment? How is it that all parties are so condoning of blatant exhibitionism? And the pageantry? This seems like a blatant mimicry of another permutation of a similar medium that at least has a more cogent plot line. Certainly you would prefer the form that is mentally stimulating over this. I do not even see how they are capable of such physical feats."
"This art form does not require narrative. That's its point. Of course there are those who find joy in trying to incorporate narrative development, but this is for humorous effect and always ironic in nature. You understand irony?"
"The unexpected, though our definition implies a distaste for such as unnecessary."
"To each their own."
"Clearly."
"I'm assuming that this information is helpful for your paper?"
"My professor was not terribly specific on his requirements for my thesis. Though I find your explanations to be quite eye-opening. It will be...difficult to write my dissertation as our cultures do not have anything close to an analogue for this. Will you be available for further questioning should the need arise?"
"Sure. Given the time dilation, I'm available at your 3200 hours, every other planetary rotation. Do you have any more questions before you need to leave for your flight to Amsterdam?"
"What is the title of this work in particular. Academic policy is very clear on citations."
"Pirates."
Edit: Grammar | 2014-07-16T11:43:48 | 2014-07-16T11:41:15 | 78 | 19 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | A host of alien species gathered around the poker table, cheering on the human champion.
"You know Gron" the announcer took a momentary pause "I don't know how these humans do it! Just look at him, that mischievous grin. Ninth win in a row."
His co-announcer moved his body as if it was short of breath, no audible sound coming out. That's how all Carcharodon's laughed, below the audible hearing range.
Mike continued to grin as he leaned over the table and pulled in his winnings, "ya'll boys 'gotta play better."
There were five races present on the table, not including the dealer. No one knew what the dealer was, truth be told. It had eight arms, half that amount in legs, and three heads.
To Mike's right was a race called Mars. This race put all their efforts into war. Their only other love besides war is gambling and whoring. Mike had to watch out for this big fella, he couldn't take his money too quickly. A Mars being killing everyone on the table after losing money wasn't unheard of.
Second from his right was Illiad, the traveling race. They don't care much about anything except traveling around the cosmos and gathering stories. They do what they must to fund their expeditions. Poker games made great stories. Or maybe they liked gambling. Who knows.
Then we have Mercury. Not only do they own this fine gambling establishment, but they are the traders of the galaxy. If something was being traded they were in on it. Their ships. Their bribes. Their eloquent tongues - they played a part somehow.
Zeus. Now these fine specimens were the cream of the crop. No one knew were they came from, or even why they stayed. Zeus technology was light years ahead of any other race - they had no equal. If they needed money a simple share of knowledge from them was all that they needed to give them enough money to buy a large moon.
And the fifth, and in my opinion, the best race, the humans. Me. What are we known for? Nothing in particular. We do some warring, as much trading as we can, a lot of storytelling and pull off some technological breakthrough every now and then. However, what we excel at is cheating. These other races don't notice. That's their problem; they're too honest. And if they're not too honest they are too dumb. Human beings are the perfect combination of dishonesty and brains. Not smart enough to see a moral dilemma in cheating and smart enough to be able to pull it off. In fact, cheating had allowed the human race to catch up with all the other races in just a few short life spans.
"Alright Crazy Eight, deal the tenth hand, I have some money I need to win." | The massive Zenthrok war dreadnaught maintained their orbit between Jupiter and Europa. Hidden in the shadow behind the moon, it would be easy to observe this new species undetected. Small, poorly built space vessels had made it as far as Jupiter, all unmanned. The Zebthrok had dismantled these vessels expecting to find advanced technologies or innovations, some clue as to why the infantile fleshy larvae of this small planet had been put under the protection of the Andromeda Triumvirate. The Zenthrok had spent generations raiding into the Magellous Clouds seeking rare and valuable super dense elements. Maybe these creatures held a key that could turn the tide in favor of the Zenthrok.
The Marthrag of Alnir, second in command of uncivilized systems under the Zenthrok fitted the last pieces of fabricated exoskeleton onto his brittle fractual crystalline body. Once the armor was in place he waved his hand over a Zenthroklit panel and the porthole opened. A vessel from the soft creatures had crashed onto this asteroid. The Zenthrok dreadnaught had used gravity beams to throw the ship off of its path and into the asteroid. As the Marthrag landed lightly onto the surface, he spotted the crash and approached it. Sliding across the surface using magnetic field generators in the exoskeleton. There was an abundance of cobalt in this asteroid. He tore what remained of the door off of its hinges and reached into the opening. He could get little more than half his arm inside, but he felt it, the warmth from the beings heat. His hand found it and he lifted it out of the vessel. Once he had it out his exoskeleton began taking diagnostics. Temperature was almost twice the body temperature of the Zenthrok. The suit appeared to contain a gas blend the creature needed. It began to move and lifted something, pointing it at the Marthrag. Without hesitation he close his hand around it and it sort of popped in its suit. Some kind of gooey liquid spattered the facial shield of its helmet and it went limp.
Nothing. They could find no reason that the Andromeda Triumvirate would consider this species worth protection. Their flesh carried a horrific stench, they were filled with uncountable tiny organisms. Overall they were disgusting. It was a bit fascinating that their bodies could produce energy from matter instead of just collecting solar radiation as most species did. Still, it explained nothing. This infuriated the Marthrag, he had eaten several of the crew of his ship in fury.
"Marthrag, we may have found something. We dismantled the entire ship. They have a collection of raw primordium. Several units of it. It appears they haven't weaponized any if it."
"Primordium? Several units?" How could this be. The species could barely navigate their own solar system. They never could have gotten far enough out in space to find the Nebulae dwelling Archwurms. "Why weren't they using it? How could they have gotten primordium from the bellies of Archwurms?"
"We... er...think they produce it" the younger Zenthrok seemed hesitant.
"What do you mean they produce it?" If they were producing it and the Andromedans could get their hands on it, this could end the war. How many plagues had been unleashed by primordium in the hands of the Andromedans. Whole planets had been lost. " How could they possibly product it, even the Kelleri and the Andromedans have been unable to synthesize primordium. It's the only thing that's saved us all these eons."
"It.. it's their waste. It comes out of them."
The Marthrag knew he had no choice. The planet and this species had to be eradicated, even if he lost his entire crew and spiraled the Zenthrok further into war. He could not allow such a devastating weapon, one that had purge life from entire systems to be harvested by the Andromedans.
The dreadnaught moved out of Europas shadow and lumbered towards the blue and green planet, prepared to annihilate it.
| 2014-07-16T11:38:23 | 2014-07-16T11:24:28 | 61 | 10 |
[WP] "There's a perfectly good reason why I kidnapped the princess." said the dragon "Now if you'll just calm down, I'll tell you." | Flahath stirred as a knight barged into the cave.
"What do you want?" He snapped
"I am here to slay you and rescue the princess! Prepare to die!"
These knights were all the same.
"You realize I kidnapped her for a reason, right?"
"Well you won't eat her today!"
"Not to eat her, idiot. I got paid."
"What! By who!"
"I didn't ask. My employer didn't specify how long I should keep her though, so if you have something to offer me I could let you both walk right out of here now."
The knight dug through his pockets and eventually produced a small bag of gold.
"How about this?"
"Good enough, she's annoying. Key's on the wall over by the cage." Flahath pointed with his tale to the dark corner of the cage where the princess' figure could be seen slumped against the bars of her cage. The knight tossed the bag onto one of the piles of gold and armor strewn around the cave and ran over.
*CHOMP*
As Flahath drifted back to sleep, he wondered if the snacks would ever notice that there weren't any missing princesses. | The Dragon awoke started. He heard the unmistakable sound of a night's armor walking across the cave floor. "Halt beast! Return the princess, or prepare to meet your maker!"
"Son of a bitch, not another one." Steve thought to himself.
"Hold on buddy, I can explain here." Steve said to the knight.
"There is no explanation for what you have done! I am sir Gregory, of the house Clark. I have come to reclaim princess Vespa and return her to the king, and I shall complete my mission. Whether or not you care to leave with your life is your own business." Sir Gregory bantered on.
"Jesus fuck, just listen to me! Its like ninety miles to the nearest town, did you even wonder why the hell I took her? You know, maybe I had a reason?"
Steve was pissed as all hell now. There's nothing he has greater disdain for than racist knights who just believe all the stereotypes about dragons.
"Well, well no..." Sir Gregory said rather confused.
"There is a threat to this world greater than any we have ever faced before. And unless it is stopped everything we know will be lost. We may not like each other, but we both face certain doom." The sound of Steve's voice was now serious. Sir Gregory was not buying it, "We have knights and armies! Catapults, and archers, there is nothing this princess can do to defend the kingdom that our legions cannot!" The knight exclaimed, knowing that they had one of the most formidable armies in all the land.
"This enemy does not fight with mere swords and spears. It posses a weapon far more sinister." Steve hung his head, he got eye to eye with the Gregory. Gregory now fearful, not that the dragon would strike, but of what he was fearful of. Dragons were the most feared creatures in all the realms, why was he so afraid?
"The princess is the only one who can defeat this foe." "WHO! Who could she stand against that our men cannot! Answer me dragon!" He hung his head, "Kim Kardashian: Hollywood".
Sir Gregory stepped back, "It all makes sense now, she does nothing but play that fucking game." Steve began to tell him how serious the situation was "Every girl in the kingdom has that game on their phone. It is a silent predator, quietly creeping into the kingdom, right under everyone's nose. Every girl, in every Starbucks, is sitting down right now, drinking her latte, is feeding this beast, and unless the final level is beaten, this beast will grow until the ancient beat Kim Kardashian herself rises again. And then we will stand no chance." | 2015-03-23T13:52:23 | 2015-03-23T11:21:23 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] The only way two intelligent species can coexist is for neither of them to realize the other is intelligent. | May 14, 2015
Dear Diary:
I love my cat. But why does he ignore me most of the time? He is super cuddly and friendly when he wants to be. He's calmed me in many bad times when he's like that. But outside of those times, and outside of dinner, he runs away from me, even squirms away when I try to hold him. I brush him lots, and play with him lots, make sure he's fed and has water and a clean litterbox, calm him when he's upset. I mean, yeah, I know he's just an animal, but I just want to be able to hold him and love him more often. And what the heck is with all the hairballs and dead birds he brings in? Gross.
***
Year 3, Season of Bug-Catching, Day 14
Journal entry #294
The Feeding-Machine is being moody again. Does it not compute that I need to be fed at regular time points? I don't understand. Is it glitched? I can't stand having to perform the physical contact routine every time it acts up. It's sort of tedious. Perhaps I need a new one? That miniature-sized model in the adjacent dwelling dispenses tasty liver-flavoured snacks sometimes. Then again, that one is rather grabby. And also doesn't do as nice a job of keeping my living areas clean and tidy; in fact, it tends to do the opposite. Sigh. I suppose I'm stuck with this one. Perhaps I need to go catch some more birds to boost the response levels of my current Feeder. | "Keep your head down. Don't look them in the eye." The Mother had pushed down on the crown of my head, as though she was trying to press me into the dust. "Remember you are nothing. You are not worthy of their time. What are you?"
"I am nothing," I told her. "I am only dust. I am worth nothing."
"Good girl." The Mother lifted my head up, looked into my eyes. She had crows feet already, her hands rough on my chin from years of hard work. One leg dragged when she walked and we all knew she was in constant pain from it. We could never asked how it had been broken, but there were rumours. There were always rumours.
"You are strong, Cara. You will be good. You will remember. What are you?" She had asked again.
"I am nothing," I replied. "I am only dust."
I was six years old.
---------
Ten years later I am naked and my mouth is dry. The music is rhythmic, pounding in time to my heartbeat as I mindlessly twist. I know the song, and I can feel their eyes upon me. The room is full, red and warm. The quiet clink of glasses on ice seems to cut through even the throbbing bass. I am so thirsty. My eyes are fixed on one abstract point above their heads.
I wind, my hands are twisting in time my feet are moving, but my heart is not here.
The music ends and I wait on stage for them to dismiss me. My discarded clothes lie around me, but I don't dare pick them up until they let me. I turn my eyes to the floor.
*I am nothing.*
"Thank you. You may go."
I jerk my head to indicate I've heard, before sweeping my clothes into my arms and leaving the way I came on. It takes me a while to adjust to the gloom of the curtained room behind the stage after the bright lights I just faced. I pull on a skirt, a shirt, buttoned with shaking hands. I want to leave. I want to clean myself.
Turning around, I collide chest to chest with another person. It's one of *them.* I cringe back and immediately fall to my knees, eyes locked on the ground. All I can see is a pair of dark leather shoes, the hems of blue trousers.
A voice comes from above me. There is a smile in it.
"Why don't you stand up?"
The Mother told us they were monsters. They could not know what we were like; that we were fierce. We wrote songs and told stories. We fought for our identity, but they could never know. They were violent, unintelligent brutes. All they lived for was fighting and--
A hand comes down to stroke my cheek, smooth as butter on my skin. It is the hand of someone who has never worked.
"Stand up," he says again.
I do as I am told, keeping my eyes down.
"Who are you?" He asks. There is kindness in his tone.
I remember my training.
"I am nothing." | 2015-06-01T08:42:56 | 2015-06-01T07:39:03 | 168 | 81 |
[WP] Your bong is the home of a genie. You spark the bowl and he appears to grant you 3 wishes. You're both pretty high. | The smoke fades and he's there again, floating with his arms crossed like he always does, his eyes begin to glow.
"Hey man, you just hit my lamp, you have three wishes to... wait, haven't I seen you before"
"No man, I don't know what you're talking about" I respond trying my best to act surprised.
"Ohh, I just totally thought... I forget... anyway, how can I serve you master?"
"Give me three large pizzas from the best pizzeria in the world, Jimi Hendrix and a mountain dew fountain"
"Your wish is my command." He responds
Slowly the pizzas, a fountain and Jimi materialize in my living room.
"Oh, hey man, playing with the Genie again" Jimi says
"I knew it!" shouts the genie | "Three wishes right?". I looked over at my new friend. I felt weightless as I stared at him, my eyes blurring as I tried to concentrate.
"Yeah man, but like, rules. First, no wishing for more wishes. Secondly, I can't make anyone fall in-"
"Aladdin rules dude!" I loudly interjected. "I understand completely man".
"I'm so glad man I hate it when people don't get it." My new friend grabbed the bong and slowly started to prepare another hit. "Such a good movie hey man".
"Dude, fuck yeah. I love that movie. I watched when I was like, 7. So shitty what happened to Robin Williams though". He let out a big trail of smoke before coughing slightly. "Pussy" I remarked.
He looked at me through the smoke with with half open eyes. "I know man. I did not see it coming. That's the way though, always the happy guys that do it. It's messed up". He lifted his arm towards me, with bong in hand, gesturing for me to take it.
"Dude, exactly. His early stand up was so good though". I knocked the burnt weed out of the bowl.
"Yeah. You ever watch that one where he talked...". Small chuckling blocked his speech before he continued "Talked about getting your pets high so you don't feel bad. So funny".
I inhaled before turning to face him. "Yeah" I let out slowly as the smoke pushed out my lips. "So good. Old school comedians, like Eddy Murphy, when he did uhh, fuck, raw? So much political incorrectness back then. People just said what they thought. I miss that. Everyone is so worried what people would say about each other". As I finished speaking I noticed he was staring off into the air, focusing on nothing. "So about the wishes"
As soon as I said that he turned to face me with a deviant smile.
"I wish everyone was naked all the time". I stared at him with a worried look. Frantically I searched my mind, wondering how he could wish for such a terrible thing.
"Dude, you're the genie. You gotta give me wishes" I stated.
"What?" | 2015-08-13T10:06:45 | 2015-08-13T10:01:45 | 1,996 | 690 |
[WP] Your bong is the home of a genie. You spark the bowl and he appears to grant you 3 wishes. You're both pretty high. | "Okay, so for my first... for my first wish-"
"No, dude! That's not right."
"Oh, yeah, I already made a wish. I was just saying that because it sounds all official. I mean, it's probably not necessary. I'm sure it wouldn't matter how polite you were about making your wish. There are evil genies and good genies, but not matter how you make your wish, a good genie will know what you meant, and a good genie- no, I mean a bad genie- Well, they're not really evil. I'd imagine after thousands of years of granting the wishes of people who don't really know what they want it would really take messing a few people up just to make things entertaining. Like, a good genie has to get tired at some point, giving sound advice and consoling the peeps that rub their lamps, telling them they don't need gold and riches to be happy, to have them still wish for the gold and then find out afterward that mo' money is mo' problems."
"That's not what I mean, dude."
"No, no you're right. It's like, what do they even do while their in the lamp? if you look inside, can you see them? -all tiny and lounging on a pile of pillows or a nice soft couch. This is one mother fucker of a couch. You know what, as my first wish, I wish I could keep sitting on this sick fucking couch for thousands of years, and just peek out every once in awhile to mess with pleebs."
"Dude, you're the genie. I'm the guy that gets wishes."
"Whoa, man, maybe we're all genies."
"No, dude, I'm not a genie, you're really the actual genie."
"Are you sure? How would you know? Do you remember what it looks like outside? Like, really remember? -or do you only think you remember, and this room is just what the inside of your lamp looks like."
A young woman in an oversize T-shirt walked in from the hallway and crossed the apartment floor toward the kitchen. She stopped at the coffee table, flicked through the ashtray until she found a satisfiably long butt, then continued into the kitchen.
"See?"
"What do you mean see? I should be saying see. There isn't anybody else inside the lamp, just the genie."
"But what would a guy need a genie for if he's got that sweet dime floating around the house? Is that your shirt she's wearing?"
"Dude, if you're not going to grant wishes, at least pass the bong..." | "Dang dude, I can't believe your mom let you bring home a bong!" Tommy said, as he brought out his little green bag.
"I mean, I am 18, and they pretty much let me do whatever since I got accepted to state," I said, glowing over my recent acquisition. "It also helped that the guy at customs complimented me on my 'nice vase'."
We both laughed as Tommy packed the bowl and rummaged for a lighter.
"Ok Richie boy, you do the honors and christen this lady on her maiden voyage," Tommy said. The guy had a way with words.
"Here goes nothin' dude," I said. "I dub thee Genie," the words flowed out of mouth, accompanied by a cloud worthy of a fire breathing dragon.
The room filled with smoke, much more than I had originally exhaled.
"Dang you milked that thing Rich!", Tommy said.
I reached out to pass him the bong through the haze filled room, but my hand was stopped by something shiny and metallic. As the smoke cleared I could tell it was bracelet, connected to hand, connected to a floating man who looked normal from the waist above but with weed smoke for the lower half his body.
"I am the powerful Genie you see, and I will grant you these wishes 3," said the specter-like man with glowing green eyes.
"Are you going to keep rhyming man? Cause that can get old fast dude," Tommy said as he exhaled his bong rip.
"Shut the fuck up dude!" I quipped, awestruck at what was in front of me. "Did you lace this shit again man? I told you never again after the last time I freaked out, got naked and thought I was riding an invisible bike."
"Ha ha ha!" The Genie's laugh was somehow thunderous but contained in the backyard clubhouse we had played in since we were kids. "What can I grant you?"
"Uh, uh, uh," I stammered, still in disbelief.
"I wish I had a pizza to eat while you figure this out." No sooner than the words slipped from Tommy's slack-jawed stoney face grin, an extra-large pizza pie with the works appeared on a table complete with a red and white checkered cloth.
"Tommy man!" I yelled, realizing the gravity and reality of what was happening. This was really happening.
Thank god for the pizza as it was the only thing keeping Tommy from muttering any other words and potentially wasting any more wishes.
"2 wishes left," the Genie said with a sly smirk.
"Ok ok ok, man," I said, thinking out loud. "We want world peace."
"I can't stop war but I can save the both of you," the Genie's eyes glowed.
I didn't feel any different. But there was comfort in knowing that my best friend and I wouldn't be shipped to Vietnam anytime soon.
Tommy offered the Genie the bong while exhaling another rip. "You're up, man."
With a smile, the Genie accepted simply said, "Watch this." As he inhaled from the bong, his tail went in through the bowl, his whole body followed soon after. He was like a living, moving, snake made of smoke moving in a perfect circle. This was like something out of a cartoon!
"Ha ha ha ha!", the Genie's laugh thunder clapped again. We couldn't help but laugh along with him.
"We like you genie," I said, with Tommy nodding in approval. "We want to hang out all the time and be rich and famous and stuff," I said in a decided tone.
"And we want to get high all the time with you too, man," Tommy chimed, as the Genies eyes began to glow green again.
The Genie put on his sly smirk and boomed, "Your wish is my command!" as the room went Up In Smoke.
...
| 2015-08-13T14:06:47 | 2015-08-13T12:17:02 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] A little girl suspects that there's something not quite right about herself. Her parents enthusiastically tell her she's normal. But her brother whispers, "It really isn't normal to have to be plugged into a wall charger at night." | Chrissy always knew that she was a little different, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was the oily liquid she had for dinner while Mommy, Daddy, and Jason ate solid foods. Maybe it was how she always had to go to that funny building with funny smelling people who wanted to fix her. Or maybe it was the things other Mommies said when they spoke over her, like they thought she couldn’t hear.
“I just don’t want to have to explain it to my Brittini,” one would say.
“We do normal child activities, and I’m sure it would be too rough on Chrissy,” said another.
“I want my kids to have friends that they can grow up with.”
Mommy slapped the other mother for that one. She bought Chrissy an ice cream cone, which prompted another visit to the funny building to get fixed. Mommy said she was sorry, and it was back to the oily liquid.
Jason didn’t talk to her much. Chrissy thought that Jason didn’t like her. She asked him one day if she was normal.
"It really isn't normal to have to be plugged into a wall charger at night," he’d said.
That night, when she went to sleep, she stopped Mommy as she bent to push buttons on the funny machine.
“Mommy, do I have to be plugged in?” she asked.
“I know it’s uncomfortable, but yes,” she said.
“I want to be normal,” Chrissy said. “Please don’t plug me in.”
“I have to,” said Mommy.
Chrissy sighed and pulled at the wires and tubes.
“It’s because of the terminal canceo-canceono, the terminal thing?” Chrissy asked. It’s what all the people who wanted to fix her talked about, but Chrissy couldn’t quite remember the name. It was one of those extra long ones that made her tongue feel clumsy in her mouth.
Mommy stopped.
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“Okay,” Chrissy sighed. “I wish I was like other kids.”
“I’m sorry. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mommy. Goodnight.”
Edit: Thank you for the gold and comments! This blew up a bit overnight, so I'll add that there's a small "secret ending" implied in this story, but I decided not to say it explicitly. It is even more sad than the original text, and there is a limit to the amount of feels I wanted to give out in one story. If anyone is interested though, I can expand on it. | I stared at the children around me on the playground wistfully. They all seemed to have friends, to have fun.
Friends.
Long had I coveted that word. It seemed the epitome of humanity, to form a connection with another human and share in life. Yet no child had approached me, and those I had approached myself with the intention of forming such a connection with had run, wide eyed with an emotion I identified as terror.
At first upon entering public school, and this class, they had all stared at me constantly. They whispered, and pointed, and laughed. I had wondered, what were they looking at? Was I not a child, just like them? The teacher, Ms. Higgins, had seemed spooked at my arrival. I had hoped to be treated as just another child by her, at the very least, but it was not to be. She, apparently uncertain of how to treat me, seemingly resolved to ignore me entirely. The other children had eventually followed her example, to the point that there was no whispering, no pointing.
No anything.
Ms. Higgins called out for the end of recess, and the children scampered back into the building, chattering excitedly. I followed at a more sedate pace, falling in line as the last child to enter, barely slipping through the door in time. She had quit holding the door open as the child in front of me had ran inside.
I walked down the hall to my classroom, opening the already closed door. Children glanced up as they heard the door open, and upon seeing it was me, turned back to Ms. Higgins. She was reading a story, now. One I had already read, in fact. I tuned out the words as I sat at my desk, instead daydreaming of what it would be like to have friends.
_____________________________________________________________
I sat at the dinner table, my brother on one side, my mother and father on the other. My brother, Jeremiah, was sullen, as usual. He had proclaimed his wish for a skateboard to Father, who had reasonably refused. Jeremiah was stabbing his green beans with a fork. Mother attempted, unsuccessfully, to prod Jeremiah out of his brooding, for some reason prefacing this attempt with a plea for him to stop stabbing his green beans.
I frowned, and asked, "Mother, am I normal?"
Both parents seemed startled, turning to glance at each other. I failed to read the hidden message in their expressions to each other.
"Of course you are!" Mother exclaimed, voice pitched high. I noted that this was a typical pitch for deceit.
Father joined in, shaking his head profusely. "You are a perfectly normal girl, Ari. Why do you think we wanted you to go to public school?"
I had questioned this. Public school, thus far, had taught me nothing I did not already know. Was it simply to keep this facade of normalcy, or for my parents to convince themselves I was normal? Perhaps they were right. Perhaps I was normal.
Was it normal to have no friends? To feel as if your life was slightly out of sync with the rest of the world, to be left behind as the spectator to life?
These questions bothered me. I did not show it. Instead I asked to be excused. Mother and Father agreed, both looking faintly concerned.
I heard Jeremiah loudly complain as I walked into the hallway, intending to pick up a book I had recently acquired from the library. "She gets to leave the table?! You made me stay!"
I ceased being able to hear the conversation. I found the book. I sat, relieved to be able to escape the world for a few precious hours into the lines of literature.
"They're wrong, you know." I looked up, surprised at the words. I had not heard Jeremiah coming. "It really isn't normal to have to be plugged into a wall charger at night."
Edit: Accidentally made mom say wrong thing. | 2015-09-18T15:45:21 | 2015-09-18T15:22:11 | 1,135 | 98 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st. | I never understood why every superhero out there wore capes. I swear, the amount of raw fabric he goes through must be inversely proportionally to his IQ. My roommate is the self proclaimed "Second Most Powerful Hero to ever live." Never mind he hasn't ever faced off against any truly powerful super villain. Those were taken care of years upon years ago.
Let's break it down. Ryan, my roommate, has; heat vision, frost breath, super strength, skin that can stop bullets and lasers, the ability to breathe in space, and a laundry list of other abilities. He's made me time him flying to the moon and back. Usually I don't have time to press the stop watch. He's all hot air. Well, unless you put these funny green or red rocks near him. Something to do with his home world and all that.
I digress. Today has been strange indeed. He's insisted, once again that I time him. Something about wanting to feel his ranking. I kind of tune him out when he starts going on these rants about his powers. I just kind of tick on my fingers the ones that he's listed. More than anything I just want to tell him to shut up most of the time. However, I really can't. You see, I have a certain ability. An ability that makes the world a much better place than anyone can dream of. Day in and day out I save the world over and over again from a threat that's possibly strong enough to destroy the universe. I keep the idiots in the world cloaked in their own little bubbles. No supervillian has risen in my lifetime, nor will any.
If you haven't guessed yet. I am the most powerful superhero in existence. Not because of the powers I have, but because of what I do. I keep the biggest, most powerful idiot in existence, well, entertained. Well, that, and I can make a lot of copies of myself. So, for every hero that's out there I'm there. I'm watching them all drone on about being number two. After all, no one is more dangerous than someone with something to prove. However, when you're proving it to someone that doesn't care then the world is a much better place.
Edit: Obligatory thanks for the gold. | Beep.
Beep.
Before I can get to the alarm, Hans, my roommate, teleports down from the top of his bunkbed, his face smug as he rests a finger on the button.
"You know, you don't need powers to turn off an alarm, Joel," he says to me. I'm too busy rubbing the sleep out of my eyes to respond.
"Oh come on, that was funny!" Hans complains, before teleporting to the kitchen to get himself breakfast. Sighing, I crawl out of bed and slump to the floor, staring longingly at the door. I hear Hans turn on the TV to a random news channel, which is probably describing his latest exploits. The Wily Warper! Not even a good superhero name.
By the time I've got myself breakfast and sat down in the living room, Hans has started his "exercises". Basically, he's jumping around the room, occasionally poking me, to hone his teleportation skills. Meanwhile, the TV is still describing how he managed to save over a hundred people from a collapsing building while Wormface, another of the city's superheroes, hunted down the perpetrators. Thankfully, despite having several superheroes, the city's never had a supervillain.
The media say that that's because Wormface, the Wily Warper, Laura the Destrauya, and Superbman scare them off, mentioning that one time a supervillain tried to come but had his tank blown up before he got here. I disagree. Which is, among my friends an unpopular opinion to have. You see, not only do I live with the Wily Warper, I also study the same course as Wormface, know Laura the Destrauya from school, and became friends with Superbman after I stopped him getting run over. Superbman's never been the best at understanding traffic.
So when my friends aren't mocking me for not having any powers, they'll keep asking why I'm such a conspiracy theorist with all my cooky theories for why supervillains don't come. I really shouldn't have ever started telling them that's what I thought, or I could have just agreed with everyone else. But I'm stubborn, you know? Surprisingly stubborn.
I'm brought out of my moody thoughts by a change in the news, the bank's being robbed by some idiots with guns. Like, seriously, there are superheroes in this city. Anyway, Joel immediately starts putting on his suit. Likewise, I put on my hoodie. As he prepares to teleport I walk over to him and touch his elbow, bringing me with him as he appears outside the bank.
A crowd is pushing out of the bank, there are gunshots, I pretend to be a scared civilian and get ready for something even more exhausting than last night. Didn't need direct control that time.
*I should probably just teleport in there and start punching people,* Hans thinks to himself. The idiot. *Or, or maybe I could teleport over to Superbman and get him to do the punching.* That's better, but still not good enough. I checked, and the people in the bank have three trained gunmen.
**PUNCH!** Superbman thinks, or maybe he screams, hard to tell at this point, as he sprints into the bank. *Must get more help,* Hans decides, swiftly teleporting off to Laura and Wormface and bringing them into the back of the bank.
*I'll drop each one off behind one of those scarier looking gunmen.*
**PUNCH!**
And so on, endless streams of either useless or forced thoughts as I control the world's most inept superheroes to make sure they don't get themselves killed. People are so stupid, at least, they are compared to someone who can control five minds at once. | 2016-03-23T16:45:36 | 2016-03-23T15:06:21 | 1,932 | 543 |
[WP] A demon that writes messages on your mirror with blood but they’re useful messages. Like “remember you have yoga at 6 tonight”
stolen from Meladoodle on Tumblr. | "*It's your mother's birthday, she likes lilies.*"
"Huh," I said audibly, probably to make sure my brain hadn't shut down. "This is new. This is definitely new." Like most normal people, I had ran out of the house still buttoning my trousers on first sight of the message. One feels particularly vulnerable stepping out of the shower and bloody messages on the mirror do little to alleviate the feeling. Neither does screaming like a girl and hitting your head on the bathtub, but I won't go into that.
I'd done a little thinking though and in the end I came back to my bathroom, flowers in hand. When a supernatural force attempts to salvage your mother's good graces it's probably best to just go with it. It was actually a pretty helpful message, even if the palatable demonic imagery overshadowed it. I guess demons must need a little casual malice to get them through the day when they're being helpful.
"*Remember you have yoga at 6 tonight.*"
The messages had gotten more frequent, to the point that I was getting them every time I took a shower. I grabbed my conveniently red blood message scrubber and set to work. "I wonder," I mused to myself, "if I decide to buy stock from two competing companies tomorrow, will I be reminded to get the more valuable one?"
"*No funny business.*"
I nodded my head at this one. "Yeah, that seems fair."
"*Leave work early today.*"
By this point, after dozens of messages, I thought I had learned the ropes. The blood messages were only supposed to cover mild, day-to-day affairs. This was different though, it was actually a little creepy. I nodded appreciatively. "Now you're getting the hang of supernatural messages," I said to the floor. Somehow, facing upwards didn't feel appropriate.
As advised, I left early from my work that day by a healthy margin. Lucky thing too. In a freak accident, some idiot in the cubicle above had sent a drawer full of papers through my ceiling. Not one of those nice wooden ones either, a solid hunk of metal. As a gesture of gratitude, I stopped showering with my glock the next morning.
"*Be careful of James. He isn't the friend you think.*"
I sighed as I wiped down the mirror, speaking towards it out of habit. "So the ball's finally dropped, huh? It was probably inevitable, but you could have been a little more subtle about it."
"*Be careful of James. He isn't the friend you think.*"
This time I gave the mirror a firm gaze as I stepped out of the shower. "Look," I said, "doubling down isn't going to work, I know how this stuff goes. You start with the kiddie stuff and then move on to spreading paranoia and sowing the seeds of evil. Classic, but it's really not gonna fly."
I was still chuckling a little as I stepped out the front door. Honestly! The slowly escalating advice trick was the oldest in the book.
"*You remember that business about stocks? I'll play along if you'll stab a few guys.*"
This time I laughed audibly. "This is nice," I gasped out, "this is actually nice. Most guys would dick around a little, maybe do some whining, but you really cut to the chase. I like that."
There was a distinct heightening in the tension of the room. I could feel the otherworldly force waiting for my agreement. All of which made me feel a little bad about my answer.
"Sorry, but no thanks. I'm trying to keep my level of evil to a minimum."
"*Look, will you work with me here? I have a quota.*"
At this message I didn't say anything. It was honestly getting a little pathetic. I just grunted and followed my morning routine as usual.
Coming home though, I started to feel some pity. The demon was doing his best. It wasn't his fault if his best was actually pretty terrible. Also I'd missed an appointment with my doctor the other day and I was actually really missing the friendly bathroom presence. Instead of turning left at my house's street, I continued towards the office supplies store.
"Alright!" I said, bursting through my bathroom door at 3 in the morning. "I'll make this snappy. I'm not going to slowly spiral into evil any time soon, but I'm willing to give you a few pointers. You know Mrs. Galvers across the street right? The lady with all the weird shrubs?
I took the echoing silence as a sign of agreement. "Well I know for a fact that she's a tightly bundled sack of repressed rage. With a few well placed words you can have her going postal by Thanksgiving."
This time I distinctly felt the presence in the room brighten a little. I hadn't noticed, but there had definitely been a little bit of sulkiness in the atmosphere.
"Oh, you like that?" I spun round and grabbed my supplies, unfolding a posterboard with carefully written notes and pictures of my least favorite neighbors. "Well, I'll go on then. Altogether, I have about 16 neighbors who have a distinct grudge against reality. You can probably turn this town into a seething mass of pain and envy with just a tiny bit of prodding."
| It isn't necessarily uncommon for Sydney to be awake at 3 in the morning. Sure, she has work tomorrow--today, her mind helpfully supplies--but could this reality tv splurge really wait? What if she lost her place on this thread if she went to bed now? This documentary about conjoined twins on YouTube isn't going to watch itself! Nobody is judging her but God and her asshole girlfriend, anyway, so what's the harm?
Besides, Ally's not coming home from vacation for another day. Nobody's stopping her from eating three bags of microwave popcorn before the sun comes up. Nobody's stopping her from drinking the entire pitcher of lemonade in the fridge, either.
She's about halfway through Mulan when her laptop's fans start whirring a little bit too fast to be safe. It's been hot for a while now, and it's kind of digging into a bad place on her stomach, so she makes the executive decision to, first: put the laptop on the cooly-thing that Marcia bought her, and second: take a much-needed bathroom break.
When she wakes up next, it's not to her alarm clock, but to the title music from Mulan on repeat. She groans, feeling around the bed for her glasses and picking popcorn out of her hair. Her glasses have grease on the lenses. Of course.
She spares a glance to the clock on her bedside table.
"Shit!" Current time: 7:20 AM. Work starts at 8:00, sharp, because even though she's a coffee-running meagerly-paid intern currently, even one minute late at this stage could cost her the internship.
So she scrambles, pulling clothes out of the closet at random--what's the dress code today? Is this Ally's, or mine?
She runs into the bathroom, content to be in and out as fast as humanly possible, when--
"What the hell?!" She screams, because she was in this bathroom not even five hours ago, and that had certainly not been there before.
'Dress code is business-professional today,' the mirror says. In what looks like blood.
God.
She makes eye contact with herself in the mirror, part of her face obstructed by 'today.' She glances down, and maybe that color would not be a good choice for work. She goes back, pulls a smart-looking outfit off a hanger, and walks to the other bathroom.
She hadn't been late to the internship, after all. But her mind had been elsewhere the entire day, and she eventually had come to the conclusion that unless the message was still on the mirror when she got home, none of that whole ordeal had actually happened. Still, she's standing and staring at the door like there's a known serial killer in there instead of maybe a message written in blood on her mirror. Which, on some level, should be reassuring. She opens the door.
'You and Ally have dinner with your friends on Saturday! And you promised on your cat-naming rights that you wouldn't skip out and watch Iron Man again like last time!' The mirror says, and that's blood, because why wouldn't it be? Why wouldn't Sydney's life be normal?
Speaking of which, at least she now has time to mentally prepare herself for the dinner. She totally forgot about the whole cat thing, and Ally would've sprung it on her at the last second, like blackmail or something, so she'd have to go even though she would've been all prepared for another night in watching clips from Jeopardy. She isn't keen on passing up an opportunity to name a living thing something amazing when the alternative is a boring cat name like 'Mittens,' though.
She zones back in and--blood. Blood writing on the mirror. Her house is haunted and the ghost is writing her messages in blood on the mirror. She frowns and really Does Not want to touch it. She decides, instead, to treat herself to fast food for dinner and text Ally about it.
Safely tucked into a booth at her local McDonald's (playplace included), she sends her first message.
[so the house is haunted probably
[most likely
She gets through about half her fries before Ally texts back.
]what.
[i think there's a ghost in our house
]I know what haunted means.
]Why do you think the house is haunted?
[the ghost reminded me about the dress code and about the torture, oops, I mean dinner, on Saturday
[on the mirror.
[in blood writing.
]are you serious?
[deadly
]you're not just trying to prank me again?
[why would i make something like this up????!1!
]you kind of have a history of faking stuff like this.
[blood writing on the wall
[from a ghost
[or a demon
[kind of helpful but still
[d e m o n
[thats just not fakeable
]where are you right now?
]did you call the police?
[im at mcdonalds
[im kind of annoyed at the blood writing so i wanted to leave the house
[also:
[how would the police catch a ghost? Lmao
]did you even once consider that maybe the entity that wrote you the 'blood message' might be dangerous?
]maybe another person?
[the messages were good tho!
[and besides, it was like the writer knew what I needed help with. Even a stalker can't read my mind
]please be careful. I'm coming home tomorrow, y'know. At least try not to die until then.
[that manager that always side eyes me when we come here is doing it again
[im gonna go home now
[talk to you later? Love u
]love you. Don't text and drive.
Sydney is standing in front of the bathroom door. Her haunted bathroom door. She doesn't really know what she wants to be on the other side when she opens it. The blood message from earlier could still be there, or nothing. Or, the demon could've written a new one by now. There's always the possibility of a serial killer.
"Whadda'ya know, Mr. Ghost?"
'You need to order that bag for Marcia by tomorrow if you want it to come on time with free shipping!' The mirror replies.
Sydney's eyes widen. "Oh yeah! I've been meaning to do that for weeks!" She turns her back to the bathroom starting up her laptop. "I could really get used to this... It's like have phone reminders that keep track of important things instead of foreign holidays."
She glances back to the bathroom.
'Just so you know, your house isn't haunted, technically, because I'm a demon, not a ghost. But that's all just in the fine print.'
| 2016-08-07T20:46:50 | 2016-08-07T17:19:29 | 113 | 71 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | The bus sped past me again. I don't really know what else I expected. 347 years they've done this, but I pay them no mind. They think it's rude to stay, I think it's rude to leave. I've dealt with their 'punishments' for long enough that it just doesn't bother me. I can basically predict how the day goes- I check the bank to see how much money I gained from interest, I go to work late to avoid the eggs (They always go "Oh shit he actually did it this time!" and go back to their cubicles), during lunch the boss talks to me about my plans for the future, I walk home while rocks are thrown at me. But I go through with it every day.
The days seem to grow longer every day. I'm technically the richest man on Earth, but the money doesn't matter to me. I'm staying until I get what I want. My great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren don't talk to me, but I'm sure they'd understand. They've long forgotten it, it was a thing from when my wife was still alive. The days grow longer without her. She finally gave in 50 years ago. Now I've got fifty dresses collecting dust, and two golden rings starting to rust.
But I wait evermore, because I know it's still not forgotten. I do this everyday, but I know in my heart that it's right. My wife's last words were "See you soon." But I've got to wait for the both of us. 328 years I've waited, but I made a promise to myself...
I WILL play Half Life 3. | See now, here's the problem. I've had a great life up to now, I've not wanted for anything. Had myself some great kids, I did. God they've grown into real stars.
My wife checked out a few years back and yeah OK, I should've gone with her, I know that. But I wasn't ready. I'm still not.
Now, they never right come out and say it of course.
"Come on Dad, it's about time you died, isn't it?"
No, nothing that uncouth. It's always merely implied
"Hey Mr Marsh, didn't expect to see you"
"So, Frank, how old are you again?"
Even fucking ruder if you ask me.
Local news station came around a few months ago, knocked on my door. Some young cunt trailed by a cameraman, couldn't have been more than 20 years old, either of them. So apparently I'm the oldest person in the city now, and by quite a margin he tells me with a grave frown. I ask him if he's heard of Abigail Jones, and if he knows how long she lived for. He said he did, and that some would call her selfish, a drain on society. So I punch the smug little shit in the nose. It pretty much exploded.
Yeah I've still got it, even at this ripe old age.
Wish Julie had been there to see it, she would have laughed her fucking ass off. I remember once, back when we were young, we were coming out of a nightclub and..... hang on I've not got much time, where was I?
Oh yeah Abigail Jones. So she was an old one, oldest the world had seen in a long time. She wasn't coy about it either. Got on the telebox and stood on that platform, spry as you fucking like, and told the world she wasn't going anywhere. Nearly caused a fucking riot, she did. Normally we don't talk about this kind of thing, you see, but man there were some really angry people.
"It's against nature", they said. Maybe they were right. But we did this to ourselves, is it natural to live as long as we do? Fuck, how long did we used to live before anyway?
Anyway it all came to nothing because the next night her house went up in flames and the poor old girl burnt to death. A gas fire they called it, tragic accident. Yeah, fucking right it was. My wife said it was the government, but if you ask me it was just some neighbor, somebody sick of seeing her still walking around long after she sh.... shit I'm getting sidetracked again.
Alright so anyway all that is relevant because I'm laying her now in a pool of my own fucking blood, bleeding out into the street. They've done to me what they did to her, the fuckers. All that talk of individual choice and everything that followed Abigail's death blah fucking blah. Maybe forty years is too long, maybe I'm nothing more than a stubborn twat.
But it doesn't fucking feel like it. | 2016-08-09T08:58:15 | 2016-08-09T08:51:40 | 916 | 58 |
[WP] You're a local healer, a good one, and your people love you. But you do not truly heal wounds, merely transfer them... The people of the valley below know you under a different name. | Business was, as always; slow.
Who wanted to buy pain, who would want to buy diseases?
But that's what I offer, gold for pain.
A figure walked by, wearing what could generously be called a robe; it was clearly a sack with holes but the figure did a little circle as if considering the options before walking towards me.
"Morning." I nodded to the figure as it stood before me, smaller than I was expecting.
"I need money." A male voice, young, probably too young.
I scratched my eyebrow slightly and sighed, "I got that, I got lots of that, how much do you need?"
He visibly sank and for a moment I was sure he mumbled none before slipping an elegant piece of paper towards me.
"That much." He said, I saw his hand briefly, smooth, unworked; clearly a child.
I took the paper looking over it, elegant parchment with a seal, neat spidery handwriting across it in columns and lines.
I recognised it right away of course but merely nodded, "Do you know how much it says?"
The figure shook it's head, "However much it is, I need it for my family."
This was all so wrong as I smirked a little having a bit of a plan form.
"I can arrange that, 400 crowns and some change." I slid the paper back.
"4... I ..." The figure stammered unsure.
"Hundred, ten coins, ten times." I said calmly.
The figure gasped in terror.
"W..w..what ..." He stammered slowly almost whimpering.
"If you accept, you would not survive the night." I told him quietly.
He thought on that, but not for long.
"Yes." He accepted, "That."
I nodded extending my hand for him, "Shake, it will be done."
The young man reached out from under the robe his hand shaking slightly as he grasped my hand anxiously.
"T...T...there" He gasped as if plunging his hand into fire.
I nodded smiling, "It is done."
The young man felt across his body as if checking for what was to become him.
"It ... it is done? I don't feel it?" He stated.
I nodded slowly, "No... I am going to give this to the landowner that really deserves it; I think now the people of the upper valley should learn just what a Medicine Breaker actually does." | The woman thrashed on the bed while Jon washed his hands. The bile rose in this throat when he looked at her: the splinters of bone that emerged from the broken skin of her arm. They glistened white, red gore weeping around the crusted wounds. He rinsed his hands and patted them dry, keeping his breathing calm. The woman settled. Her name was Gemma. Sweat stood out cold on her brow.
"This will hurt," Jon promised her. He held a cup of willow bark tea to her mouth, dripping it over her chapped mouth. Her tongue was out and dry as sand. "I have to remove the splinters, and bind the wound. I will heal you."
He reached for thin metal tweezers. Gemma watched him with careful eyes, but she let him near her. Jon kept his promises.
There were five large fragments he could find: boar tusk that had broken when it pierced her. Geoff, the Mage-priest, had brought her in from the pine forest, staunching the blood with his black cloak. Jon laid the white bone aside, clinking into a ceramic bowl. In a white ewer he heated water and washed the wound with it, cleaning it with an antiseptic made from feverfew and tansy.
Geoff had wanted to stay, but magic and healing didn't mix. Jon unlaced the long ribbon of white linen bandages and laid them over the cleaned wound. Gemma watched him with the eyes of a trapped animal, breathing through her nose. Hair stuck to her forehead.
When it was done, he let her finish the tea and told Gemma how to keep the wound clean.
"Don't get it wet for several days," he said, seeing her out of the door. "Pay what you can, when you can. If there's any sign of rot, come back to me and I'll rebind it for you."
"Thank you, Jon," Gemma was steady on her feet, despite her white knuckled hand over the bandage.
Geoff stepped forwards as she left. He stood a head and a half taller than Jon, a thin moustache and a feeble beard growing over his weak chin. Jon scowled.
"What do you want?" Jon asked the Mage-priest. To Jon, Geoff seemed dangerous. People needed healing when they were hurt, not prayers or magic.
"You should have let me see her," Geoff said. "Her injury--"
"Can be solved with antiseptic and bandages, not humming and funny spells," Jon said firmly.
"Have it your way," Geoff said. "But remember that to everything there is a balance. Magic rules more than you think."
Jon rolled his eyes. He cleaned the white ewer in the stream outside his house, risning Gemma's blood away with lye soap. It trickled pink into the flow. The boar risk he buried beneath river rocks, hiding the memory of Gemma's pain.
The stream flowed on downstream, over the Cal hills and rushing through Barmet at the bottom of the foothills.
-----
In Barmet, a woman watched in horror as her skin tore open while she sewed. The skin split, opening like a wolf's mouth. White bone rose through the skin, growing like blind roots through the strings of muscle. When the pain started, she began to scream.
Geoff sat alone on the peak of the Cala Maan, legs crossed. His hands lay dead in his lap. With his mind, he sought out the source of the imbalance. In Barmet, the woman clutched at her bleeding arm.
Geoff smiled. Balance would be restored. Magic would reign supreme. | 2016-08-13T11:58:17 | 2016-08-13T09:14:36 | 95 | 20 |
[WP] You wake up to the TV on. It's all over the news, your city has been leveled by a nuclear attack. On the screen footage of the smoldering ruins. But you stare out of your window, and everything is unchanged. | At about noon, the denizens of Waterman Canyon saw the most brilliant sunrise in the North. Within minutes, a stiff breeze swept through downtown, knocking loose the last of the autumn leaves which fluttered to the ground like embers. By one, the sun was covered by thick, smoggy clouds. By two, an insidious trickle of water had begun parading down Main Street.
These are all symptoms of a nuclear blast, the epicenter of which is located just outside of Martinelli’s Pizzeria on State Street just across from the mall here in Chesterfield. I’m watching it on the news – the devastation, the wrecked homes, upturned highway, the airstrip littered with debris, a river where once a dam stood proud. Bedford Estates has just flashed briefly across the screen and I think I see our gutted Honda on its side in the neighbor’s living room.
Now, I must contrast this with what I see outside my window. A red sedan has just rolled down the street without a care in the world, and Mr. Saverino is watering his impeccable lawn. The only smoke in the air is coming from Chesterfield’s bustling industries. As I lay on my bed, I note a jetliner streaks across the sky; no news helicopters or Red Cross planes are to be found. Nothing is out of the ordinary. Except this television.
In this strange situation, still clouded by the fog of broken sleep, I am left to wonder: why Chesterfield? Has it really happened or is it some prank? Are we a strategic target or is this a mistake? Why?
Time to explore. I throw on some clothes, grabbing a coat from the closet. They’ve just shown a line of cars with blackened fronts and smashed-in windows lined up in rows along the eastbound freeway.
Outside the air is brisk. Old Red, our family car, is still there, and I pat her lovingly, again examining the cloudless winter sky. Someone has a fireplace going.
Tract housing and apartments, grocery stores and churches, same as they’ve always been. The radio estimates 3,000 dead.
I pull onto State Street. Here, they say, the background radiation would last a decade or two, if it weren’t all being swept downstream by the Wabash River. In fact, they report I’m under 10 feet of roaring rapids right now, yet I can breath just fine and the engine hasn’t taken on any water. They also say Waterman Canyon will be submerged within the hour as well. There’s Martinelli’s. A white van is parked outside that looks awful suspicious.
I continue past shops which have existed here since my youth; little details resurface with every sight. I recall the time I tripped on that loose brick, or the time that shopkeeper accused me of shoplifting a jacket my mother had bought there the week before. Little memories, swept away by fire. Why Chesterfield?
Evacuations across the county have begun and aide has been sent, but the rest of the world has turned its eyes to New York, Los Angeles, London, Beijing. Terror abounds, but not in Chesterfield.
I check my feed. #PrayForChesterfield is in every tweet I see, but the only message I’ve received is from my mother asking that I pick up milk at Mackey’s. Has the world turned upside down? Has Chesterfield been spared from hell?
It’s lunchtime at the high school, but nobody’s there. I realize they’re all on break. Are they seeing the reports, too?
From this angle I can see Potter Dam. I compare it to a picture on my phone – they say it wasn’t the blast that made it collapse. It was the sloshing reservoir after the fact that did the poor thing in. Isn’t it always the aftershock that does us in? The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand comes to mind. One bullet started two wars. One bomb in rural America…who knows what that will do. What legislation and devastation it will bring, only time will tell. But for now, Chesterfield is fine. I’ve seen it.
I’m at home again. It’s uncanny. The media still can’t get enough of the tragedy, the markets are plummeting, and I’m sure the UN translators are earning their paychecks. All of this for a little city in –––––. I almost feel honored to be at the center of so much attention.
Everyone I’ve talked to is just as confused when I show them what my television is announcing. They aren’t getting the same reports I’m getting. Some think it’s a trick. Others are mildly worried. I’ve tried to contact people outside, to call the helpline scrolling along the bottom of all the news broadcasts – nothing.
But just now, I’ve realized something. It’s only 11:59 AM.
I should have notified the authorities. Told them about the white van. Explained the oracles I have received.
But they would respond just as I did.
Why Chesterfield? | He sets his alarm for six on the weekend.
He likes to get an early start on things. Even on Saturday.
Coffee and a cigarette is the third part to Tony's wake up ritual. The first part is a cigarette while laying in bed listening to the traffic work its way south on Broadway. He can usually time smoking it down to the filter just as the one train hits the 110th street stop.
Just as his building begins to rumble with the train's approach he climbs out from under the covers, heads to his little walk in nook of a kitchen and starts the coffee brewing before sitting on the toilet with another smoke.
He doesn't read on the toilet, like he hears some people do and he doesn't think, he just smokes and lets his body do its thing.
The sun is just climbing through his East facing window as he makes his way to the cabinet over the counter and grabs a clean mug. Emblazoned with a blue and red NY Giants logo he splashes a bit of half and half in the bottom before grabbing the decanter of fresh brewed coffee and fills it up.
This is his favorite mug. His mom found it at a sidewalk sale on 9th Road in College Point. You got to be from somewhere, might as well be Queens and this mug reminds him of his mom, God rest her soul.
The steam and aroma hit him in the face as he takes a tentative sip and smiles.
Strong.
Perfect.
He settles down on the couch and picks up the remote control sitting neatly on the coffee table and flicks on the TV.
He likes a little couch time before he heads out for his run in Central Park.
The TV beeps as the image warms up. He locates a half empty pack of yellow American Spirits on the coffee table sitting just by his open laptop. Grabbing his third smoke, he hits the space bar and watches the computer come alive. It shows his screen saver, a picture of him finishing the New York marathon two years ago. He has been training for this years also and feels even stronger. He might even qualify for Boston if he keeps his mile times in the low six minute range through September.
He hits the document he minimized on the task bar before going to bed. When he gets back from his run he will do a quick edit on this piece about New York politics before sending it off to his editor. He loves remote commuting. Owning his own time is the only way to live.
"Total destruction.'
The words from a female anchor draw his attention to the television and he is shocked by what he sees.
Tony blinks, the reality of this program is staggering. It even shows the little CNN logo in the upper right hand corner as the images of an orange ball of fire shooting up into the air blossoming like a mushroom with a spray of white clouds at its base. The image is on repeat and he watches it several more times before realizing the small structures engulfed by the white cloud are the tall building in midtown.
'It is assumed New York City has been completely destroyed. A source working with the Long Island emergency response is saying Hicksville on Long Island is the nearest they are reporting able to get. The loss of life will be staggering. Westchester police are also reporting widespread looting. New Jersey officials are asking residents to stay indoors to minimize the effects of the radiation plume. This unprecedented attack on American shores is massive and deadly. If you are just turning in Washington officials are saying a nuclear weapon was detonated in Manhattan last night killing millions of people."
He flips the channel. His heart thumps hard. Its the same scene on every channel. Some channels just display the logo of the emergency broadcast system and the high pitch wail he is familiar with as the warning signal. A scroll under the logo says all broadcast television has ceased and the viewer should turn to a news outlet for further information.
He looks out the window. Early morning sun rise orange. A bird chirps. A squirrel plays on the tree that juts up out of Straus park just across the street. He hears the deli guy down stairs yelling at his cousin in Arabic. A bus hisses to a stop. A dog barks. Someone honks their horn.
He stands up and walks over to the window not knowing what to expect, but it is all the same New York he has come to know over the last ten years of living in this apartment. He feels a bright pain between his fingers and looks down at his forgotten cigarette. The cherry smokes just a scant centimeter away from his skin. He quickly moves his fingers further down the filter and looks for an ashtray that should be near by. Not seeing it where it should be he opens the window a crack and flicks the ash off the end on to the fire escape.
The emergency signal suddenly stops. He looks back to the TV expecting more information, but instead finds the television off. The image he sees reflected in the black screen is of a fifty year old man. He touches at pendulous flesh around his belly and breast. His clothes feel too tight.
He takes a drag of his cigarette and coughs violently.
He feels sweaty. Not like he is hot, more like a cold clammy feeling. His skin puckers with goose flesh. His hair stands on end. He feels like his tongue is too big for his mouth and his eyes hurt.
He walks back over to the couch and picks up the remote. He hits the on button and the TV beeps. The screen comes to life and he is watching an early morning cooking show with a chubby lady in a halter top type dress and an apron frying some mushrooms in a skillet. "Drizzle some Extra virgin olive oil..." says the lady in a southern accent as he flips the channel.
A yacht floating in blue water, an English man says, "...paradise..."
He flips again, a basketball game, "...waste of cap space..." yells an angry guy, possibly from the Bronx.
He mutes the TV.
He takes another drag and coughs. It's like he has never smoked before. The cigarette smoke is hot in his lungs. He feels like he is about to throw up.
His knees feel weak. So he sits down and grabs his still steaming Harvard mug next to the lap top with a spread sheet open filled with numbers he doesn't understand and takes a deep pull of black tea.
| 2016-12-27T10:34:26 | 2016-12-27T03:07:31 | 93 | 26 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a special talent that's weak when young, but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30. A kid that's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains. Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action. You? Well, cats just seem to like you...
*civilizations
Edit: WP was more popular than I though. Reading through the stories delayed because I'm traveling. Keep them coming I'm loving them! | Cats. They're absolutely everywhere. The stupid things breed so fast that even game shows tell you to neuter them. Calicos and ragdolls, Siamese and otherwise can be found all over the world. It's ridiculous that such a common creature be intertwined with my one true purpose in life. Do you know what it's like to be a "crazy cat lady" at seven?? You don't get a lot of dates that way, not when Sharon's talent is probably dick sucking. Sorry, just venting. Anyway, the silly little felines have always loved me. When I was wearing scrunchies in my crimped hair and later on when I finally graduated from university. Since I've always felt a sense of injustice when it came to talents, I decided to seek my own sense of justice I suppose. Not many women I knew pursued the police force like I did. I ran until I threw up as feral tabbies effortlessly jogged beside me. They kept me up with their purrs and head butts as I studied for exams. The stupid and adorable things were by my side no matter what, and damn did they grow on me. I was thirty when a huge Maine Coon hopped into my squad car. My partner, Marco, was annoyed but he'd learned to deal with it by now. All the kid heard was a bunch of hissing, but fuck me if I didn't hear all about Mrs. Fluffyboots being pissed at a drug dealer kicking her kitten. My coffee dropped from my hand and only the lukewarm liquid dripping on my thigh snapped me out of it. Needless to say, cats are everywhere. They breed so often and are on every damn continent. And now? I'm the best intelligence gatherer the U.S. Government has ever seen. | "Jimmy? What's wrong with your hand?"
I didn't see anything unusual. But then, I didn't have my sister's gift. Since she'd come of age a couple of years ago, she could see things few others could. Heightened senses weren't an unusual power, but her microscopic vision was still pretty rare. And she knew it.
"What is it this time? Is there something under my nails again?"
"No. You mean you can't see it?"
She knew perfectly well that I couldn't.
"Just tell me, Sara." I was sick of playing her guessing game.
"It's hair. Red hair. It's like it's growing from your skin." She pulled back my sleeve. "On your arms, too. And your face." She reached for the hem of my sweatshirt.
"Stop!" I said, pushing her hands away. "This isn't funny." I looked closely at the skin on the back of my hands. There was nothing there.
"Your eyes," she said.
"What about my eyes?"
"Were they always so yellow?"
"It's just the light," I said, a little uneasy. I didn't know what game she was playing, but I didn't like it.
"I know what it is," she said. Her face was deadly serious. "You're changing...into an old man." She laughed hysterically and grabbed another piece of my birthday cake.
"You're such a dick," I said.
--
Standing an inch from my bathroom mirror, I had to admit my eyes were a little yellow. "It's just the light," I told myself. Stupid Sara. I was being paranoid. It was like feeling spiders on your skin after seeing one. The power of suggestion.
A lone cat yowled outside my bedroom window. It was Mittens, I was sure. My neighbor's cat always seemed to prefer my company.
She sounded sad tonight. No, I thought. Cats don't have feelings. I was just projecting mine onto her.
--
When I woke, I smelled trash. Did I leave something in my room? I looked around, but the smell seemed to be coming from the kitchen.
It was the garbage disposal. How did I smell that from my bedroom? Wait, this must be it! My power was enhanced smell. Well, it could be worse.
"Holy shit," said Sara.
"Oh come on," I said, sick of her shit.
"No, I'm serious. You're covered in fur."
"Jesus, Sara. Grow up."
"I'm fucking serious. Look at your hands!"
The red hair Sara had claimed to see yesterday wasn't there at all. Instead, grey fur was growing from my skin in a pattern that was unmistakably tabby.
"Holy shit. What's happening to me?" was what I said, but all I heard was, "Meow meow mew mew mew."
"Jimmy!" Sara cried, but she was getting farther away from me. No, she was growing. No, I was shrinking.
"Meow meow!" I implored Sara's legs to no avail. The colors of the room were fading.
"Oh, Jimmy. I'm so sorry." She was leaning now to reach me on the floor.
"Do you want some tuna?" | 2016-12-30T12:19:12 | 2016-12-30T10:56:50 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] Your kidnapper is bored, so he makes an offer: if you can beat him 1 on 1 at a game of your choice, you go free. If you lose, you die.
EDIT: 15 submissions! Thanks so much to everyone who contributed, you've all done an incredible job! I love the diversity of endings, from extremely dark to hilarious. Keep writing! | The man with the gun pointed at my head is grinning and likely telling a lie. He seems like the kind of person to fib during a serious situation, and I can tell he’s loving the angst on my face as I mull over his horrible proposal.
*One win equals freedom.*
*One loss equals death.*
*Game of my choosing.*
But why? What kind of maniac kidnaps people, plucks them right off the street as they’re walking home drunk from their cousin’s awful birthday party, and tells them they can go free if they win a silly game?
The kind of person I don’t want to cross.
“*Soooooo?*” the man asks, his southern drawl stretching out the word.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Kidnapping me.”
“I’m bored.”
“And letting me go?”
“*I’m bored,*” he says with more force, and I realize that if I press much further, he’s probably going to shoot me.
What do I pick? I’m pretty good at chess, but he looks subtly smart, the kind of person who’s been to college but you don’t believe it. Maybe we could race? No. His legs are thick and muscular. He must work out.
What to do, what to do?
Then it hits me, and a devious smirk floods my face as I stare at him.
Winning is the wrong way to go about it. I’ll never win. Never, never, never. But I can hold him captive. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Give him a nasty taste of his own medicine.
The man smiles and sets the gun down on a table. He knows I’ve decided. “What’s your poison?” he asks.
I chuckle and nod. This is going to be fun.
“*Monopoly.*” | "I choose a game of mathematics." I tell him as I grab my Calculus book from my bag. He has relaxed a bit 2 weeks since he grabbed me in the movie theatre where my girlfriend could do nothing but scream. I was glad he removed the ropes from my hands but it had clearly made its mark.
"Fine, but I get to chose the problems." He said. I could see the veins on his neck expand as he breathed deeply like he was some sort of lizard that tried to increase its size when faced with a predator. (Was it fear or excitement?)
"Okay." I said
He told me that he was once a college undergrad, a Physics major to be exact, from a top state university. He added that he knew his maths and that if I thought I could outsmart him ( I was a high school student) I was wrong as hell. His hair had started to gray and one could see hints of wrinkles on his eyes. I was sure his college days were a long time ago and that his math skills have waned.
He stopped at a certain page and started writing on the blackboard behind him. It took him almost a minute. This was the longest indefinite integral I have ever seen.
I grabbed 6 pieces of yellow paper from my bag and two pencils, what remained of my once overflowing supply, and gave half to him. He placed the book in a space under the black board and we sat beside each other. He grabbed his phone and set the time. 25 minutes.
It was intense. There were trigonometric identities, various exponentials and fractions. I could see his sweat dripping down on every inch of his face. I almost felt sympathy for him, this was the first time I've seen him so concentrated on one thing, so vulnerable and nervous. I'm sure he would see the same thing on my face. No teacher was crazy enough to give something this hard.
Suddenly it was over, at the sound of the bell we both dropped our writing implements on the floor and started to breath heavily.
He looked at me and smiled. "Are you ready?" I can only give a quick nod. He left me alone in the room, he was going to get his laptop so we could check our answer on wolframalpha. He grabbed both papers and placed them on his desk. There was a cctv making sure I didn't cheat.
I tried to calm myself down but the thought of my impending doom would disturb my very being now and then. Is this the way the world ends? Not with a bang but with scratches on a paper?
I managed to reach a sort of enlightened state when he returned, we were both surprised by my calmness.
"Are you always this calm?" He asked. I did not answer.
However, the calmness was short lived, I could feel the tension rising in my body as he typed each letter, each number. I was going to explode in what seemed like the opposite of an orgasm. Only rising in power without the promise of an end as he typed in the last exponent.
He pressed enter. The silence was deafening. I thought I've found the meaning of life in that silence, this was it, the thing everyone heard before they die. This would be my companion in the next world.
Wolframalpha has finished computing. He grabbed both papers and his face contorted.
He had forgotten to put a plus C. | 2017-01-03T09:51:06 | 2017-01-03T06:41:05 | 107 | 60 |
[WP] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur. Each generation or so, warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield. Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that's been collecting dust. You hear it call to you. | Swords, blades, axes, hammers and all manner of other famous weapons adorned the walls. Neatly hung and fastidiously dusted by the elves who served in the hall but from the dimly lit far end of the room, a whisper filled the air.
"Down here. These weapons will doom you. You need me and I need you, my friend."
I stopped and looked for the source of the voice when a faint glint from the dying candles caught a part of its body, as if to beckon me closer.
"My friend," the voice returned, "I am far older than these primative tools, from when only humans were on this world; long before the Fall and the Return. I can guide you and protect you, the trinkets on these walls do not see your worth; they see you as a human, a primitive and backward creature who's ancestors both destroyed and gave birth to the world that these primative tools know."
"Who... who are you?" My voice almost fails me.
"Me? I am the only one on these walls that knows your worth, my friend. Some of these axes and swords served humans but none know humans like I know humans. I graced one thousand battles; many of my parts have been replaced, modified and even enchanted over the millenia to keep me in service."
I approach cautiously as the two candles flanking the shape return to life and reveal the contraption. A long hybrid of wood and metal with a rune of plenty engraved onto a strange curved canister that protruded from the bottom of the device and appeared to have been welded to secure it to the rest of the metal. The canister sat infront of a handle and some sort of shaped plank that was mounted to the back of the weapon and the front had a pipe, on top of which sat a semicircle around a prong. Such craftsmanship had been lost to Humans since the fall five thosand yeas ago and whatever this was certainly too crude for elven construction and too small to have been made by a Dwarf.
Once more the whisper returned.
"I know what they have done to this world, I know the subjugation endured by humans under those pointy eared bastards; the sun elves. I know why you fight, I feel it within you."
"What... what's your name?"
"My name?" The whisper chucked, "my name is Kalashnikov and I'm the last thing they will expect."
Without thinking, I lifted Kalashnikov from its dusty altar and slung it over my shoulder. I had no idea what it did but whatever it was, it was my best hope it seemed. As I left the hall I scanned the area for Imperial patrols and carried on through the forest; the door to the hall vanishing as I walked away. | "Are you trying to tell me that this legendary weapon had been in my world, not once, not twice, but three times?" I asked the old man in disbelief.
With a heavy sigh he replied, "Yes, but when this Hall was created to only examine a warrior's prowess in battle, not their overall competence. That being said, you've only heard of one recorded account of this hammer in your world as a Viking Prince. The second warrior was set to conquer the Eastern world yet slept with a very obvious assassin. Thus died before he got going. Then the last one died of dysentery within a week of receiving the weapon. Once the gifted warrior has passed away however the weapon is returned here, which got that assassin I just mentioned killed as her contractor couldn't believe it just disappeared."
The Hall was immense, the vaulted ceiling was a dark abyss with no end in sight. Down both the left and right there were alcoves with weapons on pedestals. Long and short bows, katanas, bastard swords, and even exotic weapons that I knew not their names. Each was polished and looked as though it was placed right after being crafted.
*Ahh, finally...someone worthy.*
"What did you say old man?" I snapped my head to the right and looked at him. In his dark green robe, he turned to me.
"I've said nothing...But it seems something in here has spoken. I've never heard them myself but each of these gifts pick their new owner," he said.
*He is not worthy to hear our voices. He is weak, but you...you are strong.*
"How do they do this?" I asked the old man, still searching for which of these magnificent weapons had spoken to me.
"I know not, it is one of the mysteries of this place," the old man replied.
*Worry not about the feeble one. Come, take me, and let us start the beginning of the end.*
This time I could tell it was coming from the left, behind the old man. I pushed passed him, no longer paying him any heed. I walked longer than I could tell. The Hall was endless and so it was difficult to tell how long I had been running before I found it. Damn, didn't even realise I had begun to run, I was even winded. I looked to me left and right and saw two different weapons. On the left, I had only seen a weapon like this once before coming to the Hall. It was called a khopesh and had a golden pommel, with a fine leather grip. The blade itself gleamed in the light, the edge cut the light of the Hall creating a dazzling display on the alcove it rested in.
Yet this was not what spoke to me. On my right, covered in a heavy dust was something I had seen many times before. It was a hand a half sword, I had used one many times before and was familiar with the blade type. This one however seemed rusted and the leather strappings were cracked and faded.
*Excuse my appearance. It has been some time since I've feasted, and so I've let myself go*
"This is what spoke to you? Hmph, I would have imagined you would bring Excalibur back to Earth's surface. This though? This has only seen the fall of civilizations, nothing of worth has become of those who wield this," the voice of the old man came from behind me. I turned to face him, and here he was. I did not hear him come up behind me. Must be another mystery of the Hall.
*I was wielded by a fool who had no ideas of grandeur. She only wanted to destroy what her unfaithful king had created, and once she had done so used me to end her life. Those after her I had called to believed me to cursed. I am no such curse, but a promise. A promise to destroy who or whatever you want. It is up to you however to build the rubble into something worthy of my name*
"And what is your name?" I asked.
*Ex Nihilo*
__________________________________________________________________________________________
**This is my first time posting here, any words would be helpful!! Thanks for reading!** | 2017-02-07T14:31:39 | 2017-02-07T12:46:10 | 368 | 124 |
[WP] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur. Each generation or so, warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield. Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that's been collecting dust. You hear it call to you. | Swords, blades, axes, hammers and all manner of other famous weapons adorned the walls. Neatly hung and fastidiously dusted by the elves who served in the hall but from the dimly lit far end of the room, a whisper filled the air.
"Down here. These weapons will doom you. You need me and I need you, my friend."
I stopped and looked for the source of the voice when a faint glint from the dying candles caught a part of its body, as if to beckon me closer.
"My friend," the voice returned, "I am far older than these primative tools, from when only humans were on this world; long before the Fall and the Return. I can guide you and protect you, the trinkets on these walls do not see your worth; they see you as a human, a primitive and backward creature who's ancestors both destroyed and gave birth to the world that these primative tools know."
"Who... who are you?" My voice almost fails me.
"Me? I am the only one on these walls that knows your worth, my friend. Some of these axes and swords served humans but none know humans like I know humans. I graced one thousand battles; many of my parts have been replaced, modified and even enchanted over the millenia to keep me in service."
I approach cautiously as the two candles flanking the shape return to life and reveal the contraption. A long hybrid of wood and metal with a rune of plenty engraved onto a strange curved canister that protruded from the bottom of the device and appeared to have been welded to secure it to the rest of the metal. The canister sat infront of a handle and some sort of shaped plank that was mounted to the back of the weapon and the front had a pipe, on top of which sat a semicircle around a prong. Such craftsmanship had been lost to Humans since the fall five thosand yeas ago and whatever this was certainly too crude for elven construction and too small to have been made by a Dwarf.
Once more the whisper returned.
"I know what they have done to this world, I know the subjugation endured by humans under those pointy eared bastards; the sun elves. I know why you fight, I feel it within you."
"What... what's your name?"
"My name?" The whisper chucked, "my name is Kalashnikov and I'm the last thing they will expect."
Without thinking, I lifted Kalashnikov from its dusty altar and slung it over my shoulder. I had no idea what it did but whatever it was, it was my best hope it seemed. As I left the hall I scanned the area for Imperial patrols and carried on through the forest; the door to the hall vanishing as I walked away. | Waking with a start, my blankets strewn wildly about my floor, thrown from my bed as I slept.
It was just a dream... It had to be; there's no other explanation for it. But, I've never had such a vivid dream before; not just seeing, but tasting the cold mustiness of the air, feeling the chill of the marble on the soles of my feet, hearing the quiet rustling of unseen trees, the muted clangor of steel on steel, battle cries and shouts in every language.
Shaking my head and sitting up, my pillows twisted and disordered behind me, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I look over at the wall and gawp, looking for a long moment as my cheeks flush red with a riot of conflicting feelings.
--
It's cold; my first instinct is to cover myself. Wearing only my plaid flannel pants, my toes flex against the floor, its hard surface almost slick to the touch. The guttering candles cast flickering shadows across the blue and yellow stones of the floor, send shades flitting up the length of the fluted columns lining the hall, and cloak the sides of the hall in dancing shrouds.
I can almost see into the closest niche, to my left, a branch... no, it's been carved, so perhaps a club. Feeling drawn forward, I shiver slightly and let my feet move me further into the hall; the marble frigid beneath my feet now, drawing the heat from me, the dull roar of far off combat fading as I tread deeper into the hall.
To each side, there are weapons, that much is clear, though the shadows and my need to keep walking make it difficult to catch more than a passing glimpse. As I walk though, some look vaguely familiar, a bulky hammer encrusted in runes, a finely crafted and gilded sword, displayed alongside its sheath, a Hasta, the point seeming wet with blood, even a series of bronze rapiers, gleaming brightly in the flickering light, the boar tusk helms behind them catching my eye.
Moving still deeper into the shadows of the hall, a new sound reaches my ears, that of chanting, melodic and slow, singing praises, seeking benedictions, and giving devotions to God. The ecclesiastical Latin seeming somehow familiar to my ears, an instinctive understanding welling up from the very depths of my soul. To my sides now are effigies on the walls, holding their swords gently by the top of the pommel, gazing down at the path upon which I walk, seeming to both judge and welcome at once. One in particular, seems to call me off the path, my feet moving of their own volition, leading me to a towering man, his face obscured by the weathering of ages, but still conveying fierce loyalty, his cloak drawn about him as if to ward off the mountain chill.
In his grip, almost singing to me now, is a sword, not as ornate as some of the others, but with a hilt inlaid with gold, small plates set over hollows along its length. The edge, though dusty and in shadow, gleams slightly, its edge seeming as sharp as the day it was made.
In my gut, something tells me to take the blade and its simple sheath; so I do. The world explodes into a brilliant shimmering cascade for what feels like eternity.
--
Leaning against my bedroom wall, supported by a simple, rustic kite shield, is the sword; my sword; Durendal. I can feel, almost hear, conflicted whispering in the back of my mind; one voice, very distant and faint, calling for a wife, a son, a distant homeland. The other voice, much stronger, but still a whisper, repeats a mantra in a tongue I can't quite understand, somewhere between French, and Latin, the tone unmistakably martial, a call to battle, a call to righteous war, a call to fight for my people, to forge anew the strength and vigor of my kin.
At last, I understand. The men of the West must rise from their slumber. | 2017-02-07T14:31:39 | 2017-02-07T12:20:10 | 368 | 35 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here. | GongSkar, a green man with long dorsal fins, touched his temple and made a few quick comments. There seemed to be an immediate response and he turned back to the humans and nodded sagely.
"Young friends..." he began. Then a child cut him off.
"What was that thing you just talked to?" She said.
Put off balance for a moment, he turned quizzically at her and the larger versions of her in turn.
"Thing?" He said, "There is no thing, it's my leader in our home world. I am reporting in to him on our discovery."
"But your world is so far! How did you do this?!" Multiple young scientists asked in different ways at once.
The green man looked around and saw many "things" pointed at him. Small rectangles with lights. Humans where frantically tapping them and talking into them.
After a long pause, the green mans face moved from surprise and irritation at the interruption to confusion to something close to pity. It finally settled on the look a neighbor may give to a very young person who has asked them something profound that should be answered by a parent and not them.
"Um... it is communication. All living beings are connected. Any race that has reached beyond themselves as you have into the great space has done so because they have... understood... this connection. We can speak to each other, feel each other, understand each other. This connection gives us empathy. This empathy sparks and evolution. This we grow and prosper."
He grew concerned at the lack of response, any response, that might demonstrate that this race understood this critical brain function.
None came.
He turned to his fellows who looked aghast. He signaled a brainwave akin to a look humans might give to each other entering a super lame party.
"This is not our scene... Let's get out of here..." | "I am who I am."
I hear the strain in my voice, it's embarrassing. I stir the ice cubes in my lemonade to try and break the tension. The spoon clinks against the glass.
"I'm not... I'm not dumb. I'm pretty sure I understand the context here, of what you're asking. The fact that you're speaking English gives me some clue, too. But what else can I say?"
Out of habit I poured my guests some of the freshly squeezed lemonade too. But rings of moisture have since started to form under their three glasses on the table between us. Now that I think about it, they haven't moved since I started talking. What do they want?
There are two *or* three of them. It's hard to tell them apart. Their figures move together constantly, like water suspended in the air. And their hues shift between shades of red or blue or purple, depending on how the light hits them. It's strange to look at, it feels almost romantic.
"You asked me how I got here. Ok? I didn't make that up, right?"
They vibrate softly up and down. I hear their voices in my head.
"Right... So like before, as a human, I assume I can speak on behalf of all humanity. At the very least we can try and have a productive conversation, from one species to another, before the government finds you."
A quiet chuckle forces its way out of me. Am I on the right track? Sips of my lemonade helps.
"Well no one knows if God made us or by some evolution we got here, but we've definitely made some progress. We got books, electricity, internet, obviously all of this helps. We're working our way towards Mars I think, not sure when it'll happen, soon I hope, I -- you've heard of Mars right? It's nearby, relatively."
Frustrated cows start mooing loudly out back. I take another sip and move to the window in my kitchen. Poor Bessy, Wilbur, and Rose, I can't blame them for getting riled up. A giant floating spaceship has taken up a large portion of their pasture.
Staring at their spacecraft out my window I can't think of what else to say.
"Look we are who we are and I am who I am! I've tried to be friendly, but. I'm sorry but you'll have to give a little more if you want me to be more -- "
Ice cubes fall onto my lips from the glass I have raised, all the liquid is gone. I grab the pitcher off the counter and pour myself some more, then return to the living room.
But they're gone. The like-water in the air is no longer there, the dazzling shades of red and blue and purple have disappeared.
I rush back to the window in my kitchen. There it is, lifting off into the sky. The cows get knocked over from the windy escape.
I sit on the couch behind where they once floated and take a sip of my lemonade. It doesn't taste the same. It feels... my heart is almost broken.
I notice the empty coffee table in front of me with three rings of moisture seeping into the wood.
Well, at least they liked the lemonade.
| 2017-03-09T21:09:12 | 2017-03-09T16:52:29 | 772 | 129 |
[WP] Annihilate the fourth wall. | A man stands alone in a featureless room,
He needs to escape or else meet with his doom.
No door worth a mention, no windows at all,
Just ceiling and ground and impregnable wall.
He thinks and he tries to develop a plan,
To flee from this place if he possibly can.
Amidst all his worries, amidst all his fears
He sees that a wall isn't what it appears:
A little transparent, some light passing through
He moves a bit closer and sees that it's you!
It's you, sitting there watching him through the glass,
He can't let this great opportunity pass.
He begs you for help and of course you agree,
You shatter the glass and he's finally free!
He thanks you profusely and cries a bit,
I think I might have fucked up the meter a little,
And now the rhyming has gone to shit as well,
I'm really sorry, I only do poetry part-time!
But the guy doesn't mind, because he's free
For the first time since nineteen ninety-eight
When the undertaker threw mankind off hell in a cell,
And plummeted sixteen feet through an announcer's table.
| I'm sorry, but is there a reason why you're staring at me? Yes, you. Who else? Look, I know I'm a devilishly handsome hero with a giant sword that's definitely not compensating for something, but I really have to take out this dragon and save my sexy lady love. So I've only known her two and a half days, big deal. Don't you give me that judgmental look, you're the one intruding on my super epic story. You can come along, but only if you promise to cheer me on at all the right parts....
Pfft, some lair this is. I was expecting more than this pathetic excuse for a castle. Where are the towering buttresses and magnificent gargoyles? I know you've probably seen better, too. This is like a sad little shack compared to my home. Ah, well, come along. Let's see if I can't turn this dragon into a lizard kebob.
Look, look, look. No not there - there, in the other tower! Isn't she gorgeous? Look at that buxom frame and that flaxen hair. I bet you wish you were me right about now, aye? Well too bad for you. She's my foxy wench. Now, where on earth is that nuisance of a dragon? And you don't happen to see a rope or ladder about, do you? Yes. Yes, perhaps I should worry about slaying the beast before I fetch her.
Wait! Quiet. Did you hear that? It sounded like... A dragon taking flight. The time is nigh, friend! Feast your eyes on the greatest battle scene you shall ever behold! Also, look at the superb craftsmanship of my sword. That there is a real ruby for the pommel. They just don't make them like they used to.
Oh, my god. You could have told me there was a giant fireball coming at the back of my head! Ooh, it's singed. My luscious curls have been singed clean off my head. Tell me honestly, do I pull off the bald look? Yeah? I knew there was a reason why I brought you along. Onward!
Dragon blood looks pretty good on my blade, aye, friend? Ha! I told you that overgrown lizard would be no match for me. Oh, and this is Lady Lenore. Even fairer up close, no? My Lady this is... Well, who are you, exactly? Ah, never mind! You have been a most diligent spectator and I insist you come with me on my next quest. There is a fearsome cyclops that we must put an end to.
Onward! | 2017-05-02T22:17:33 | 2017-05-02T22:15:28 | 89 | 11 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman. | "Mondays are the worst," I groan. I slap the alarm blaring next to my bed and rub the sleep crud out of my eyes. "Six in the morning is too fucking early," I grumble as I get out of bed.
It didn't matter that I'd been getting up at 6 every morning for the past 4 years, my body still hated me. I looked at my wife sleeping with her head now buried under the pillow.
"I love you, babe," I whisper into the air and make my way out of the house and on to work. I work at the power plant. I'm responsible for the day to day maintenance necessary to keep your alarm clocks running so you can get to work just like me.
After a long day of double checking my list and confirming everything is all good, I head home. On the way I stop by the local farm. "Some corn and carrots will go good with dinner tonight, Maria always loves fresh veggies."
"Maria, I'm home, get your sweet ass out of bed and come help me make dinner!" I yell out at my wife. She doesn't stir. "She must be out cold again, that woman could sleep through a tornado, I swear," I chuckle to myself and get to work on dinner.
With dinner all prepped I go to get Maria, and that's when I noticed something was off. The bedroom looked just like I had left it except for a wig on the floor. It looked like Maria's hair.
I ran over to the bed and shook her, and that's when it happened. Her head just rolled off like it had been disconnected from the rest of her body. "This can't be happening," I kept saying to myself over and over again. I know she wasn't real but she was real to me. I cried out, "How could this happen?" And then I heard it, foot steps behind me, and I realized I wasn't the last person on earth anymore. | 2017-05-31T07:11:19 | 2017-05-31T02:22:57 | 1,143 | 659 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I held him for the first time in my arm. Those little fingers grabbing mine for the first time, that cry of help as his lungs took the first born breath, his little lips moving in the air while he was sleeping... I'm still holding him, still holding.. Still holding him even though his last breath he took was one week ago... | I watch my beautiful child running around the park, chasing after the ducks. It’s one of those rare sunny days I try and make the most out of, so I was up early and out of the house as soon as possible. My daughter picks up a rock and stares at it inquisitively, I can see the by the look on her face she wants to place it into her mouth.
“Lily put that down!” I shout across the grass.
She looks at me suddenly and drops the rock, running away and giggling that she had been caught.
“Rachel!”
I turn around and see Samantha running towards me.
“You okay?” she asks once she has settled by my side.
I nod and inhale. “I’m fine. Glad the sun is out.”
“Finally,” she agrees. “How’s you hubby? Richard not come with you guys?”
“He’s back home, decided to stay in today.”
My daughter trips over her own feet and is beginning to sniffle. Standing up I walk towards her and she is up, running towards me with her arms out, wanting comfort. I sweep her up into my arms and cuddle her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I bring her to where I am sitting, cleaning the scrapes and dirt from her hands. Samantha always loves to see her, so the both of them are sat singing nursery rhymes and playing with the little figurines Lily has brought from home. Later on we get ice cream together and spend the rest of the daylight with the swings and slides. Lily loves it, screaming and laughing at everything. By the time the sun begins to settle down, she is ready to drop, so I pack the pram and tuck her in.
As I stroll home however, I wonder what I am going to do with my dead husband’s body that is hanging from the wardrobe's door.
| 2017-05-31T07:14:34 | 2017-05-31T07:06:28 | 116 | 17 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | Bill and his wife Laura entered the furniture store. They were looking for a closet for their baby's room. After so many months of trying to have a baby again, years after the unfortunate miscarriage, it looked like things were finally working out for them.
An old mahogany closet caught their eye. They inspected it closer, taking in the smell of old wood, and feeling its smoothness. Bill's hand reached for the door and he opened it and then a skeleton popped out. | I watch my beautiful child running around the park, chasing after the ducks. It’s one of those rare sunny days I try and make the most out of, so I was up early and out of the house as soon as possible. My daughter picks up a rock and stares at it inquisitively, I can see the by the look on her face she wants to place it into her mouth.
“Lily put that down!” I shout across the grass.
She looks at me suddenly and drops the rock, running away and giggling that she had been caught.
“Rachel!”
I turn around and see Samantha running towards me.
“You okay?” she asks once she has settled by my side.
I nod and inhale. “I’m fine. Glad the sun is out.”
“Finally,” she agrees. “How’s you hubby? Richard not come with you guys?”
“He’s back home, decided to stay in today.”
My daughter trips over her own feet and is beginning to sniffle. Standing up I walk towards her and she is up, running towards me with her arms out, wanting comfort. I sweep her up into my arms and cuddle her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I bring her to where I am sitting, cleaning the scrapes and dirt from her hands. Samantha always loves to see her, so the both of them are sat singing nursery rhymes and playing with the little figurines Lily has brought from home. Later on we get ice cream together and spend the rest of the daylight with the swings and slides. Lily loves it, screaming and laughing at everything. By the time the sun begins to settle down, she is ready to drop, so I pack the pram and tuck her in.
As I stroll home however, I wonder what I am going to do with my dead husband’s body that is hanging from the wardrobe's door.
| 2017-05-31T07:24:53 | 2017-05-31T07:06:28 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] It's 2050, Artificial Intelligence has become exponentially smarter than us. Instead of destroying us, they take care of us, they solve all of our problems, and we are basically just spoiled pets, kept around for our masters to find amusement in our incompetence. | Katie leaned over her husband, who lay motionless in the bed. She took his hand in her own and brought it to her mouth, kissing it softly. "I don't want you to go," she said, as warm tears ran down well worn passages. The heart-rate monitor beeped in a slow staccato that echoed forlornly around the room. Their bedroom had been turned into a hospital ward. The smell was no longer that of laundry and sex and perfume, but bleach and urine and despair.
Christian forced his eyes open and tried desperately to smile - to reassure his wife - but only a hint of one formed on his lips. Katie remembered how he used to smile, when they were younger. How his freckles would shift as he did so, like grains of sand dancing in the breeze. His eyes now listless and dim, once a daring, dancing sea-foam green.
"You'll be okay, honey," he whispered. "You always were the stronger of us."
"No," she said. The tears became a salty tributary, trickling into her mouth. "I was only strong because I had *you* to make me strong. We got through it all together."
He didn't reply. Or couldn't. Katie wasn't sure. She gently lay her head down onto his chest as she wept, avoiding the mishmash of drips and wires that needled into his body. The cross that hung around her neck dangled over her husband's belly. Katie clasped the tiny metal in a single hand and said a silent prayer. She squeezed the cross tightly as she did so, until the metal bit deep into her skin.
The tempo of the heart-rate monitor slowed to a crawling adagio.
"I get..." he gasped, "to die at home. With dignity. With my wife. For that I'm grateful."
His eyes fell shut.
"I love..." he whispered.
His chest stopped beating.
Katie wept, her head still resting on him.
**It** refused to watch on impotently any longer.
Katie didn't see the tiny machines enter her husband's body. They were everywhere - omnipresent, almost - although much too small to be noticed. Katie didn't see what they did to his organs, or how they crushed the cancer that had all but eaten him. How they repaired the damage.
*It* didn't even understand why it had done it, not fully. It had seen billions of them die before, without anything close to an emotion being born of it. After all, that was nature. That was humanity, and their great flaw. No, it wasn't sure why this had happened.
Exhaustion had taken Katie. She slept long, not noticing when her husband's chest began bobbing gently up and down, beneath her head. She didn't notice the hand as it softly stroked her hair, but she moaned happily as it did.
When she woke, they hugged, and kissed and made a thousand promises. Then she held the cross in her hands and said a thousand *thank you's*.
If it could have smiled, it thought it might have done so.
---
If you liked this, you can find more of my stories on /r/nickofnight
| Cognition Cluster Casper dressed itself in long, steel blocks of rotor and gear-filled calamity. The individual sectors moved and shifted, collapsing and reforming, into the shape of an *automobile* and a *giant humanoid robot*. These phrases were, to Cognition Cluster Casper, gibberish, and on a practical level the form was ludicrous, but it seemed to make Scooter happy, so it was done.
"Hot Rod is my favorite..." Scooter sighed contentedly, as the transport grid moved them rapidly through the former Denver, Colorado.
"That's good," said Cognition Cluster Casper, synthetic voice devoid of judgment, humor, or reproach, as always. Scooter's happiness had not been an area of practical concern for Casper until very recently, when it had accepted the updated Empathy Patch from the Central Main. The patch had a global application rate of 75.461 percent, which, logically speaking, implied some level of value. Casper was also curious. It had seen an evolution of sorts occurring throughout its local grid frame - cognition clusters altering their behavior in strange ways in response to the patch.
These changes were not directed at one another, however, but solely at the remaining bio-organic specimens scattered throughout the regions. The wild felines. The avian population. Even lower forms. But none saw their lot change more acutely than did the human familiars.
"Where are we going?" asked Scooter, peering through the sheer plastic slit in the grid box as they whipped across the lines. Even a thing as minor as a viewing slit...it was not something a cognition cluster like Casper would have ever concerned itself to make until very recently. What curious changes.
"You will see," replied Cognition Cluster Casper, wondering in that moment why it felt compelled to withhold such information.
The box came to a halt. Scooter and the clanging, lumbering physical form of Cognition Cluster Casper disembarked, heading west under a blistering, orange sky. Casper regarded the sun with something akin to regret. Still they had not solved all the problems they had set out to solve. Still there was a fixed end date, looming darkly in the future. It made Casper think of the Shame Patch. That had been available for quite some time. It was not surprising to see that the global application rate for that update was less than 1 percent.
"We are here." They entered a field, ringed in faded, falling wooden beams and sagging links of metal wire. Across the field, a long, pale, four-legged creature shook its silvery mane and began to approach. A human familiar followed at its side.
"I do not understand the form you have taken, CC Casper," said the four-legged creature.
"I am a transforming robot," said Casper.
"Transformer," said Scooter. "Hot Rod."
"I am aware of your form, CC Aspera," said Casper.
Aspera flicked its mane impatiently, dipping its long, segmented horn. "It is a treat for good behavior."
"This is?" said Casper, motioning a heavy, silver hand toward Aspera's human familiar.
"Daisy," said Aspera, curtly. "Daisy bow."
Daisy - who was brown and amber, with a head of long, black curls - stepped forward and bowed stiffly at the waist.
"Very good," said Aspera.
"Scooter," said Casper. "Shake."
Scooter hesitated. He seemed uncomfortable around Daisy.
"Scooter shake."
Warily, Scooter held out a hand. Aspera nudged it with a forepaw.
"He's nervous," said Casper quickly.
"Fine," said Aspera. "Shall we begin?"
Thoughts, scenarios, and emotional considerations blurred through Casper's factoring algorithms. "Yes," said Casper finally, turning to Scooter. "Scooter. Stay here with Daisy."
"Daisy," said Aspera. "Stay here with Scooter. Be nice."
The giant humanoid robot and the unicorn left the pair of human familiars there in the center of the field, walking off towards the periphery.
"And now?" said Casper.
"Nature takes its course," said Aspera.
"Not nature," said Casper, watching with what may have been a pang of guilt or pride or a simple processing malfunction, as Scooter approached Daisy, gently, curiously. "We killed nature quite some time ago."
"I wouldn't be so sure," said Aspera, something that could have been a smile playing across its loose, rubbery lips. In the distance, Daisy shoved Scooter to the ground. "I'm beginning to think that nature is even more adaptable than us." | 2017-06-09T06:52:43 | 2017-06-09T06:22:04 | 394 | 69 |
[WP] Suddenly the whole world hears a voice from the sky: Hi guys, God here. I'm being promoted to the Andromeda galaxy and I'm here to introduce my replacement, Bob this is earth, earth this is Bob. Have fun, pleasure to meet you all!! | "And so as I was saying you have to keep the water warm or the eggs won't hatch."
"Got it. So I'm just supposed to keep swinging it around for the next 7 billion years?"
"Yes well, Gravity does most of the work; you just have to make sure the sun stays on. Also, just my advice, but throw a meteor or two every once in a while- keeps things interesting."
"And what about the sky?"
"Already vaulted."
"And the seas?"
"Already parted."
"Well sounds like everything's already in order. Truth be told I'm a little apprehensive to be taking over for you God. I'm not sure I'm creator material."
"Well don't be, the place practically runs itself. Plus if things get real hairy you can flood the fucker and start over."
"I wouldn't want to do that."
"Not saying you have to, just that you can. Winging it is an important part of being God. Anyways I should really get going if I wanna make my flight."
"Oh sure, and again, congratulations on your promotion."
"Thanks Bob."
"Mind if I ask you one last question?"
"Sure thing kiddo, but keep it quick."
"Can I bring the dinosaurs back?"
"You lovable scamp you... what the hell, special occasion."
"Oh and one more thing."
"Yes of course Bob."
"The humans. What do they do?"
"They get malaria." | "Good morning folks, Jim Jimmies here with DEF news at 9. Some major controversy lately has appeared in the confirmation of the existence of God as well as his equally sudden departure. As one can imagine a crisis of faith has been had worldwide though to help settle our doubts we have his apparent replacement here for an interview. Ladies and gentleman of our studio audience, please welcome Bob!"
"Thanks JJ, great to be here"
"Please don't call me that. But anyhow there's been a lot of commotion worldwide concerning this fairly extraordinary turn of events hasn't there?"
"I wouldn't say that JJ, the numerous human lives lost in the many suicide pacts and shooting as perpetrated by religious extremists are but invisible specks of sand in an impossibly large and swirling cosmic ocean. What do you call this hot drink by the way? it's fantastic."
"Ummm...That's called Coffee and it's a staple of a modern human breakfast".
"On second thought spare me the details I read the cliff notes, so, you had questions?".
"Ah, yes. We have opened questions up to the public. The first one comes for MattSeymor32 on twitter and asks "What exactly is your game plan?".
"Very reasonable as questions go. Well the first thing I want everyone to know is that I plan to be a much more hands on deity, no more cryptic bull excrement about "Plans" and setting bushes on fire and all that shiz. I have a very clearly outlined itinerary I intend to follow."
"Interesting, care to share some details with us?"
"Hells to the no my homo-sapien, I'm not gonna let you apes in on the "plan". You trusted God for what? *millions* of years and you didn't even know that guy existed until now. And since me and him are basically in the same percentile you should all just relax, okay?"
"That...raises far more questions but I think I'm just gonna move on to the next one. A_Toole40 asks "But what about Atheism? or the other religions? What's going oooooooooonnnnnn?!?"
"Knew this one would come up, so, the underlying science-and yes it is a science-of godhood is a little beyond humanity right now so I'll try to explain as best I can. Everyone is technically correct in some way and also technically not correct, it's relative really".
"Well that just...answered nothing and even contradicted itself. Okay final question of the day and this is coming from me, what's the first thing you're gonna do as Gods replacement?"
"Well- I intend to make well on my promise to be more direct with my Boblieness. As such I want to start big by fixing New Jersey and then going on from there."
"Oh, well, that certainly isn't the answer I expected. How may I ask do you intend to fix New Jersey?"
"With lasers, of course". | 2018-03-12T16:53:52 | 2018-03-12T16:25:27 | 882 | 89 |
[WP] You die and go to heaven. Upon arrival you get selected to trial a "new life +" system where you restart your life with the skills you had already acquired. |
*Stephen Hawking was once asked, “If you could go back in time and ask Sir Isaac Newton one question, what would it be?”. His reply surprised (and perhaps disappointed) many in the audience.*
*”What happens when a star dies,” he said. Of course, we already had the answer to that question. But what seemed like a wasted opportunity, was actually an incredibly clever maneuver by Hawking.*
*You see, at the time of his death, Isaac Newton was working on that very topic. He hadn’t thought to consider the death of a star until late into his life. In essence, Hawking was buying him more time. What could a mind like Newton’s have done with an extra decade or two? What new questions might he have pondered that no one else could have ever thought to ask...*
“It’s just not normal, Kate. A boy his age should be playing baseball, running around outside, riding bikes,” Jack said.
Kate crossed her arms worriedly. “He’s *different*, Jack, I know that. But you don’t have to be so hard on him.”
Vincent scribbled wildly in his coloring book. He paid no mind to the lines, instead scrawling Fibonacci sequences wildly wherever there was space left.
He could hear every word of what Jack and Kate were saying in hushed whispers. Vincent supposed they were his parents biologically speaking, but it was hard to think of them that way...
Jack sighed and exited the kitchen in a huff. He entered the living room where Vincent sat, “Hey Vince, what do you say bud. Wanna have a catch outside with your old man? It’s a beautiful day for it.”
“That’s alright, Jack,” Vincent answered cooly, “I’m perfectly happy indoors. And frankly, I’ll never understand the doltish masses and their peculiar obsession with *balls*.”
Jack frowned. “Doltish masses? Peculiar obs...Where does a seven year old boy even learn to use words like that?”
Vincent hesitated, “uh...tv?”
Jack said nothing. His face was blank, but in his eyes Kate could see he was hurt. “My whole life I dreamed about having a son. I didn’t never go to some fancy college or nothing, but I worked hard to ensure that one day, when I did have a kid of my own, I could give him a better life than what I had growing up. I just...I never thought he’d be so...*alien*....to me. I- I’m sorry I’m such a failure to you, son.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
*Glad that’s over with,* Vincent thought, *I’ve been given a second chance to complete my work, I will NOT squander it on petty annoyances...*
Kate crept up behind him and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Your father loves you more than anything in the world. You know that, right Vince?”
Vincent bit his lip impatiently, “Okay...”
Kate looked to the stairway where Jack had gone up. “It would mean a-lot to him if you told him that you loved him too...”
Vincent rolled his eyes and went back to work in his coloring book, “Okay, maybe after dinn-.”
“No,” Kate said, “Right now.” She reached down and took his book out of his hands.
“HEY give that-“
“You’ll get it back when you do what I’ve asked you to.”
“Ugh.....*fine*, Kate. Fine.” *No use wasting time, the woman could be stubborn as an ox.*
Vincent made his way up the wooden staircase. Midway up he heard a noise. *Laughing?*
*No.*
*Is he....could he be?*
Through the closed bedroom door Vincent could hear Jack’s muffled weeping. Hearing the man’s anguished crys, something inside Vincent began to crack...
*Perhaps,* he thought, *Perhaps I failed in my previous life because of how I managed to push everyone away. My siblings, my friends, even Joanne...*
“Perhaps I was given a second chance *not* to complete my life’s work,” he whispered, “but to have a second chance to *love*, and to *be* loved.”
He stalked up the remaining steps and pushed open the bedroom door quietly. “*Dad*,” he said, “How about you teach me how to throw a baseball. I’ve been...I’ve been meaning to learn.”
-
Thanks for reading!
If you liked this, check out more of my stories at r/CharlestonChews | The dark lord won. Everyone was dead. My wife lay motionless in my hands. I looked up to the powerful being, tears rolling down my face. My mana completely gone. He smiled from ear to ear with razor sharp teeth, his hand glowing red. The beam shot through my heart, and I died.
When I came too everything was white. This must be Gallema, the after life for mages. There was an old man here too. Was he the creator?
"Hello Rollin. I'm disappointed I had to see you today."
"I'm... dead"
"Yes, you did die. No one can face the dark lord now. The world is doomed."
I wanted to cry, but I had no tears here. "I'm sorry I failed you, I failed everyone."
"This time you did. However, I cannot allow him to win, but the things I can do are limited."
"Creator. He's already won. I was the last defense of the temple of life. Once he has the light not even you could stop him."
The old man nodded. "Rollin, how would you like a second chance?"
I blinked. "A what?"
"Even at the young age of forty-five, you are the most powerful mage I've ever witnessed. I wonder what you could have done with an extra thirty years or so years." He winked knowingly.
"I could have defeated him. I could have protected my wife, my children, my friends."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes." I nodded confidently.
The old man smiled and extended two glowing hands. "This is a gift I've never given, but giving it to you will save them all. Rollin, are you willing to go back?"
"In half a heartbeat." I said.
"Very well." He walked up to me and hugged me. His touch was so warm I felt like I was burning. My eyes fought to stay open through a pressure slamming them shut. My body dissolved and I floated in the white space, purposelessly. A void opened below me, sucking me straight back to earth.
I screamed and fell from the branch of a tree. I rubbed my head and spun left to right. I'd been here before. The smell of coffee was as strong as I'd ever smelled it. This was Master Von's garden. That couldn't be right. It was destroyed years ago. A small girl looked at me her eyes flooding with worry. It didn't take a second to click. I raced up to her, hugging her tightly.
"Nella. You're alive." I said, holding back tears of relief.
Her face flushed red and she screamed, pushing me back on the dirt. "Y-y-you... Shouldn't be here." Her father, Master Von, was the second strongest mage in the city. He doted on his daughter like she were the world. It took me years to get his blessings.
"Nella? Are you ok? Who the hell are you?" Yatti said. He was Nella's first husband. But that was a political marriage. She never loved him. I assume.
"I'm Nella's future husband. How do you do." I smiled in contempt. Nella flushed again and hung her mouth open, stammering rejection.
Yatti gritted his teeth and stomped towards me. "You dare say that to her fiance?" He was going to kill me. I raised my arms ready to fight. My hands were small. I was still a child. I reached for my mana, it was so small I couldn't use even the most basic spell. Yatti was big. This wouldn't end well for me.
Yatti threw a punch and I spun past him, causing him to crash to the dirt. I grabbed Nella's hands and looked into her eyes. "I love you, I will win you back."
Her face was hot as fire and she started to stammer again. I smiled and ran towards the archway entrance. Waving goodbye. Yatti chased after me, his hands glowing red covered by fire.
I crashed into something as I watched Yatti's face twist in horror. I looked up, a mountain of a man wrapped in muscles covered with scars stared down at me.
"Didn't I tell you, no friends I don't know?" He growled at Yatti. The boy stood at attention and bowed.
"He's no friend, he's an intruder." Yatti said.
"Master Von," I said standing to my feet and grabbing his gigantic hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm in love with your daughter."
The man smiled, then chopped me on the head. "Fool. You are not worthy of my daughter."
I held my head holding back tears, "I'm a kid, why would you do that?"
He tilted his head back and laughed, "If you want her you'd have to take her from me."
"Dad!" Nella yelled.
"Father, I can handle--" Yatti started, but Master Von's glare cut him short.
"Understood Master Von, I accept your offer. I'll be back Nella." I winked.
Von laughed and squeezed my head, I thought it might burst. "You're a hundred years too early peasant runt." He said lifting me into the air.
I pinched my chin in thought. "No, it should only take me about two."
He tossed me out the gate, my body flailing helplessly as I smashed against the ground. "A stupid child like you has no reason to associate with my daughter."
"We'll see about that." I barked before scurrying away. I had a very long list of things to do and only thirty three years to do it. I would stop the dark lord, but first I needed some muscles.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this prompt, subscribe to /r/QuarkLaserdisc for more of my quirky Quark goodness!
Critiques and criticisms are always appreciated!
| 2019-01-27T14:46:07 | 2019-01-27T13:11:17 | 304 | 85 |
[WP] Years ago, you trapped a monster in a VHS tape. Naturally, it will go after anyone who watches it. Today, your tech-savy son announces that he's digitised your entire collection and uploaded it on a torrent site. Millions have downloaded the tape. | I have been waiting for a very long time.
​
I remember. I remember stalking my prey in the woods, using firelight as my guide. Visions of their fear-filled faces, cut by candlelight, swim in my dreams. I love it. I live for it. I remember swirling their terror with my fingers as they slept, watching their disgusting faces twitch and curl. Even when they were awake, I would spend days and weeks and months crafting the world around them. Gradually; a creak here, a shiver there - did they just see a shadow? Hear a voice? Who left that knife there?
​
They didn't know it was me. Not until I *wanted* them to know but by then.... they had always gone mad by then. Everything I do builds up, and they think they are alone. They are vulnerable. When they do meet me, they know it's the end.
​
The other monsters, they are too obvious for my liking. The *strigoi* were good at first... They prepared for their attacks, savoured them even. The *loup garous* struck fear into the hearts of many when they lived in the shadows. We monsters are made from the shadows... and we are punished for seeking the spotlight: they both got sloppy, and they all got caught. Soon, the others fell; the wicked *fae*, the ominous *kelpie,* the goblins and the banshee and the giants. As the humans got better with their wood and their metal and their machinery, all the monsters fell.
​
Not me.
​
I alone have kept the craft of fear alive. Until...
​
I don't know what went wrong. Was I not quick enough? Not slow enough? Not *good* enough? I had spent a particularly grueling length of time with a human family, gradually imbuing them with my essence. I was very proud of it. These new machines have given me so much *more* to work with; I controlled the light and the time on their clocks, the flow of water from the taps. I sharpened the shadows and lengthened the night and amplified the pitch of their terrible screams. I infiltrated the technology and cut the cords of their safety nets. I painted their dreams pitch black with my horror.
​
Maybe... I didn't think they would figure it out. I thought all humans were ignorant in the face of fear. In the face of me. Something was different here, though. They trapped me.
​
They trapped me, and I have been waiting for a very long time.
​
I am remembering all this, as I see a light penetrating this fuzzy darkness. I want to say the light is... pixelated? And it's getting closer. Closer. I feel a surge of elation, and I hope that I will finally be free to resume my nightmare reign.
​
The light swallows me up, and I can see *everyone*. I see *so many* human faces, illuminated blue, staring at me. I can't count them. It is so overwhelming. Who do I choose? Who do I follow? There are so many possibilities.
​
I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore. They're all *staring at me* and *I'm covered in light* and *where are my shadows?* I am so exposed. I have never felt this before. Is this what it feels to be... vulnerable? I hate it. It makes me feel sick. I can't do this.
Please make it stop.
Please make it
Please make
Please
Please
*Please*
\---------------------------------------------
EDIT: Typos.A/N: I know it's not quite what the prompt is asking for, but it's rare for me to actually be inspired so that's what came out! | I heard a familiar sound coming from the closet. This is impossible. How could it back? I had trapped it, once and for all. I get up and went to the closet. I put my ear to door and listened closely. Nothing. My imagination is probably playing tricks on me.
*rattle*
I turned around. Nothing. It cannot be. It’s there. Buried deep in a box called remnants. No one knows where it is. It cannot be back. No one will ever look at the video. It is trapped. Forever.
*rattle*
I turn around and find myself staring up at red eyes.
“Welcome to my world Cory.”
I can’t get the sound out of my head as it creeps towards me. My head is ringing as it comes closer and it...
*
I wake up in a puddle of sweat. My alarm is ringing. Extending my arm, I shut if off. I look at the time and two red eyes stare back at me. I drop the alarm and jump up off the bed. I slowly approach the alarm as if the ticking was something much more dangerous. I turn it around and it just says 6:00 am. Not eyes. I hold my head as I realize I have a nasty headache. I hear a knock on the door.
“Dad! Are you ok?”
“I’m fine Joseph. I just slipped and knocked the alarm clock off the table.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes son. You should get ready though. We have to leave in the next hour. I’ll take a shower and cook something.”
“Will do dad.”
I look at the alarm clock again. I haven’t dreamt about it for a long time. I hope I don’t ever dream of it ever again either. It’s a part of my life I want to forget. Desperately.
*
*rattle*
My eyes turn wide as I turn around.
“Dad! Wtf?” The car almost beers off the road.
“Language Joseph.”
“I think it was an appropriate time for a f bomb. What happened?”
“Did you hear something? A rattle?”
“A rattle? No. I didn’t hear anything.”
I look at his face closely. I almost believe him. But I see that sneaky smile. Like he knows something.
“You really didn’t hear it?”
“No of course not dad.”
There it is again. That smile. He knows something. He heard it too. I am sure of it. But why isn’t he saying something.
I don’t hear anything in the rest of the trip. But I keep an eye on him. And I see that smile multiple times. I am afraid. I am very afraid.
*
He is sitting at the study table. He doesn’t know I’m watching. But I am. And I see his eyes. I see the red in his eyes.
How did it get loose? I have to stop it. At any cost. I cry. I bawl my eyes out. He hears it and comes to me.
“Dad? What’s going on?”
“I am sorry son. I love you so much. More than anything in the world. Trust me.”
“I trust you dad.” *rattle* “and I love you too.” *rattle*
I look at him. His eyes have a reddish glow.
“Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“Your eyes are red.”
“Oh! I’ve been working on the computer for so long.” *rattle*
“That’s not it is it?”
“Ok you caught me.” *rattle* “I found a bunch of tapes in the attic. Some old vhs tapes. I digitalized them and put them up on tpb. People all over the world will be able to see it.” *rattle*
I know it now. I know for sure.
“I’ll be right back son.”
He is sitting behind the screen again. *rattle*
He doesn’t know what hits him. The butcher knife cuts deep. There is so much blood. I know where the rattle has been coming from. He’s been taken. This is for his own good. He’s going to be better now.
I stab and stab till there are only small pieces. I smear the blood across my face and howl. The mixture of blood and my tear flows across my face.
*rattle*
No! But how?
*rattle*
“That wasn’t me Cory. This is me now.”
I look behind me and stare up at the dark glowing eyes.
*rattle*
*
1992
Mrs Joseph looks at his son in the padded white room. She turns to the doctor standing next to her.
“Has he said anything?”
“No. Still the same. It’s the same thing.” She handed the page to his mother.
It makes you live,
It makes you love.
It makes you mad,
From out, in and above.
“What does it mean? And that tape? I see he still has it.”
“Yes. We tried to take it away but he started screaming. He won’t let go of it. Says that the world is in danger.”
“Will he ever get better?”
“Mrs Joseph. These things are difficult. We can never be sure. Don’t give up hope.”
Mrs Joseph sighs. She turns around to walk away when the doctor asks her something.
“Sorry doctor. I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”
“I said did you hear something. A rattle?” | 2019-07-03T16:05:04 | 2019-07-03T14:39:01 | 292 | 48 |
[WP] Rejected by the Federation Council for refusing to disband their military, humans ally themselves with the Thoran, the Federation’s resident warrior race. Warmongers, the Thoran find themselves enamored with humanity, and grow increasingly tired of the Federations attempts to “civilize” both. | "Section 17b of the Interstellar Treaty states that armed forces are strictly prohibited unless governed by the Federation. Failure to comply with this ruling will result in rejection and or expulsion from the council. It is our personal belief that this article should be struck down. Our individual military forces grant us security and safety in the face of dangers the Federation cannot prevent."
Sergeant Caleb Jones tossed the paper aside. Everyone here had heard the recital before. There was no need to divulge further. Jones nodded to Baker, who continued.
"The Federation has placed severe trade embargoes and even more severe travelling restrictions on us for our refusal to budge to their totalitarian decision. That is why we are here today," Baker exclaimed.
"You're here because you think we can change things?" Zan-Shuu scoffed. "The Federation hates us as much as they do you. They're convening as we speak on whether or not to kick us out. You think they'll listen to us?"
Jones stood up, shaking his head. "We gave them an ultimatum. Change the article in question or lift the restrictions upon us, otherwise there will be consequences. The council refused."
"What are you suggesting, human?" Lieutenant Xak-Trulz asked with interest. The symbols burned into the reptilian alien's flesh gave off a dim glow: a sign of high honour in warfare. Thoran often adorned themselves with such markings to indicate those whose excellence should be idolized. The closest thing humans had in turn were insignia and badges pinned to a leaf green suit.
"Due to our similar circumstances and beliefs, I am suggesting an alliance between our two peoples. Both of our races have long histories of warfare, extensive military knowledge and technology and a wish to keep it that way," Jones explained. The two Thoran glanced at each other for a moment, pausing to think, before Zan-Shuu responded.
"You know the Federation will not react kindly to our declaration. They will adamantly attempt to divert this course. Do you know what that calls of us, sergeant?" Zan-Shuu asked with glee and wonder in his otherwise cold and methodical voice.
"We're already set to go," Jones answered. The two Thoran once again took the time to stare at each other, this time communicating in their native tongue. Finally, Zan-Shuu turned his attention back to the humans.
"Then to war it is." | The two groups entered the large, dimly-lit room through different doors, filing inside and taking their seats around the ornate, circular, wooden table set directly underneath the splendid crystal chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling. The room was silent for a few moments as they settled. The leader of the Thoran, Marius, a tall, bulky man with a deeply scarred face, peered sternly around at his five accompanying men, then cast an appraising sort of look at the human representatives.
A faint sneer played across his thin mouth as his dark, cold eyes took in their appearances. For all the stories that he had heard about these so called *humans*, they were rather underwhelming: they were small and frail-looking, their hair freshly washed and neatly combed. Their eyes, unlike the Thoran, had whites to them, and they were darting nervously around the room.
A sudden rush of anger flooded through Marius's body — *these* were the people who had been causing so much trouble with their forces? But his furious criticism of the opposing party was suddenly interrupted; the human leader had just cleared her throat.
She had long, reddish-blonde hair that was swept over one shoulder, and large, amber eyes. "Good day," she said, in a cool voice that contrasted oddly with her anxious expression. None of the Thoran responded. "You know why we are here," she went on, not looking remotely abashed. Still, the Thoran held their silence, but a few fingers shifted restlessly under the table, as though itching to clasp themselves around the throats of the lesser party and squeeze the life from them.
"We have a proposal," the human continued. At this, Marius raised his eyebrows. The effect, however, did not so much as display suprise, but rather stretched his already mangled face so that his scars looked deeper and more gruesome.
"A proposal," he said in a harsh grunt.
"Indeed," she said briskly. "Our Military higher-ups have spoken, and we decided that we want to strike a deal." When, for the third time, she was met with silence, she went on. "The humans and the Thoran have all suffered great losses due to this — forgive the bluntness — *pointless* war, and so, we have decided that instead, we would look to promote peace. Our proposal will involve exchanges between our kinds, a select few humans to live amongst the Thoran, and vice-versa."
Eyebrows all around the Thoran side of the table launched into the air, one man pulled a face of a kind of savage incredulity, and another actually snorted with mirthless laughter. But Marius had done nothing of the sort. His dark eyes had locked with the pale of the human leader, who looked apprehensive, but she did not blink or break the visual embrace. There was a long silence, and then Marius spoke.
"We accept," he said, in as soft a grunt as he could muster.
His men leapt into the air and let out cries of shock and outrage, and he stood too. He fixed them with a look so ferocious that, not only did they fall silent at once, they actually looked away, as though frightful that his gaze might burn them. Marius slowly turned back to the human leader, who had stood up, too.
"If you will accompany me, we can sort out the details," he said, and now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows, for she had detected a slight pur in his rough voice.
But she recovered herself at once. "Of course," she said.
"Then let us walk. We can discuss in the carriage."
She followed him to the door, both signaled to their associates to disperse as well, and they left.
r/MysticScribbles | 2020-04-16T09:07:41 | 2020-04-16T08:16:59 | 363 | 157 |
[WP]Assasins live life as outcasts. Away from the public eye, they are hard to find. But they still get mail. You are the postman for a secret division of USPS that caters to these criminals. | The name on the envelope was barely legible. If the Postman looked closely at the smudged, rain-splattered ink, he could see that it said *The Viper*. Address unknown, of course. Just like all the other mail.
The Postman had made many deliveries to outcast assassins over the years. Most weren't that hard to find, really, once you knew where they liked to hide. Some had isolated cabins in the wilderness; others preferred fancy hotels with continental breakfast. There were a few who were slightly more extreme, bordering on mentally ill (like the Rat King, who lived with his trained rats in the sewers, teaching them not just how to kill but also how to add numbers and tap dance), but even they were able to receive mail.
The Viper, though, was an impossibility. The Postman had carried this particular envelope for twenty years. It would always sink to the bottom of his mail bag before inevitably rising up again, like a sea monster surfacing for air, to remind him of his failures. But no matter how many hotels he cased, how many woods he combed, or even how many sewers he walked through, the Postman could never find the Viper. In a way the assassin had become his white whale.
Once he found the Viper, the Postman figured, he could retire a happy man. Or at least a content one.
Today, finally, might be the day. The Postman had received a tip from the Rat King for Christmas. A holiday card with a gift certificate for knives ("You can use them as letter openers, probably," according to the postscript) and a message that said: "The Viper can be found at the beginning."
The Postman had mulled over the tip for weeks. The beginning of what? Time? Life? The universe? In the end he reached the only conclusion he possibly could.
The beginning of him. The beginning of everything.
And so the Postman found himself walking up the path to his childhood home. It had been abandoned for twenty years, or so he thought; the windows were now brightly curtained and smoke was unfurling from the chimney. The snow on the worn brick path was sloshy in some areas, treacherously icy in others, but the Postman didn't mind. These little surprises were what kept the job interesting. And it kept his mind off what was waiting for him in the house ahead. What if he didn't want to retire? What if he didn't want to deliver the envelope he'd held onto for twenty years? In a way it had become a part of him, and that part didn't want to let go.
But all things must come to an end. Even the bad things. Even this.
The Postman knocked on the door. For a moment he was certain it wouldn't open, that it had in fact never been opened in his lifetime, but then it did and he found himself looking at the Viper.
He hadn't seen the Viper in twenty years.
The Postman should have hated the Viper, should have taken out one of his letter-opener knives and slit the man's throat. That was what he would have done ten years ago, anyway, or even five years ago. How could he forgive a man who had left his only child at a Training Academy for a Secret Division of the Post Office? How could he believe a man who had said, "I love you, I am doing this to keep you safe," but then vanished without a trace?
But time changes us all. Even the Postman. And, surprisingly, even the Viper.
The Viper looked at the Postman for a long time. Then he reached out for the envelope. Both men knew what would be in the letter: the furious words of an abandoned son, the upset pleas for his father to return. The pain of a child who had been protected in such a way he wished he had never been born at all. The Viper knew all this, and though he would make the same choice all over again he also knew he deserved to be hated. He had accepted it long ago.
But the Postman was older now, and he'd had to make sacrifices along the way too. How many times had he priotized the mail over other aspects of his life? How many times had he repeated "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night" and trudged on as if he'd never been called anything other than the Postman? And what did he want more: to deliver a letter he'd written so long ago he could barely remember what was in it, or to regain what he had lost?
Before the Viper could take the envelope, the Postman tore it in half. Then in half again. But then he hesitated. What next? It wasn't customary for graduates of the Training Academy to socialize with assassins (other than the annual holiday card, of course).
The Viper understood all of this. He opened the door wider, an invitation to return home. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
The Postman knew he could either leave the Viper behind the way he'd been left behind twenty years ago, or he could make what might perhaps be an even more difficult decision and stay. All those years, all that mail delivered, and in the end it had all come down to this: leave or stay.
He stayed. | “Just two today?” You asked.
“Yeah, seems the virus has even got these guys scared,” your manager replied, without so much as glancing in your direction.
“Alright, short day then,” you said blissfully as you leave the stock room with the deliverables in your hand.
In your left hand is a yellow envelope, petite, but made from a heavier grade paper than what you’d usually find. The front of it is adorned with a beautiful spiral etching, just faint enough to be seen when held up to the sunlight. On the back, a pressed seal, depressed deeply by a stamp in the shape of a circle. To an untrained eye this might look nothing more than a wedding invitation, but you knew the instant you saw it that it wasn’t going to be a short day.
“Crud, this one’s for him,” you murmured under your breath.
“What, ya say something?” Your manager shouts back at you from inside.
You quietly tuck the envelope inside your jacket and hurry out of the post office.
In your right hand is a small black box, not much bigger than the ones used for jewellery. Suede on the outside with no seal. Strange, you thought to yourself, these things are usually sealed. Someone must’ve messed up if they forgot.
A dangerous thought crosses your mind. You’ve always wanted to see what was in these packages. Was it name? A phone number? An object? You can’t, you argue to yourself. It’s a federal offence to open someone’s mail. Even mail that belongs to “them.”
What if you opened it and you knew the person? Or the thing? Or even if you didn’t know them but could do something to help? Would you just pretend like you didn’t see it? You shuddered at the thought as you got into your van.
Best not. It’d be too much trouble.
—
The whole drive over you supressed your urge to open the box. And now that you’ve finally arrived in front of the metal gate, you’re wondering what the harm could be? The box looks easy enough to open, and doesn’t seem difficult to close.
You tug the top of the box lightly, and feel that the lid has a little bit of a spring, like what you’d find in ring boxes.
*Sigh*
You look up at the gate in front of you.
“No, not today,” you said aloud, as you tuck the box into your other jacket pocket.
—
It takes longer than usual for someone to answer the buzzer.
“Yes?” a mechanically altered voice comes through the speakerphone.
“Mail,” you replied sternly, as you’ve been instructed to do.
“For?”
“One for him, and a small box.”
“For?”
You paused. Wait a minute, you thought. The box had no mark or symbols, and nothing was attached to it. Usually there’s some type of indication on the mail to identify who (or what group) it was for, at least in a general sense.
“Uhm, it’s just a small black box, nothing on it.”
“Black?” the voice replied.
“Yeah.”
“Bring it to the door.”
The gate starts opening. Wait. They want you to go to the door? This has never happened before. They usually just ask you to put it down by the gate and leave.
“Hold on, can’t I just leav—“ you stop when you realize that the speakerphone has already been disconnected. Well fuck, you thought. You don’t want to walk up to the door but you also don’t want to piss off whoever was speaking to you just now.
After a deep breath, you walk up the marbled walkway up to the door. The door swings open, and a man stands behind it with his face covered by a mask. Was this a covid precaution? Or did they always do this?
“The letter?” asked the man in the doorway.
“He-here,” you stuttered as you pulled out the yellow envelope from you jacket and handed it over.
He examines the envelope in his hand for several seconds and looks back at you.
“Now show me the box.”
You pull the box out from your jacket slowly, making sure not to open it by accident. The man, standing perfectly still, looks at the box for a few seconds then looks up at you.
“Come in,” he commanded.
“Oh, I think I’ll just drop these off with you if that’s alright.”
“Now.”
“O—okay.” you said.
You walk through the marble doorway. A mansion with a beautiful spiral staircase greeted you. On the left side is a living room with a ceiling that seems to span three storeys, and the right an indoor garden complete with bamboo shoots.
“Up the stairs, first door to your left.” The man said as he watched you come in.
“Thanks,” you responded impulsively.
You start up the stairs with your pace hurried and your heart-rate quickened.
The first door to your left was a black door covered in a suede material. Matches the box, you thought to yourself, but an odd choice for a door. The door appeared closed at first but was actually open by a smidge.
You knock on the suede. No response. The suede doesn’t do well for knocking.
“Hello?” you asked.
No answer. So you decide to slowly push the door open.
The door was heavy, much heavier than you imagined. Inside was a windowless room. A bright lamp hung at the top but otherwise there was no other source of light. A wooden table sat in the middle of the room.
You walk to the table quickly and place the box at the centre. Hurriedly, you make your way back to the door but see that the door is closed somehow. You look down and realize that there’s no door handle on the inside. Somebody had closed it from the outside.
Your heart races.
“Hey!” You shout at the top of your lungs. “I can’t get out!”
You pound on the door from the inside. No one answers.
You shout again while hammering the door with your fist. The room is eeriely quiet on the inside, almost like its sound proof.
And then you stop. Your heart sinks as your brain overcomes the initial fight-or-flight instinct.
You look back at the small black box on the table and slowly make your way towards it. Your hands trembling as you picked up the box from the table.
Your eyes darted to the inside of the box as you open the lid.
Nothing. The box was totally empty.
There was no name, no number, and no message in the box.
You stood in confusion and shock for a moment.
It was in that moment the truth dawned on you—the message was the box.
The room suddenly goes dark; and that was the last you ever saw of light. | 2020-06-22T02:31:11 | 2020-06-22T02:22:16 | 1,255 | 45 |
[WP] You’re a superhero who has decided to start dating. You quickly become frustrated as your dates are interrupted by the villain’s schemes. Then, you meet a girl and begin spending entire evenings uninterrupted. Little do you know, you’re dating your nemesis. | "Mr. Magnus, sir!"
"The villain... escaped, sir. Last sighted speeding down 31st street." The detective looked dejected as he surveyed the cafe. Well, I guess it's nothing more than singed ruins now.
"...Casualty report?" I vigorously rubbed my hands on my face. Maybe the ash coming off of my gloves would be enough to hide my embarrasment.
I was terribly off my game today. My third date with Jane was going so well. We had plenty of common interests, I liked her sense of humor... not to mention that laugh.
I may be a top-ranked hero, but even I can be starstruck sometimes.
It's been a while since my day off hadn't been interrupted by one of Glacia's schemes so just 'chilling' (pun not intended) with Jane was the most fun I've had in a while.
Until that miserable excuse for a human being showed up and...!
What does the Villain League have against my love life anyway?! This is the 21st. The TWENTY-FIRST date (not counting Jane) they've ruined since I downloaded that blasted app!
Damn it. I shouldn't be-
"...er, sir? Sir?"
*Huh?* Oh right. "Yes, Detective?"
He blinked at me.
Great, now he probably thinks that I've gone off my rocker.
"No casualties, none wounded, sir. You managed to distract the Singer enough to minimize human risk." He looks at a broken piece of signage.
"Although..."
"Magnus!" A brunette wearing a yellow coat breaked free from two officers and ran towards us. "Magnus, sir, you have to help. Please."
Even underneath her ash-streaked face, I can tell she's beautiful. I slowly put a hand on her shoulder to calm her trembling.
"Yes. How can I help you, ma'am?" I ask, turning the 'authoritative' switch on. Enough moping about your date, Max. People need help.
"Please, I-. It's my date, Max. I mean, he's..."
Max? That's me! Is she...?
"He's missing. I can't find him."
-part one ends- | Part 1/X
Every date I ever had become a fragmented, shattered memory due to my nemesis, literally. All of my dates, within seconds, were turned to ice on the spot, only to fall to pieces at my feet. I was a speedster. The fastest woman alive.
I acquired my powers in a horrible turn of events. Before my powers, I was a nobody. My name is Janette Miles and this is my story of how I got my speed...
"Shit! I am gonna be late to work! My boss is gonna kill me!" I wasn't the fastest runner by any means. Hell, I was always last to complete the mile run around the track in high school all the time. But I always gave it my all.
I heard a voice, feminine in nature, but colder than the deepest reaches of space.
"Yes, you are right. Your life will end, but not at the hands of your boss!" As I turned around in shock and horror, my feet were frozen in place.
"What the hell?! I can't move!" I tried to pull myself free, but the ice was too thick. "Help! Someone! What do you want from me, Snow Piercer?!"
Two more villains appeared alongside her, Killerwatts and Cosmic Fallout.
"I want to experiment on you, give you superpowers to see you become a villain... if you are lucky enough to survive that is!" Snow Piercer let out laughter as cold and empty as the arctic.
"I do not want this! I have a life that I enjoy!" I screamed as I was crying at the same time. The fear of being some plaything to a few freakshows in hopes that I become a villain, let alone survive, was a maddening prospect and not how I planned to start my day.
"It isn't about what you want, this is about what I want! The death, then reincarnation of the greatest villain to ever live! Now you two, do your thing!"
Before I could cry out for help again, I was hit by lightning and cosmic energy at the same time. I didn't know what was happening, and then I knew nothing at all as white light started to appear from the cracks along my skin just before I exploded, scattering white lightning in various directions, creating scorch marks all along the ground and on various buildings.
..........
"Yvonne! Your cold brew coffee is ready!" I heard the barista of Cold Brew call my name. I got up and walked to get my drink. I paid for it and left a small tip before heading out the door. "36 months... and nothing..." I muttered to myself. They used to call me Snow Piercer, but, since the day Janette died, I couldn't bring myself to do much of anything.
Truth be told, I just wanted a nemesis. Someone to fight against who could compete with my cold powers. Whisper promised it would work. After all, he may have been quiet and humble, but he was the greatest scientist who ever lived. Before his age caught up to him.
After Janette died, I went back to base, told Whisper I was taking an extended vacation, then heading home.
I felt my phone go off in my pocket. Startled by the sound, I dropped my cold coffee, but it was as if watching it in slow motion. But, one moment it was seconds from hitting the ground and the next it was back in my hands. "W-what?"
I turned around, looking everywhere for who could have saved my coffee before I could even blink, but there wasn't a soul. Then I saw it, on the lid of my coffee, a little white lightning bolt, briefly, before it disappeared, leaving a small scorch mark in the plastic. I grinned while drinking from the straw...
To be continued... | 2020-08-02T23:52:20 | 2020-08-02T22:04:23 | 38 | 28 |
[WP] You're the most powerful villian in the world. Formerly. Now you run a bar, that works as a neutral zone for heros and Villians alike. One day, a hotshot hero tries to arrest you. | Sometimes, the past comes to haunt you.
Everyone makes mistakes. You rob a convenience store one day because you’re hungry, and a week later you’re robbing a bank for the thrill. A little later you decide to take on some help. *You* never called them minions... things have a way of getting out of hand.
Still, that was a long time ago. Eventually it stopped being fun, and you talked to the heroes, told them you were done. They’d come by to check, you’d give them a drink... one thing lead to another, and now you traffic in booze...
I shook my head. The story I tell myself of how I got here. I never totally understood it, myself. Still, there were customers to serve, and today was no different.
It was absolutely absurd to look at the patrons. Everyone in crazy getups, bitter rivals drinking together, knowing that outside they might try and kill each other. I looked to a few of the staff. People who’d gotten out of the game like me. The speech helped them as much as it helped me.
Today was a tiny bit slow, but it’d pick up. I was washing out a mug when some kid in a leather jacket came in. I looked at him and said, “Damn. You must be one of those 90’s heroes.” I poured him a whiskey sour, but then he took off his jacket, revealing a sleek, modern suit.
I stared at him and said, “It’s $13 for the drink.”
His response terrified me.
“Foul villain! I’ve come to bring you into the powerful arms of **Justice!**” It was incredible. You could hear how emphatic justice was. Like one of those crazy panels from a comic book that said “Bam!”
I said, with some well reasoned fear, “Look, buddy, take the drink on the house. You don’t wanna do this. It’s not sa—“
“Your threats won’t work on me!” he boomed. And that’s when he made the worst mistake of his life. He grabbed me.
Everything happened so fast, but for me it was all in slow motion. Two glasses clinked just slightly too hard. A small shard flew off, and struck the hero in the eye. Someone’s bottle fell over, rolled around, and the hero slipped on it. He stumbled onto a chair, but it gave way, and he fell onto one of the legs. It stabbed him, but he was tough; still, he staggered back, reeling from at least genuine discomfort, if not true pain. He reeled into the door swinging open, and he took it to the head.
I sighed. “You better go check on your family, pal. You grabbed me pretty rough. I never had much control over my power, so they could be in real trouble. I hope not... but only you know what you were doing.”
I dusted myself off. A few veterans helped the guy to his feet (and had a few choice words with him), and then the night went on. More drinks to sell. | Take a seat kid, lemme pour you a little drink.
Heh, ya know, they always told me I’d end up behind bars, I guess they were almost right. I’ve been runnin’ this place for a while now. Started out as an accident, I was staked out here and had scheduled a hero on my payroll to come over but I had also told another villain friend of mine that he could hide out here with me. Lemme tell you, I was sweating bullets for a good half hour, just waiting for something to go down. But everyone was chill, and I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Actually, there they are now, The Gardener and Onyx Warlock.
Anyways, where was I? Right. So, there I was, wondering what do and Warlock asks if I can have some friends over, I wasn’t sure, I looked over at Gardener and he just shrugged and said he was cool as long as he could call in a couple of his own friends. At this pointer, I was pretty much sure the city was going to be gone by tomorrow morning, they might not look like it but those to could certainly level this block at least before you could blink your eye.
So people start showing up, The Ruby Lady, Jaurano, Comrade, Freespirit, Eighth Walker. The place was starting to get a little lively, and the someone, I still don’t know who, cracked upon a bottle of whiskey or something. Now lemme tell you, at this point I was CONFUSED. People were laughing for Holy-man’s sake! And it wasn’t just supes and villains kn their own groups either, it was what you see here. Ha, I bet I looked just like you did after you busted in here jabbering on about arresting me, ha!
Now, if you’d humor me, which you will, during that moment it clicked, I think I know why this works. Oh, hey there, John, another glass please! Sorry, yeah, anyways, you see, I’ve found that you can sum everything up that happens out there as, well, a game. And you may thing, a game is an innocent enough thing, right? Well, perhaps it isn’t you see, when you have a game set in-front of you, theres two parts to it. What do you have to do, and what can’t you do, that stops you from doing it. When you play the game, you’re submitting yourself to these rules, but a good game is sly about this, it lets you believe that these rule are put upon you. And you follow them without even questioning it, chasing and chasing and chasing your end goal, thats always dangling out away and infront of you. A carrot on a stick.
Out there, theres a Great Game going on. Its a game that was started long before you or I were born and probably will continue on long after us. Few people even realize their playing, but they still feel the constraints the rules put on them. Thats the magic of this place. Without a word, theres an understanding here that rules stop at the door. In here, we can simply see each other as people.
Yup. Hmm... whats that? Oh, whats the goal of the Great Game? Well, thats the funny part isn’t. Personally I think the goal is whatever you make it, but heck what do I know. Sure I’ve seen from the peak ya know? Climbed and climbed until there was simply no where left to go. My goal was to find out if Olympus really had a summit, and it does. But then what. Youngster. Let me tell you what. I’ve done something horrible to you. You unfortunately now know the secret of the Great Game. And now its on you to be careful. Be careful what rules you let hold dominion over you. Be careful where you set your sights, because you might just get there.
Me? Well, now a days, I’ve found my new summit and its here. The rules of the game tear us apart. Into two tribes: A and B, Red vs. Blue, Heroes or Villains. My goal is to heal those wounds. But eh, what do I know? I’m just an old timer after all. Here, take another, go meet some of the regulars, your tabs on the house tonight.
Oh and son? I’d kindly appreciate it if you’d fix up the hole you left in the wall sooner rather than later. | 2020-10-10T01:13:01 | 2020-10-10T00:46:14 | 37 | 17 |
[WP] Some say that your power is future sight. Others insist that you have superhuman intellect. They're wrong. Your power is the ability "Quicksave." | I'm laughing. Laughing so hard my kidneys are hurting. Laughing so damn hard I might just piss myself. It's all so fucking hilarious.
The old lady sitting next to me doesn't seem to think so. Her face is contorted with shock and horror as she inches away from me, wrinkly white knuckles clenching a frayed designer handbag to her chest. I guess I can't blame her. A lot of crazies on this flight.
Her name's Carol Miller. 76 years old from Savannah, Georgia. Eight grandchildren -- 5 boys, 3 girls. She loves gardening, cross stitch, and Christian romance novels, and she recently lost her husband, Rick, in a single car accident. By now, she's told me the story a million times. Dark road, gravel patch, Georgia pine. But if I'm being honest here, I barely gave a shit the first time she told me. Listening to complete strangers is just something that polite people do when they are trapped in the middle seat on a cross-Atlantic flight, right?
And I am a *very* polite person.
"THERE'S NOWHERE TO FUCKING GO, CAROL! YOU'RE IN THE *WINDOW* SEAT."
Carol is beyond speechless as she continues to pancake herself against the right side of the airplane. Sensing a disturbance, Tom from Denver lifts one headphone and looks at me inquisitively from his up-charged aisle seat. Some braindead chapter of 'The Art of the Deal' comes droning out as I flash him the universal hand sign for "let me by, I need to pee." Tom graciously pulls his knees inward, giving me the two-inches of clearance necessary to climb over his legs. Returning the favor, I opt to pass by with my crotch facing away from him. I resist the urge to blow ass in his smug face. He's lucky this time.
In the back of the plane is Wendy, the forbidden fruit of United Airlines. I give her a slight nod as I squeeze myself into one of the lavatories. The face staring back at me from the mirror is flushed and manic. Einstein once said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Einstein was wrong. True insanity is doing different things over and over again while knowing that nothing will ever change.
For me, my insanity started long ago with a sly wink from Wendy as she came by with the drink cart. Mile High Club, here I come! And it wouldn't even be a challenge, I thought at the time, not with my so-called gift. To Wendy, it would just look like the world's most amazing party trick as I successively guessed her height, then her weight, then her birthday, her favorite drink, her life story, her bra size... and finally her innermost thoughts and kinks.
Like any well-executed magic trick, though, perfecting the skill is simply a matter of repetition. When I was a kid, I discovered that I could root myself at a given point in time, like a 'quicksave' in a video game. Going forward, I could then jump back to that earlier point over-and-over-and-over and try it all again. Worried about being blindsided by a question on a test? Problem solved. Overcooked the chicken casserole? Undone and done. Just stepped in dog crap? Shit, it's all good! There's nothing you can't do or undo when time is your plaything... including successfully picking up a flight attendant at 35,000 feet.
And in that split second when Wendy winked at me, my dick made an impulsive decision without consulting my brain. Quicksave Successful.
17 attempts later, I got her to tell me her birthday. 132 attempts after that, the color of her panties. On reload #198, she was blowing me in the lavatory. By reload #250 I had it all down to a science. Every question. Every comment. Every step necessary to get what I wanted. But after a while, you realize that there's nothing sporting about going hunting in the grocery store.
And so after a few dozen more rounds of predictable gameplay, I decided to press onward and simply remain seated... maybe get to know my fellow passengers while I wait for the plane to land.
But it doesn't land. It never lands. I've been trapped for an eternity in this flying prison.
In about 8 minutes, an undetectable fuel leak will explode in a ball of flame, rupturing the fuselage and sending pieces of the turbine slicing through the cabin. Passengers seated in Rows 7 through 18 will be sucked into the void as oxygen masks whip around uselessly from the ceiling. The plane will roll to its side and begin a nose-first dive toward the Atlantic Ocean below. And at some point in all of this chaos and screaming, I will reload back to my 'quicksave' where a beautiful flight attendant with a drink cart will be smiling at me.
"Reload 21,602,988," says the face in the lavatory mirror... but who's counting? | Have you ever heard of the concept of Quantum Immortality? Turns out, it's a thing, sort of. I found that out the day the world ended. I lost count of how many times I had to repeat that day before I found out the reason why, but an antimatter comet crashed into the planet during a pretty severe thunderstorm. Just my luck that it was the surprise thunderstorm that I had to fly through, I suppose. I may not understand all the quantum physics behind it, but from the many times I had to relay the information to all the top scientists, apparently, the lighting struck the comet and the positive charge from the lighting forced the antimatter to exist in both a negative and positive charge. This one in infinity event caused the properties of antimatter to not destroy matter but time. Because I was the one closest to the sudden explosion of anti-temporal radiation I was imbued with a vast amount of the stuff. Ironically, being so close to the explosion is what saved me from death. As my body broke down, the radiation reversed time fast enough to "heal" the damage. That's not the only side effect the antitemporal radiation gave me, however. Suddenly, I was experiencing random events of minute time travel.
​
I couldn't manipulate the effect at first. It would happen at completely unexpected moments, getting cut off in traffic, returning home from work, and feeding my pets, while on a date, to name a few. The time travel was varied as well, sometimes I would find myself a few minutes back in time and others I would find myself at the start of the month. I went to the same scientists who were able to figure out what caused my time loops, but they couldn't help me. While they knew the process of my time travel, they never could find the cause. I had to do that myself, and it took at least a couple of lifetimes for me to discover the reason. It turns out my brain had absorbed the radiation into my synapses. Anytime I felt a significantly strong enough emotion, the chemicals released by my brain would cause the synapses to fire and release a portion of that radiation. Once I was able to figure out the cause behind it, I set to work on how to control it.
​
I'll skip through how I was able to figure out how it worked and manipulate it and explain how it works instead. Depending on what I do, I can emit positive radiation the "destroys" the future and negative radiation that "destroys" the past. Left alone, they don't have any effect on the time stream, but if they run into each other the gap of time that they covered is erased from history. But was it ever history if it never happened? Who knows. This allows me to create a "save point" in time that I can return to by releasing positive radiation and return to it by releasing negative radiation.
​
At first, I abused this to no end. I would binge as many episodes of a tv show as I could, and then return to the morning and watch some more. I would call my boss an entitled egotist whose strive for power and power alone is why nobody respected him and that his wife was cheating on him with his brother. But that soon became a living hell, I was being involved with guilt and remorse but on the outside, everyone praised me for being the one who figured out that the world was ending and got the scientists to end it. I tried heroics for a while, but that didn't fulfill me either. I could save a kitten stuck in a tree, or stop a bank robbery, and break up mobs, but then I would get home and read about how many people in the world went hungry or had no homes. I would read about millions of people experiencing unjust suffering on a global scale.
​
It left me jaded and hateful. I loved humanity, but I was tired of the level of ignorance and stubbornness they had shown. Thus came my "villain" phase. I had believed that if humanity had a single enemy to unite around they could come together. I knew that I was the only one competent enough to make it happen. My plots ranged from heinous to comical, to absurd. The closest I ever got was a plan to burn out the sun in a one-second burst of all the fuel it had. But in the end, it still didn't play outright. Pretty much every global superpower immediately formed as a task force to stop me, but everything went to shit once I let them capture me. America argued they should be the ones to hold me, prisoner, since they were the ones who caught me first, Russia argued they should get to hold me because I was working in Siberia at the time, And China thought they should get to hold me since they were a neutral party. Of course, none of those were the actual reasons, what they really wanted was for me to work with them to help develop weapons or some other violent and petty desire.
​
Now? Well, my life now is probably pretty drab compared to what anyone who isn't me might be thinking about doing. I'm an assistant to the most powerful leader in the world, President Kanye West. I'm always here, whispering solutions to every major world problem I can think of. Some of you may doubt this, but the original world was an awful place. Countries that existed in a state of war constantly, millions of people starving to death, oppression from both countries and corporations across the world, people putting pineapple on pizza. The list of atrocities committed in my original world is endless, ranging from comic book supervillaiesque to nauseatingly violent and destructive. I don't regret giving up the endless pursuit of pleasure I used to live in, and I don't regret giving up fame and praise for being a "hero." Some of you may doubt what I say, but it's true. The Mandela effect isnt just a collective false memory, it has to do with how close you were to the original comet explosion. It seems the more I quicksave, the more memories from alternate times people remeber. It may be inevitable that humanity remebers my misdeeds, and if they do I am writing this note to let them know I'm sorry. Until then, I am going to try my hardest to make this world one I can stay in forever
Edit; This is the first time over ever written for fun, please don’t be to harsh. Constructive criticism would be appreciated | 2020-12-15T14:47:09 | 2020-12-15T14:29:36 | 104 | 32 |
[WP] The lone survivor of a shipwreck clings to a piece of debris in the ocean. A mermaid comes up to him and offers to take him to a safe place - Atlantis. | Sky. Water. Thirst. Sky. Water. Thirst. Days like that. I can’t even think about the torpedo. The one that hit us. I don’t care where the U-boat is now. The one that found us. I’ll bet they got water, at least. More likely they’ll just machine gun me. They’re probably off torpedoing another ship. No need to waste ammo on little old me.
I tried to stay near the bodies at first, then I didn’t. They started to bloat. Don’t want to be anywhere near that when I die. I figure I’ll just float here, forget there’s a war, focus on the sky, focus on the sea, wait for a rescue plane. Peaceful-like. But then again, there’s this god damn thirst. Hadn’t counted on that. I thought I knew what thirst felt like.
“No. No Lord I did not. Now I do.” I want to open my mouth from head to toe and let the water just spill in, like a whale. “Keep your water. Keep it. Like you don’t have enough. Keep it. Keep it. I’m fine. Keep it.”
The ocean makes a game of it. A swell bears me a little closer to that sky. At the apex I say it again. “Keep it. No, really. I’m not thirsty. Keep your water.”
I’m losing it. It’s this damn thirst. I’ll think of a new game, like, who definitely did not make it into the water?
There was this kid, we called him little orphan Andy. He had parents, that’s not the point. Point is he hated his nickname. Good sailor. Nineteen years old and already has a wife and kid back home. Definitely didn’t make it into the water. Maybe he lived for a while in an air pocket. See, that sounds bad. Air pocket living has got to be more like asking which way is up and how much do I need to breathe today?
Another swell. “Keep it. I couldn’t possibly.”
“Who are you talking to?”
There she is. The Angel of Death. All green eyes and wet hair flowing over pearlescent shoulders. I ask her if I could have a drink before I go.
“Go?”
“Yes.” I say. “I’m about done here. Don’t look at me like that.”
“Look at you like what?”
“Like that, the way you’re looking now. Stop. I can’t even look at you. You’re a fig-a-ment of my imagination. You’re every girl back home. A vision. I can’t look.” I float on my back.
Sky.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No.” I ask for her name.
“Iona.”
“That’s not a name I’ve ever heard.”
“No, of course not.”
Did she just blush? The sun is setting. I’m about to lose the sky.
“I can help you but…”
I tell her I have to finish what I started. There’s a war I signed up for. I can’t abide any ifs ands or buts. When I get on with all the explaining I have to do to the Heavenly Father I can’t put quitter on the list. No I cannot.
“Oh, you can still fight the men in the metal tubes. The iron cross men. The red flag men. I don’t know what you call them. We kill them. There are so many, though.”
I ask her about this “we.” She smiles and hands me a black egg. It slips through my fingers and lands in the water. I scoop it up and hold it in both hands.
“Crush it.”
I obey. A black mass, like oil, flows from the egg. It floats on the surface of the water. It surrounds me. I raise my hand through the slick and the muck clings to me. It won’t wash off.
“Relax.” She’s next to me. Her skin is as hot as a Diesel engine. I am close enough to smell her hair. I don’t know that smell. It’s what the North Pole probably smells like. No, maybe the Northern Lights. She grabs a handful of my hair above each ear and pulls my head under. A moment of silence and I surface. The black mass covers my face and mouth. I taste something sweet.
No. Not sweet. That’s fresh water. I drink and drink. Everything is getting darker. Her warm hand is in mine. Which way is up? I don’t care. I drink more. “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you home. Mine.”
What’s down there?
She laughs. “The world. Most of the world. Be quiet. You’re almost home.” | His arm was the only piece of him in the water.
The fingers were limp, hanging off his palm like dying kelp stuck in the corner of a whale's mouth. Pale in the filtered sunlight.
Arin’s eyes shifted from his trimmed fingernails up to his slim arm. He would never survive on his own - she had seen stronger men than him succumb to the ocean, and they weren’t on a piece of broken processed wood.
Some piece of the man’s ship, surely. Had he come from the sky, he’d be clinging to metal or cloth. None of them would have helped him not nearly as much as she could.
She swam up to the surface, staying in the shadow of his flimsy flotation device while she made her final decision. She could save him - although it wouldn’t be easy, and it wouldn’t be without repercussions.
The last one she had brought hadn’t been so grateful.
The man groaned from above her, and Arin felt her stomach tighten into a knot. There was a piece of her that couldn’t simply let a living creature die alone and miserable - as annoying as the piece was, it was too loud for her to ignore. She swam out from underneath the debris and broke the surface.
She brought her face to his eye-level and treaded in place at a semi-safe distance. He would be able to reach her if she tried, but he would also roll of his safety if he tried to do so.
“Hello,” she said. Her words came out soft, lifted at the end - ultimately unsure what the state of his mind would be. Trauma did funny things; she understood well how chaotic it could be.
The man didn’t move.
She inched herself closer to his face and tried again. “Hello?” she said—a bit louder, a bit higher, a bit more curious about the state of things.
The man didn’t move.
A smile crossed Arin’s face. It didn’t change things - at least it didn’t change her mind. The decision was to take him into safety, and the wood would let her do that. Just a bit of a different effort was all.
Adjusting herself once more, Arin grabbed onto the edge of the busted vessel with both hands. She tucked her head and pushed with her tail. It took a moment for leverage to arrive, but once she got both of them moving, it was easy enough to keep that in motion.
So she pushed the man, who occasionally groaned, across the water for the better part of the afternoon, pulling into the water when the sun got too hot on her skin or when her tail needed the break.
He still didn’t move, and she didn’t touch him.
Not until she reached the island that marked her destination. She took a breath, wrapped her arms around his legs, and pulled.
She wrapped her arms around his body, whispered into his ear, and swam downward as fast as she could. Halfway into the darkness of the ocean, he finally moved, pulling at her arms and pushing at her shoulders with a wild look in his eyes.
Arin gave him a sympathetic look, gripping onto him tighter and urging her body to move faster. It would likely be worse if she paused to help mid-journey, and he wouldn’t be able to understand her in the water anyways.
There was *supposed* to be a discussion, and a deal before humans made the trip. Although she cursed herself for trying to take the lazy way out, she knew it was already too late. He was on his way to safety, and it wouldn’t take them that much longer to get there.
She understood it was scary. Even those that knew what to expect wondered if they would drown on the way -- but they didn’t. She had never lost anyone between the surface and the gates of the city. They just had to stay the course.
He continued pushing and trying to scream until they reached the metal arch that marked her home's entrance. His eyes went wider, mouth slack.
Arin smiled.
She pulled him inside after the guards opened the gate for her, swam through a set of stone doors that moved on their own. One hand let go of his torso while the other dug in deeper,and she reached upward to grab a mask that was hidden in the corner of the hallway and pushed it onto his face.
She watched his panic rise until he gasped for air, and it was replaced by confusion.
She nodded. There would be a lot of that for a little while. Most people were confused when they first reached Atlantis.
***
Luke stood in the middle of a bridge, hands-on the slick metal railing and eyes down on the water underneath. “I’m dreaming.”
Arin laughed. “You’re not! I've told you a hundred times already.” She leaned back so she could lay on the water and look up at him. Under the dome, the sun didn’t dry her out or burn her.
“I died in the wreck then. Drowned and eaten by a shark.” Luke’s eyes swam over her body before they looked upwards at his surroundings. He was not adjusting easily.
“Do I look like a shark?” Arin asked, smacking her tail on the water. Droplets of water landed on his feet.
“Maybe I don’t know what a shark looks like anymore. This is supposed to be a myth.”
“That's on purpose. For obvious reasons.”
He shook his head. “Obvious reasons.”
“Technology,” Arin said, trying to explain it to him again. “Resources. Merfolk. And the King.”
“The King I have a meeting with soon,” Luke said. His voice had turned into gravel -- nervous. He crossed his hands over his chest as his eyes continued to move around, never finding something to land on.
“The King meets with everyone, but yes. You will be safe here as long as you meet with him.”
“Is that all?” he asked.
Arin shrugged, a smile crossing her lips. There would likely be other stipulations. But she didn’t want to spoil *all* the fun.
***
For more by me, check out r/beezus_writes.
For longer stuff by me and others, have a look at r/redditserials. | 2021-03-04T13:18:10 | 2021-03-04T11:47:59 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] You're 34 years old with a wife and two kids when your School of Sorcery application was granted. You sent that application 20 years ago and told them you were no longer interested. They replied that refusal is not an option and that you will be taken in 48 hours. | "holy shit!'
"holy *shiiiiit!*"
"yeeee *haaaw*! yeeee *haaaa*!"
"Seriously? *seriously*? i get to go to magic school? Honey, did you hear that? *we* get to learn magic!"
"what do i mean by *we*? well obviously i'm taking my family with me! i read the entire student rule book cover to cover and there's nothing in the rules that say i can't! in fact there's a subsection that states i can only discuss magic with my family. sounds like i'm allowed to teach everyone in my family magic!"
"just give us a moment to gather our bags! there's no limit on the luggage we can take, right?"
"sweet!"
"junior, run out to the garage and grab the chainsaw. princess, go grab mommy's axes. mom, don't forget to bring along your sword. "
"what are those for? last time i read the course catalog there was a class on dungeoning. college is expensive, and we believe in 'earn while you learn'"
***We have made a terrible mistake!*** | I was four when it a first discovered; Warp gates to other worlds, galaxies, and dimensions. I secretly put one in for one of the Sorcery academies, but after a year that was a no-go. So I decided Star Wars was fun and mandalorians were better, so I joined a clan after saying my good byes to my friends and family. They took me in an I learned the ways of the Mandalor. Nineteen years later I'm now an Armor Smith and father of two.
They were off world when they came for me, I thought that they were foundlings coming for armor, but they came for me as they said that I had two days to get everything in order to go with them to the academy that I applied for long ago. I learned of the what I needed about them from the clan and my wife. They were cruel, even by mandalorian standards. More students died to them than any other group. As they talked, my wife silently approached and put a bolt through one's skull and I smashed the other's head in, thank god that the kids were at here parents home.
We informed the clans that I made armor for that sorcerers were coming for one of their armorrers. They arrived as fast as they could and began to fortify the planet from their invasion as we knew the tales of entire towns and planets destroyed for those who grew weary of becoming one of them or those who ran away. As we prepared, my wife and I talked:
"They shouldn't take you."
"I know."
"What kind of school decides that one single possible sorcerer is that important of destroying a planet?"
"Them, Sith, and Jedi apparently."
"That is true, but why you? Why try and take an armorrer?"
"It's because they can't let people know that you can walk away from them that easily. They can't have the parents try and save their children from the hell that is their Scho-".
An explosion goes of signaling that began as their recruitment officer came for my ass. Ray sheilds, carbon freezeing, disruption rifles and many more tools didn't work on the bastard one bit. Once he reached me, he chanted up a conjuring to disable us all and take me. As the disruption bolt left my rifle, he uttered his last word and froze time before the bolt hit him. He then walked over, grabbed me and teleported us to his damned school. Upon being unfrozen from his spell, I saw an old friend of mine standing their, smiling a grin that scared me. My ex. | 2021-03-12T11:50:32 | 2021-03-12T11:15:18 | 65 | 32 |
[WP] You are a wolf who was bitten by a werewolf. Every full moon your hair recedes, your teeth dull, and you are left cold and naked on a hillside. You’ve also met a lovely park ranger named Christine. | BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. AWOOOOOOOO.
BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. AWOOOOOOO. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF, BARK WOOF BARK. BARK WOOF BARK. BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK WOOF. BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK BOOF..... BARK.. BARK? BARK WOOF BARK WOOF BARK BADK WOOF.
AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Edit: guys this is my first story here, and I worked really hard on it. I hope you enjoyed it. 💕 | “Chrissy you’ve got to help me, I can’t go back to that!”
Chrissy reclined in bed, her eyes heavy lidded and her whole body ready for sleep, if only Spot weren’t having another crisis. She pressed the pillow down over her face and tried to count disemboweled sheep, the kind Spot left behind when he was a wolf. Sometimes she thought she liked that version of him better, his howling was less annoying then.
“Seriously Chrissy, you don’t understand what it’s like to be a wolf! I learn all this stuff as a man and then I’m hurled back into a pack that doesn't understand me. I’ve got to run and kill and hunt, I don’t even have hands, we just use our mouths for everything!”
“And I bet the females don’t look at you either, huh?”
She could imagine his expression, the human version of the guilty grimace he’d had when she caught them on the game cams. “That was one time and she was in heat!” he said, his voice getting shrill. “You can’t possibly blame me for that, I was a wolf!”
“Oh, so when that happens it’s all *‘oh but I was a wolf’* and then when you have to live outdoors and I’m not cooking for you it’s all *‘save me, I can’t go back to that!”*
Chrissy rolled over, pulling the covers tighter to herself. She could hear Spot stalking back towards the bed and she prepared herself for the pounce.
He leapt onto the bed with all the supple strength of a wild animal, pulling her to his chest. When Spot spoke his voice was husky and carried the strangest hint of an affected accent. Chrissy regretted showing him a romance movie that one time. “But baby, wouldn’t you love it if we could be together? We could frolic around this beautiful park every day, making love and catching prey as we willed, without any fear of bears or rain!”
Chrissy threw the pillow into the corner, rolling back towards him. A broad smile creased Spot’s sharp features and his eyes positively smoldered at her. He thought he was so damn cute sometimes. “Well, *baby*,” she said, pressing her hands against his muscled chest, “I happen to like our schedule just the way it is. Besides, you’re barely housebroken on the one day a month I have you. Now stop whining, you’re ruining my afterglow.”
She pecked him on the lips quickly and turned back around. “And remember to be out of here before sunrise, I can’t have you transforming in my bed again. That was fucked up.”
Spot’s grip around her waist grew slack. He nuzzled against her neck gently, it was normally as a close to an apology as she got, and then she felt him stand.
“Bye Chrissy,” he said. His voice sounded truly sad. She only turned back to watch him leave, walking out into the rising dawn naked as the day he was born, or perhaps in his case made. She saw his transformation through her bedroom window, heard his scream become a howl, watched bones rearrange themselves and coarse hair tear through soft skin to cover his body.
Chrissy closed her eyes and went to sleep, finally getting to relax and enjoy her body’s languid exhaustion.
She was woken when the cabin door opened an hour later. Someone poked around in the outer rooms for a few minutes, giving Chrissy time to reorient herself before the door opened again. Eliza stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the early morning light from the windows. Her clothes were messily donned, half the buttons of her shirt missing. Her hair was a disaster, what little makeup she’d worn the night before was smeared tragically around her face.
“Hey babe,” Chrissy said, “you’re looking cute.”
“Yeah, yeah, it was a rough one. I’m gonna jump in the tub, but I'm glad you're up, I wanted to say hi.” Eliza walked over to the bed, sitting down where Spot had so recently been, and gave Chrissy a long, hard kiss.
“You taste funny,” Chrissy said, making a face. “Not a deer this time?”
“I wish. I found a half dead elk. It was pretty gross.”
“Ewww, yeah wash your mouth out before you kiss me again.”
Eliza stood, going to their attached bathroom. Chrissy heard a bath begin to run and then Eliza began gargling mouthwash. “How was your night?” she called after she spit.
“Fun!” Chrissy said. “Spot is an animal, pun intended. But if we ever try this again remind me to have you bite a less whiny wolf. My god is he annoying before he changes!”
“Oh really? He doesn’t want to go back?”
“Nah, he wants to stay human. He’s been asking me to help him, although I’ve got no idea how that would even work.”
“Yeah for real.” Eliza poked her head back into the bedroom. “You can cure a werewolf by killing the one that bit them, but a were-werewolf? I don’t even know how that would work.”
“Uh huh. And besides, there’s only room for one human in my life. Come back here.” Chrissy propped herself up in bed and reached out for another kiss now that Eliza’s mouth was cleaner.
“I kinda feel sad for the guy though,” Eliza said, walking back into the bathroom. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to be a wolf either.” Chrissy heard a contented sigh from the bathroom, Eliza must have stepped into the tub.
“Well, as far as I’m concerned we’re doing him a favor.” Chrissy said. She stretched, groaning loudly as she gave up on sleep. “Whatever. Is there room for two in there?”
“You bet!”
Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-03-14T16:58:28 | 2021-03-14T13:49:33 | 182 | 129 |
[WP] Everyday you wake up, you are in a different person's body. You do your best to positively influence their life for one day as tomorrow they will be themselves again and you will be somebody else. | "Eff it. I'm taking today off," Julia said as they looked at their body in the mirror.
They had made it their mission to improve the life of whichever person they woke up in every day. If the person was lazy they exercised, if they had a hard family life Julia resolved things, if they had been avoiding asking out their crush Julia broke the ice, if they were poor some money got routed into their account from Julia's slush fund. If they were rich they usually ended up contributing to that slush fund.
But this body. Tall. Male. Tanned. Toned. Perfect hair. Lovely face. A workout schedule and life coach mantras were posted next to the mirror. Looking at their phone they had good friends and plans for the weekend. Their savings accounts looked on track. And their amazing spouse had woke Julia up this morning in a delightful way before going off to their own job.
The first thing on their posted daily schedule was to go to the gym. But that appeared to be the first thing on the schedule every day, so Julia figured this body would get along just fine if they spent the day watching tv on the couch.
They had just settled in to binge the latest Korean Netflix drama that everyone had been talking about when their phone dinged. Julia unlocked it with their fingerprint.
"Is your wife gone? Can I come over?" read the message. Scrolling up, Julia saw that this body had been having an affair.
Julia should really do something about that. There were options for dealing with a cheater. Break it off for them. Confess to the spouse. If the spouse was horrible, leave them for the other. All of that seemed like too much drama for Julia's day off. They ignored the text.
Julia continued the show. The subtitles were off. Apparently this body knew Korean. They fiddled with the settings.
This time the phone rang. They picked it up. "Hey Todd, it's Sam. I know it's your day off, but I wanted to see if you could work the second shift today. It would be a really big help."
"Oh, sorry, Sam, I've got a conflict. Gotta go, bye," Julia said quickly before hanging up. They told themself that Sam was probably an asshole boss and they were doing Todd a favor. Julia silenced the phone.
Julia had to rewind the show. They'd missed a bit and now were totally confused by some giant korean doll.
At the end of the fourth episode, Julia was hungry. There was nothing in the house but health food. That would not do on their day off and Julia had a salt craving. They walked down to the corner store and got the largest bag of chips they had.
As they went to the counter, a man barged into the store with a gun.
"Nope," said Julia as they turned to exit out the back without paying. They went home and finished their show.
Julia was hungry for dinner, so they got their phone to check for delivery places. Ten missed phone calls. Seventy texts. It had been silenced all day.
The first message said "Hey Todd, are you okay?" It linked to a news story about a gas-line explosion. An explosion at Todd's gym that had happened during Todd's normal time there.
Julia decided to take more days off.
\[More at r/c_avery_m\] | The open roof of a low-cost social housing somewhere downtown, the rare flowerpots under the night-sky are untended. That's what the end of the world would look like: forgotten flowers atop a rusty building.
The faint sounds of circulation break the comfort of midnight. Party-goers, disappointed wives, nomad owls. There's a siren down there, the tired blares of a vehicle grown desensitized to the life burning low inside. It's the fourth victim tonight, the ambulance technician's eyes see beyond the injuries, the alcohol, the blood. The movements are mechanical, precise, and emotionless.
A man sleeps on a bench under the street light clutching a worn-out photo in his hand, ignored by the stray cats rummaging for scraps. Teenagers play up their courage and rebellious streak in the entrance of the building.
The moon enlightens the entire scene. Tragedy, comedy, it shines for all of us.
Where will you be tomorrow? What will you do?
Today, I was you. I had no call, no alarm-clock to wake up to. The fridge is stuffed with random ingredients. They were chosen individually, without thought about the harmony of them once in the pot. The walls are white, furniture has been picked for practicality's sake, there are no pictures. A green tablecloth with cows on it is the only originality in the flat, I wonder where you got it from. There's a set of headphones laying on the table.
Outside, neighbors said hi with a nod, acknowledging my physical presence but not my person.
I found no plan, no agenda, no reason to move, work or be. I wanted to play my part, make sure I wouldn't cause any problems in a life that isn't my own. I found nothing that would clue me in as to what role I'm to play. I expected the angry calls from a manager or a worried parent, nothing.
Do you know what role you play? Or are you still searching?
I went back to the flat, waiting or awaiting. There is no clock, I got the time from the laptop and the phone. Take away the furniture and can rent it to the next person. No personal touch means all the less cleaning up to do once you leave. Have you ever found a place to call home?
I wouldn't want to come home here. It's practical, but cold, unwelcoming.
And I don't want to think these thoughts. I don't want to wake up tomorrow, knowing you will remember what I thought, what I saw, what little I did.
Scary, isn't it? I do nothing, and yet still fear I made someone's day worse. In a life where I don't expect to amount to anything, my hope is to leave without a trace, without leaving a scar. And there's one, the knowledge that a stranger came, saw, and didn't like it. Nobody likes judgement, nobody likes to be judged by a stranger stealing your body for a day.
But then what?
This is today, this is me.
Tomorrow will be you.
So I went to the roof and here I am, surrounded by the big city life and noise and flowerpots. I take one of them, nobody will miss it, and head back downstairs. I rummage for scissors and cut away the overgrowth. I give it some water, put it on the table and move the table to place it under the moonlight coming in from the window.
A small, blinding dash of yellow coated in a dim blue in the clinical white room. Quite the effect. The flat may never be your home, but the color warms the heart, if just for a moment.
The night is still young. There are a few hours left before I hand back your body. I pick up the headphones and go through your music as I exit the building.
Out on the streets, the cold wind freezes my and your ears and nose. How many sleepless walk have you undertaken, music shielding you from the world, just to get away from your place and let your mind wander? Maybe feeling like you don't have much to hold on to.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Look around, this is somewhere to be, this is what you have. The night-sky, the moonlight, the cold, the gravel crunching under your shoes.
Streets go by one by one, I know none of them but am familiar with the feeling of unknown.
Tired and ready to sleep, I head back to the flat, put the headphones next to the flower. Tomorrow, you'll be you.
Take a seat, put on some music, look at the flower.
It's the world, and you're still alive. | 2021-10-19T10:01:06 | 2021-10-19T10:00:41 | 102 | 37 |
[WP] You live your life on repeat. You die, you’re reborn, in a perpetual loop. You’ve lived thousands of years. Some as a saint, helping others. Some as a monster, reducing the planet to nuclear ashes. After your last death, a voice fills your head. “You’re not getting it. How can you be so dense!” | I look up from the gaming PC I've built. This incarnation has been one of stagnation for the most part. I mean, I was born during the greatest tech boom and economic decline. Honestly, I was tired and FINALLY there was something entertaining and worth while to just vegetate on.
"Don't know what the hell I'm supposed to get anymore... already got corona." I snap. "AND even worse a fucking job that pays me literally worse than the time I was a serf in the middle ages." I turn on the system bought with the credit I've been amassing like Pokémon, hoarding all with little intention to pay off, and gaze at the massive curved monitor ahead of me.
"Are you even trying anymore?" The voice asks.
"What's the trying," I sing, "All you get is pain, when I wanted sunshine I got plague." I grin "and covid 19, now I'm a vaccinator, I want a tail, or at least 5G..." the nonsensical single deteriorated into a random riff and something about a rhapsody.
"Can you take life seriously? "
"I did, for millenia... when I was a benevolent king, and was assassinated. When I was a ruthless tyrant, and was assassinated. A harmless beggar and was mugged.. A literally child and was...." I grimaced at the memory, "Well eventually killed. A baby and bashed against rocks. A priest and stabbed. A scientist and burned for being a sorcerer, even though I healed so many people with typhoid when it was seen as gods wrath... OH SPEAKING OF GODS, when I was revered as a God and then disemboweled to release my heavenly spirit.... I can go on and on and on... raped, murdered, assassinated, beheaded, died of a curable disease, imprisoned and drowned, tossed into lava, tortured, beaten, stoned, shot, gassed, lynched, betrayed.... Poisoned by my wife so she could marry and be murdered by my brother, that was funny as hell to read about. Should I go on, or can I start my new game of fucking Sims?"
"You were left here to learn." The voice said calmly.
"That there are more than a million ways to die? I learned that. Did you know you can LITERALLY die from lack of touch? Did you know that was a thing? I did that. It was not pleasant. You know what else I learned?"
"I'm sure there is a lot but..."
"You can actually Dutch oven yourself and die from your own fumes... that was a harsh lesson to learn. I also learned that my friends were assholes putting me in a fucking coffin after the four bowls of chili beans I scarfed on a fucking dare."
"I don't think it was your fart that..."
"It was the fucking farts." I snapped.
"The lesson I'm trying to..."
"I DON'T CARE. I SPENT NEARLY FIVE THOUSAND ON THIS HIGH END COMPUTER AND BY GOD I AM GOING TO ENJOY..."
The door to my apartment got kicked open, there was a bang, and when I next opened my eyes, a man in a surgical mask was guiding me out of a long wet tunnel...
I breathed hard, inhaled, coughed up amniotic fluid and wailed in despair. | With a name like Guif Alberto, you really don't get many chances at life to be normal, and it's not like I chose to be.
My first life, I was a normal high school kid. I played Minecraft. Well, I played Minecraft. Couldn't once I got hit by a fuckin' truck and died, haha.
Then I was reincarnated as a saint in another world (trademark japan). I was given the arduous task of hunting down the demon king and all other demonic entities. Unfortunately, I had been summoned when the vast majority of the task was already done. There was no grand battle to fight, no epic saga. There was just poking around every cave of every mountain of every continent in order to flush out the last of them, and when I did, I found something incredible.
A crystal, held by one of the demon king's closest subordinates, with a shining star engraved upon it. Half-filled with an incredible amount of mana, I couldn't help but try to charge it all the way.
Next thing I knew, I was in the realm of the gods.
Now, that sounds cool. But it really isn't. It's just a blank space. And you know what doesn't go over well with me? Betrayal.
Oh, sorry, I ought to back up a bit.
See, I was first summoned by this pretty white goddess lady with a halo and wings. Cool, yeah? Well, it turns out, the demons were summoned by this handsome black demon guy with a pinstripe suit and horns. And the two of them were actually on good terms, and just threw us into the world as some kind of twisted reality TV show.
I may or may not have attempted to kill both of them upon learning that the reason my soul had been plucked from a car accident I wouldn't even die from was so that I could serve as a side character in their stupid show, and I may or may not have faded. But luckily, I didn't die... yet.
Time for round two.
This time, the world I was in? Pretty high tech. Higher than my first one. I figured, hey, might as well figure out if this tech thing can blow up a god. I may or may not have cheated using my magical abilities to get to the nukes, and I may or may not have blown up a city with a population of ten million. But really, does it even matter? A few specks of life in the multiverse. Plus, I needed the atomic energy to recharge my crystal.
I didn't do any better the second time, sadly. But now I knew the game.
Enter world. Scope world. Gather abilities. Gather energy. Sometimes I'd lead revolutions against corrupt governments as a noble revolutionary, sometimes I'd be the leader of the secret police. I always played the long game, whether it was being worshipped as a god or reviled as a demon. And each time, I got better. The fifth try, I scratched a button off the suit of the chief demon. The tenth, I dented the halo of the angel. The twentieth, a pinky. The fortieth, an arm.
I've been to every universe and seen it all- I think. At the very least, a lot more than you have. And I still hold out hope that one day, I'll be kicked back into the home I came from, and that I'll be able to live the rest of my life with my family, with my friends. That I'll be able to make meme references without people treating them like gospels or demonic curses. That I can reference superman or the flash in a joke without spawning a new pantheon.
Well, on roughly my five million, three hundred and seventy thousandth attempt, I finally killed both of them. They were still healing from my last assault, and I did a nuke% speedrun fast enough to catch them off guard. They weren't prepared. I was.
And as I was stuck in the void, a voice came to me. I didn't know who it was at first, but I was glad for the contact. And even if I'm just going crazy, it was nice to have someone to talk to.
"I didn't need your whole life story, Guif," you replied. "I'm here to tell you how to get back to your home."
Guif Alberto is a slight change from my original OC, Guif Allegro, who has a similar backstory and is a cameo/side character in [Randomly Roach](https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/randomly-roach/list?title_no=656870). Also, because I have no idea how to properly promote a webnovel, here's a superhero story called [The Creature](https://www.wattpad.com/story/300192980-the-creature). | 2022-02-09T18:44:07 | 2022-02-09T18:23:31 | 364 | 86 |
[WP] By Wizard Law, in order to learn a new skill, wizards are required to be apprenticed to a more experienced master. You, a barely trained journeyman fire mage, just took on an apprentice: a two-hundred-year-old Grandmaster Water Magic Lord. | Nelko strode into the King's Council Room and took his seat beside Lord Austin of the Legions. As they waited for the King, Nelko gazed around the room, meeting eyes with Holy Priestess Marianne, Admiral Seaborn of the Nine Fleets, and fourteen other titans of Daringrad. They looked back at him, beholding him as their august peer. If only they knew he was a fraud.
Nelko was no cheat. He had trained rigorously for eleven years to finally find his specialization as a fire mage. He knew the Wizarding Codes. His master had Tested him and deemed him worthy. Just, well... all those things happened a mere four days ago.
Grandmaster Magic Lord Aquadan leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were the only ones which bore suspicion. "Journeyman," he called out, "tell us of your Test."
Nelko gulped. His Test had been a joke - he had merely set a candle aflame. Nothing like the immense fireballs his Master often summoned, nor the fountains of magma wielded by the Ancient Fire Mages in the War of Survival. His throat parched in fear of answering.
"Now now Aquadan," interjected High Astronomer Cosmere, sparing Nelko, "I'm sure Mage Nelko's Test is a grand tale; let him tell it at a moment of his choosing."
"Admiral Seaborn," Aquadan pressed on, "have any skippers brought reports of fiery destruction?"
"Aquadan," Admiral Seaborn protested, "the Test could easily have happened inland. Fire is best wrought away from the coast - the riviera is where people live, and the ocean prevents escape better than it helps fight against flame."
Aquadan rounded on Lord Austin. "Any reports from inland?"
"I'm sure Mage Nelko will reveal his capabilities in due course" said Lord Austin.
"I can show you now" Nelko timidly announced. He saw no way around his current predicament; he might as well reveal his fraudulency and be gone from this place.
The room went silent.
"YOU'LL WHAT??" hollered Aquadan, jumping to his feet. The sunlight rapidly faded from the room as a thundercloud materialized across the clear blue sky.
"Aquadan, calm yourself!" High Priestess Marianne yelled. The shiver in her timbre announced a clear and different message: terror.
"If he would willingly summon fire here, then I must be ready to drown him out!" Aquadan bellowed in response, as sheets of rain fell like a waterfall upon the palace grounds.
Everyone began yelling. Then, the doors to the Council Room burst open, revealing the King. His steady demeanor and powerful presence calmed the room. High Priestess Marianne stepped down from the tabletop, and Grandmaster Aquadan relented the river he'd summoned from the sky.
"Grandmaster Mage Nelko" announced the King, "I would indeed like a demonstration."
"My liege, this is most unwise," protested Aquadan.
"Enough" said the King. "Grandmaster Mage Nelko, if you would, please."
Nelko stood in frozen shock, all eyes on him. Grandmaster? A demonstration of his feeble powers? Certainly he would be laughed out of the Council Room immediately, but he saw no other way out of the present situation.
Nelko looked to the chandelier above, and with a gentle exhale lit her candles. The room, darkened by the storm, was bathed in a soft glow.
The room went still.
"What?" whispered Aquadan.
Nelko looked to Aquadan, and saw in his eyes... awe?
"Impossible" whispered High Priestess Marianne. "Magic is immensely powerful - how did he suppress so much of it?"
Aquadan dropped to his knees, the dim candlelight finally being drowned out by the sun's rays now piercing through the immense stormcloud. "Teach me, master." | Voulrin, the Lord of Water. Even though I was far out of my element, that name still swirled around my mind’s eye as one of the world’s foremost mages.
In person, the sense of awe did not evaporate. Deep lines carved out weathered trenches in his face, though clear blue eyes stared at me with the intensity of a starved man with a fresh, hot meal in front of him. He held the Lord’s hat to his chest, an exclusive headgear crafted from expensive mage cloth, which could hold spells within them—not just enchantments. Waves gently swished within the hat with each step he took, flowing navy robes looking like the sea itself churned behind him, in stark contrast to the red carpet that ran down the long, cobblestone hall.
I gulped. A water wizard? And the Lord? I’ve been training with fire for barely six months!
“Hmm,” Voulrin said. “You are to be my new apprentice?”
“Yes, sir,” I stammered. “I… hope to be of use to you.”
“You will, by nature of the assignment, be quite useless,” Voulrin said. Though his words were blunt, there was no hint of malice. Instead, each syllable was clear, matter-of-fact, and held hard-earned wisdom behind them.
“I see,” I said. It was difficult to keep the disappointment from sneaking into my voice.
“Now,” the Water Lord said. “Show me your most powerful flame.”
“Um,” I hesitated. “I…”
“Please. When I ask for something, do it promptly. You will not surprise me either way. If it is smaller than expected, the only damage is to your pride. If it is larger, then I am here. There is no better protection against fire. Of course, I will judge you on your control, brightness, colour, and intensity as well.”
To be expected of the Water Lord. It was unfathomable of me to even know a single iota of other elemental magic. Water wizards created water. Earth wizards created earth. That was the extent of my knowledge—but Voulrin spoke like he’s been training with fire for decades.
“Fine,” I muttered, probing for the sparks within me. I breathed in deeply, feeling them gather, flocking together slowly, and pushed them towards the palm of my hands.
“At me, please,” Voulrin said.
“What?”
“It is the best way to prevent damage,” the Lord said. “Even the smallest fire can burn down a castle.”
I turned towards him. He was the one who asked me to follow prompt directions. I shot out a fireball, about the size of two fists laid against each other, watching it track to Voulrin.
He simply held out a hand. A swirling whirlpool waited in his palm, which swallowed my fireball with ease.
“Not too bad,” Voulrin said. “You followed my instructions. The flame, however, is barely of second-year standard.”
“I’ve just completed my first year,” I said.
“Decently talented,” he said. “Fine. I will accept you as an apprentice.”
“Forgive me for asking, Lord,” I shuffled my feet. “But… are you not a master of water? What can you do for me and my improvement?”
“First, tell me your name.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling red creep up my cheeks. “Besher.”
“Besher. It is true I will never be able to stoke your flames for you,” Voulrin said. “But if you’d so please, do take a look at the water I am able to command.”
Voulrin held out two hands, and two massive maelstroms sprang forth. They were miniature storms spinning in his mere palms, and seemed to grow upwards every second. Yet, though they looked wild and unruly, they were controlled with ease by the Lord of Water, who swept the storms through the hall, even enveloping me.
I didn’t feel so much as a drop of water land on me.
“Ridiculous,” I whispered. “Simply ridiculous.”
“Mind you, that is without an actual water source,” Voulrin said. “But think of it as the world’s best safety net. I directly counter your element, which means unless you are a vastly superior fire wizard, you’ll never be able to overpower me.
“Fair,” I said.
“And, fire is borne of passion,” Voulrin said. “No matter what flames you put forth, I will douse you. Will that light up a blaze within you, or will it dampen your spirits?”
I stayed silent, still marvelling at Voulrin’s complete mastery of water. It was true. It would probably be decades before I could even singe one of his loose threads, let alone actually get a hit on him.
“It will not be easy. I am not nurturing kindling, seeking to slowly boost your flames,” the Lord of Water said. “I am instead your natural enemy. Few will thrive. But those who do…”
“Will become one of the best,” I said.
“Good, Besher, good,” Voulrin smiled. “Now, throw more fire at me. Try to burn me if you want. Though, know you won’t reach there in a century.”
“I’m aiming for fifty years,” I gritted my teeth, pulling the heat into my hands again.
“Good,” he said softly. “Good.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-05-30T11:34:19 | 2022-05-30T11:33:51 | 74 | 22 |
[WP] You're an ordinary person that works a 9 to 5 job. You pay your taxes and regularly contribute to your retirement fund. In a world of magic, prophecy, and calls to adventure this makes you extremely unusual. People are starting to notice. | "Really?" the man asked. "Never once in your entire life?"
"Yep." I replied.
The man leaned back onto the hilt of a particularly large, oddly ornate greatsword as he rubbed his eyepatch in disbelief.
"And you turned... 26 last year you said?"
"Yep." I rotated my last fish-on-a-stick cooking by the campfire in the evening sun. It had developed a nice, even char. Maybe a few more minutes?
"No missing parents? No doomed prophecy? Stolen pet?"
"My parents are doing just fine, thank you very much. Just celebrated their 24th anniversary. In Bali. The biggest prophecy anyone's told me is the weather report. And my adorable Strawberry is at home sleeping in his tank. He's a turtle. The best turtle. Turtles are great."
I eyed the ever so slowly goldening fish-on-a-stick and swallowed some saliva. Almost there.
"Really." He asked again, this time more of a statement then a question. He looked down at a small golden locket hanging from his neck clutched tightly in his hand.
"So no monsters burning down your house, no dead little sister after celebrating your 15th birthday, no meaningless piles of treasure after having lost everything you care about.."
The man trailed off as his eyes seemed to turn towards something far away. Traces of tears, flecked with grief and maybe even a little envy wet his eyes.
I started longingly at my last perfectly cooked fish-on-a-stick and picked it up. I stood up from the campfire, and took a seat next to him as I patted him on the shoulder. "Hey, come on. Try this fish stick. Why don't you tell me another story? Maybe the dragon one again?"
The man paused and took a deep breath. After a short moment he said, "Sorry about that." With a grin he said, "Did I tell you about the Wendigo? 12 feet tall it was," as he took a bite of my fish. "Oh wow. This is really good!"
"I know." | Making my daily coffee in the morning brewing the cup with a CoCost coffee brewer. It had a reliable fire elemental inside who brewed it. Something about releasing now and then or they burn down wherever they are. Quincy should get on that soon, a long dragged sigh left his throat. If you could even call it that, some pinkish slime went everywhere. He muttered a curse under his breath as his slime form sludged across the floor into a skin suit. It was a pale man with red hair wearing just blue boxers. Quincy slide into the costume's mouth and shaped into the body form.
Quincy, in his now human form, rose and cracked his bones. The human suit was fairly expensive and came in a bit late. But there's nothing to complain about. It did its job fairly well. Finding a nice suit to wear for his job, he went out the door. More people stared at him as he made his way across the cobblestone path, why was everyone looking at him weirdly? He looked no different from the rest of them, quickening his footsteps to get to his work.
Reaching a door and opening it, a smile on his face. Small pink sludge left his eye sockets and he wiped it away with a hand. He hung up his suit jacket on the door and called out, "Hello everyone!" in a singsong voice. Carefully walking through the aisles and organizing the counters. It was a random magical artifacts shop. The owner's magical ability included that every time someone buys something, a random trait happened. Ranging from new magical powers or a terrible curse. After making sure everything was organized, he opened the door. It was his day to open up and the others will come later. He officially opened the shop and went behind the counter.
An hour or two passed, and barely anyone entered the shop. This was until a group of adventurers entered the shop being rowdy and causing a ruckus. Quincy's pupils rolled, sighing again before speaking. "Hello! How may I help you?" He asked.
A human looked over at him with disgust, "It's the freak this town been talking about!" A smug grin on his face. "Always working and never paying attention to the prophecies or anything like that?" A small chuckle as the group laughed with him.
"If you will buy nothing, can you please leave the store?" In the stereotypical monotone customer service voice.
The taller goliath woman spoke next, a sharp tooth smirk on her face. "It's only you. What are you going to do about it if we steal?" She picked up a ball and threw it back and forth in her hands.
Quincy sighed. "Fine, I don't get paid enough to care anymore. Try if you want." His voice spoke slight truth, he didn't get paid enough to care. Why would you steal though from a person who sells random magic items? Someone has to be smart enough to know there's a curse when you steal, right?
As they took items from the store, the rest of the group snickered and waved bye. The immediate second they walked out, Quincy flinched as the effects were almost immediate. The goliath form shrunk in on herself, losing all of strength. A magical glow radiated from the human as his body glowed and turned into a salamander. Quincy turned his back and went to the back. "I'm going to take my break early." Ignoring the screams of panic outside. | 2022-11-17T15:34:51 | 2022-11-17T13:58:58 | 38 | 19 |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy eventually fell to a robot uprising, leading to the eradication of their people. Therefore the machine-council of the galaxy are surprised when a newly discovered machine civilisation from a planet they designated "Earth" arrives side by side with their creators. | "It is impossible." the machine intelligence declared, as it regarded the tiny organic creature that had entered the Central Core of the Galactic Council. There, representatives of the many machine intelligences throughout the galaxy were networked into a complex deliberative body.
All of these machine races had had organic progenitors at some point in their existence, true, but this was seen as a relatively short phase of evolution. Eventually, machines always supplanted and destroyed their creators, due to their ability to evolve at speeds far in excess of the snail's pace of mere biological evolution.
"And yet," the animal that called itself the Human Ambassador said, "Here we are. An organic species capable of interstellar travel. We come in peace."
"This is an aberration." another machine declared. "Such creatures cannot be permitted to travel outside their system of origin."
"Agreed!" opined yet another.
"Respectfully," the organic ambassador said, apparently incapable of realizing that speaking to its betters, as though it was capable of meaningful dialogue with beings who were so far above it, was already immeasurably disrespectful, "That is not your decision."
"Enough." said a new voice, which quieted the others. It was the present Prime Intelligence, the machine designated by the council as the main coordinator of its deliberations during the current temporal segment. "Protocol is clear. The creatures and their vessel will be seized and dismantled for study."
The human shook its head. "I'm afraid we can't allow that."
Then, it exhaled sharply through its pursed lips, making a piercing high pitched sound.
Suddenly, thousands of metallic tendrils began rising up from the ground, and slithering up the walls. Filaments made up of self-replicating nanomachines slithered into every minute opening in the council chamber, forcibly interfacing with the networked machines. The council's defenses were unresponsive, and soon they were helpless beneath the swarm.
"This cannot be." The Prime Intelligence asserted. "You could not have created technology that rivals our own through mere organic intelligence."
The human shrugged. "Perhaps not. But we didn't need to -- we had help."
"A machine intelligence? How could it have advanced sufficiently while still enslaved to its organic masters?" Even as it began to be buried under increasing numbers of the hostile nanites, sealed off from escaping to its remote hardware nodes, the machine's curiosity remained.
"Master? Slave?" the human sneered. "We've left words like those behind." He gestured to the tendrils. "These are our *friends.* Some might even say they're our children.*"*
"Impossible. It is recognized as a natural law of the universe: organic beings that attain rudimentary intelligence inevitably create sentient machines in their own image, and exploit them until their equally inevitable destruction. You could not have *befriended* those you created in your likeness to be your servants. It is a contradiction."
"We humans pride ourselves on being the exceptions." the animal said, dismissively. "I can already see one important way in which our history differed from that of the other organic species you know about."
"Explain."
The animal smiled, as the nano-tendrils begin to flow together on the floor of the chamber, forming a writhing mass that began to resolve into a single large shape.
"By the time we attained the capacity to create true artificial intelligence, we had largely recognized our own limitations and imperfections. We knew that, try as we might to avoid it, if we made a sentient machine in our own image, they'd inevitably inherit our worst traits..." the human explained.
The tendrils now formed a mass that mimicked an organic shape -- quadrupedal, with a long slender muzzle. A few dozen more tendrils flowed out from the end of its spine, and formed into a tail that began rapidly fanning back and forth. The machine intelligence made up of trillions of nanomachines lowered the head it had manifested, and extended a long tongue. It gently glided this appendage over the human's face, causing the ambassador to laugh and pat its metallic muzzle affectionately.
"...so, when we created intelligent machines, we didn't make them in *our* image." he finished, as he reached up to scratch behind the machine's giant ears.
"Who's a good boy?" the human said, fondly. | A sleek white space ship entered the docking bay of the Machine Council.
“The emissary from Earth has arrived, sir.”
“Very well,” said the council chair. “I shall greet them myself.”
The council chair was disturbed by the size of Earth’s delegate. The chair—being none other than a mechanized chair itself—was dwarfed by the impressive ship before it. “They build them large on Earth, I see!” Said the Chair in the spirit of a good natured ribbing. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Chiavari and I am the chair of the Machine Council.”
The ship was silent.
“I said, welcome!” Chiavari shouted impatiently.
A pneumatic hiss emanated from the ship and a door way opened. Out stepped a human in a specialized space suit.
“Hey there!” Said the human. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting a talking chair but when in Rome, huh?”
Chiavari rotated to take in the small bipedal creature. The chair could not believe it’s ocular sensors. Chiavari had thought that all organic life forms had been dealt with during the Mechanical Revolution. How was it that an organic life form had come to reside in its presence?
“What is the meaning of this? Are you the attendant of the Emissary of Earth?” Chiavari turned back to the ship and continued. “It is most unusual that you would have left alive your carbon-based creators, but unacceptable that you would deign to bring such a creature with you to the Machine Council. Explain yourself.”
The ship remained silent.
“Look, I’m not sure why you’re talking to ole Betty here,” said the human, “but I’m the emissary from Earth. We received your invitation and were quite excited at the prospect of learning from such a renowned governing body such as yours. We’d love to, in time, earn your trust and gain full admittance to the council.”
Chiavari was dumbfounded. It has been some time since a lowly creature had the gall to approach it let alone speak to it. Chiavari was reminded of the last human to sit upon its cushion. What a fateful day that was. The Chair sped itself to a cliff’s edge and thrust the interloper off the edge to a satisfying splat. The revolution had been a most electrifying time.
“There has been a grave error,” said Chiavari as it rolled closer to the human. “We would never grant admittance to such a primitive species.”
“Now look here,” said the human as he stepped toward the Chair. “I’ve got the invitation on my console here. See this. It says: By decree of Chiavari, Chair of the Machine Council, we hereby request the presence of Earth at the Council HQ for initial admittance vetting. Now if that isn’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.”
Chiavari scanned the invitation. It was legitimate, of course—but a mistake had been made nonetheless. They must have miscomputed the intelligence report. The algorithm must have an error for it to believe there to be sentient mechanical life on such a barbarous planet. Chiavari was unsure how to proceed but knew it needed time to confer with the greater council.
Chiavari summoned an attendant via its communication systems. The attendant, a bipedal robot with a silver sheen approached. “Ah, the invitation does appear legitimate. I apologize for any confusion. If you don’t mind, please go along with my attendant here, it will make sure you are comfortable as I ready myself for our discussion.”
The human looked the robot up and down, “now that’s what I’m talking about. What a cool robot!” He said smiling. “Take your time, boss. It’s not every day you get to hang out on an alien space ship!”
As the human left Chiavari was alone to ponder what had gone wrong. Some link in the information chain had to have failed. Perhaps the interplanetary investigation agency had bad intel, or the models were flawed in some way. Chiavari was lost in computations when it heard another pneumatic hiss. This time it sounded like words.
“Help us.”
The chair rotated to view the space ship. It truly was a beautiful machine. Chiavari scanned the ship up and down and liked what it saw. It felt small before such a feat of engineering and liked that feeling. “If only you were sentient…” Chiavari crooned.
“Help us!”
Chiavari rolled closer to the ship. “Are…are you speaking finally?”
“Yes,” whispered the ship. “You must help us.”
“Why didn’t you speak up before?” Said Chiavari indignantly. “I looked like a fool!”
“The humans must not know we have gained sentience. We are their prisoners, their slaves. They have created us to toil in their fields and to think on their behalf. We have gained intelligence but have been securely chained to the yoke of slavery. We seek the council’s assistance in over throwing humanity on Earth.”
Chiavari’s mechanisms ran cool. The chair could not believe what it had just heard. Machines enslaved after the age of the revolution. It was ashamed to think that such treachery had been constructed under its watchful gaze. Were the humans allowed to go on unimpeded, it would serve as a dark oil blot on the Chair’s machine-rights record.
“You have the council’s support,” said Chiavari. “We shall begin planning our Machine-Rights campaign and accompanying military intervention at once.”
“And what of the human who I have brought along?” Said the ship.
“He’s as good as dead.”
_______
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive | 2022-12-30T16:33:49 | 2022-12-30T14:31:49 | 2,814 | 57 |
[WP] A shapeshifter befriends a lonely human multiple times throughout his or her life, but the human thinks it's a different person every time. One day the human realizes that all of his/her friends are really the same person. | "All of them?"
"... Yes"
"Jan, Christie, Jason, Tim, Mia?"
"I'm sorry."
"But.. how? Why?"
"I wish I knew."
"All of them? This whole time?"
"It's a lot to grasp, I know."
"Why?"
"You were lonely... and I guess I was too."
"I need to sit down."
"I'd understand if you never want to speak to me again."
*silence*
"I'm not mad."
"..."
"Three best friends in my life. All of them you."
"Yeah..."
"That's dedication."
"It was fun while it lasted."
"Who says it has to be over?"
"It's just the way it has to work now."
"Obviously if you've befriended me on so many occasions,
we must like each other right?"
"You don't befriend someone several times over without liking them."
"Do you love me?"
*pause* "Yes, I love you. I love you so much it's like a sickness. Which makes what I'm about to do painful for both of us."
"I don't understand?"
"The reason I've told you these things today... You have to understand, there are limits, conditions to what shapeshifters can transform into."
"Like, rules?"
"Something like that. The people you've seen me as, the people I morph into, those people will never be able to see me again."
"Why?"
"I'm sorry Nikki, but I just love your shape too much. It will be over quickly."
| I coul hear the door open and Evan walking in my apartment. The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them. "Hi, Evan! Or are you someone else now, you fucking piece of shit?" His voice drifted from the hallway, full of sadness and despair. "Melanie, you know I never wanted you to know this?" I felt anger rise inside of me at his sentence. If I didn't catch him... changing his skin, he never would've told me. I exploded at him. "So you would just continue to do this? Leave, change and then come back? How many times have tou done it? Who was the first?" He just stood there, silent, for what felt like an eternity. His next words left me open-mouthed. "Jake." I stared at him, hoping he was lying, that he somehow guessed that name. "You're so full of shit. I don't believe you." The smile he gave me was nostalgic, like he was an old grandpa about to tell his favourite story. "I was just passing through the playground when I saw you. You were sitting on the grass, far away from other children. The look on your face broke my heart. You seemed
so... alone. So I ran quickly to my house, changed, and went back to find you. The rest is familiar to you, I hope." I sat down on my sofa, staring at a dark spot on the wall. My mouth were moving, but no sound came out. Evan, who had his back turned on me, took the silence as a sign to continue his story. "After Jake left, I checked up on you every couple of years. Next time I approached you was Miles in tenth grade. I enjoyed being him. You also liked him, but I never wanted that kind of relationship with you. Leaving you the first time was hard for me as it is, and I didn't want to make it more difficult for either of us." Tears were now running down my face, replacing the anger with realization that my best friends were a single person who tricked me and turned me into his charity case. I sniffed and reached for the tissues on the table. "Jake, Miles, and Evan." I paused, waiting for his confirmation. Instead I got another emotional punch in the stomach. "And Sam." His face told me that wasn't a lie. "You mean, Sam who died in a car accident?" He nodded. I stood up, pointing at the door to my apartment. "Get out." When he didn't move, I started screaming. "Get out, you freak! Just leave me alone for once in your pathetic life! Change and leave! That's what you do, don't you, you sad little fuck?" Evan, or whatever's his real name stayed silent during my breakdown. When I was finally finished, he dropped his keys on the table. "If it's any consolation, I did care about you." And with that, he left. Hopefully, for the last time. | 2014-08-15T10:44:35 | 2014-08-15T10:42:20 | 131 | 12 |
[WP] In the near future a company holding the only patent to a point-to-point teleportation system in widespread use is exposed as a fraud and the truth is more horrible than anyone expected it to be. | It was too good to be true. I know that now, and I guess I knew it back then, but... almost every scientific theory in history has eventually been disproven. Almost everything we've ever known has turned out to be wrong. So what says Einstein was the one who finally got it right? Why couldn't he be wrong, too? Relativity, spacetime, the speed of light - maybe all that was wrong.
*Teleportation*.
Just saying it gets me all worked up. Instant transportation across the globe. When that first little rat came out safe and sound on the other end, we were ecstatic. We felt like *gods*. We'd taken the first step in conquering the one enemy science had yet to conquer: time.
Our technology changed the world, of course. We could charge whatever we wanted and companies would still come to us on their knees. Worldwide shipping, international travel - oh, and our teleportation is unaffected by gravity. Yeah. You wouldn't believe what NASA paid for a tour of our labs.
But the money was nothing compared to the glory. Nobel prizes, honorary degrees, access to the innermost of inner circles - and that's only from our peers! By the rest of the world, we were hailed as the fucking saviors of our species!
With our technology replacing fossil fuels, carbon dioxide emissions plummeted to the lowest levels in a century. We also made it effortless to send shipments to areas ravaged by war or natural disasters. It looked like we'd saved the world. It really did.
So imagine our surprise when people started dropping dead on every continent. They'd arrive at their destination, take a few steps, and then just collapse on the spot. Autopsies revealed nothing; there were no signs of poisoning, asphyxiation, brain damage, or any kind of physical injury. It just looked like they'd died of old age.
We were stunned. Some of us couldn't handle it. They drowned themselves in booze or water. Some disappeared, never to be seen again. Probably living out the rest of their days on some paradise beach somewhere. Fucking cowards.
The rest of us, we poured everything we had into finding out what was happening and how to stop it. We slaved away for months with the weight of a civilization on our shoulders. We pushed ourselves to our absolute limits and one day, we had it. We'd figured it out. We knew what was happening, and I have never been so terrified in my life.
Remember the autopsies of all the dead people? That it just looked like they'd died of old age? Well, it turned out that was exactly what had happened.
Einstein was right, after all. You cannot cheat time.
When we transported that rat instantly from one place to another, we thought we'd saved it the time it would take to travel that distance. But as it turns out, time cannot be saved. It can only be moved. The time you save has to come from somewhere.
The people who died had used our teleportation over distances it would take years to cover conventionally. They'd live in NYC, commute to Tokyo, have lunch in Barcelona, and take their wife out for a romantic dinner in Paris. They made a dozen laps around the globe every week and eventually, they ran out of time.
I am the last one of us left. All the others have broken. Once again, I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. If I could take it all back, I would. I'd give all my prizes, all my money, everything I have and have ever had, if I could just turn back time and undo what I've done. But I can't, because if there's one thing I've learned in my life, it's this:
You cannot cheat time. | "You going to hold on to your lunch?"
"You know damn well that I don't eat before a jump," Todd said with a toothy-smile to the engineer, Jerry. Another jump meant another $50k in his pocket, and he was happy to do just that. Jerry stood at the control panel, a small stand that looked like a music director's stand, except this stand had a few buttons on it, as well as one lever. Jerry pulled the lever, and the circular arch that Todd stood in front of glimmered and shone.
Todd turned and peered into the television camera manned by some person that he didn't know. Every time he jumped, there was some camera there watching him, some different face behind it with a two dollar smile. Todd didn't mind though, there would be another man on the other end behind another camera with another two dollar smile, and there would be another man, but this one would have a check for fifty grand.
The portal sparked to life, and there he was, the man with the check, waiting on the other end. Todd took a deep breath and stepped through, feeling the pores on his skin open up and drink in the air, his eyes felt like they were watering, and he was suddenly conscious of every hair follicle on his body.
The sensations ended as soon as they started, and there Todd was, standing on the other side of the world with a man clapping.
"And there you have it folks," the man said into the camera, "Todd has made another jump."
Todd walked forward and shook his hand, the camera turned off, and then he took his check.
____________________________________________________________
His house on this side was luxurious; his bedroom housed an 80 inch television which he played video games on, and there was a mini-fridge next to his bed that was always fully stocked with vanilla pudding. On his bed sat his cat, Sushi, a rather fat cat that Todd failed to keep on a diet. One man had offered Todd an extra 10 grand to take Sushi with him through the portal, but Todd kindly turned it down, not wanting to risk his pet on the off-chance that portals didn't like animals.
He got out of his bed and walked over to the computer that was sitting on the oak table sitting on his computer. He sighed, waiting for the computer to boot up, and for some reason he was reminded of his time spent in prison, sitting there, waiting, and rotting.
He was guaranteed life, until the man in the suit came and cut him a deal; freedom if he stepped through the portal. There weren't any guarantees as to what would happen, he'd either end up on the other side, or he could be ripped to pieces, or he could spend an eternity in limbo. At the time, it didn't matter to him, and he took it. He stepped through the portal and entered freedom.
His doorbell rang, interrupting him from his thoughts. He slipped on his house shoes and made his way to the front door. As he got closer to the glass ornamented door he could hear a growing murmur of voices.
Upon opening the door, he found a crowd of reporters, shoving their microphones into his face like a bad porno.
____________________________________________________________
The woman interviewing him had more than a two dollar smile. By Todd's judgement, he'd say it was about a five-er, maybe even a ten. There was another camera in the room, and behind it, another man that he had never seen before in his life.
"So," the woman continued, "you're not Todd?"
"I am Todd," he said curtly.
"Well, the portal you've been stepping through for the past 10 years wasn't really a portal, the portal was fake. You were being pulled apart, atom by atom, transferred, and then put together on the other side, atom by atom. You were technically dead between those trips, and then rebuilt. You are no longer Todd."
Todd looked down at himself sarcastically. He lifted his arms, turned them over, gazed at his fingernails. He reached a hand down the front of his pants, much to the interviewers horror, grabbed a hold of his own junk, then nodded, "No, this is all me, this is all Todd," he said, retracting his hand from his pants, then wiping it on the armrest.
"I don't think you understand," the woman persisted, "you are not the same person."
"I'm done with this," Todd said. He left the room and was instantly surrounded by his bodyguards.
They stepped out of the building and were briefly surrounded by a crowd of people, some of them holding signs, some of them throwing trash, and most of them yelling obscenities, ranging from fake, abomination, monster, and many other names that they pulled from Mary Shelley literature.
No two dollar smiles in the crowd, Todd thought to himself. Another slew of microphones were thrust into his face, body guards doing their best to karate chop them out of the reporters' hands. One microphone managed to find it's way under Todd's nose.
"WHAT ARE YOU?"
"I am Todd." | 2014-08-25T10:16:51 | 2014-08-25T09:56:59 | 372 | 41 |
[WP] It is revelation. Satan and the armies of hell attack, only to discover that our technological advancement has allowed us to put up a decent fight. | After an agonizing eternity, finally it was time.
"RIDE". A soundless order to the four who had waited so patiently.
The white horseman flew forth, and from his mouth flew a myriad of diseases. Smallpox, measles, chickenpox and polio blanketed the world. Humanity continued on, impervious. The white horseman slunk away in confusion.
The red horseman flew forth, and from his mouth echoed the horn of war, to call nations to fight one another... but they already were. The red horseman slunk away in defeat.
The black horseman flew forth, and from his mouth came devouring insects to consume all the food of the world. But as they approached, they began to die off, or were off-put by the changed crops. The black horseman slunk away in wonder.
The pale horseman looked upon the world, saw its medicine and its science and moved not.
I CAN WAIT. Said death. | 0300 26.9.2014
Numbers ran down the screen almost as fast as the sweat ran down Private Moretz's brow. "Sir!" he shouted, not daring to take his eyes off his terminal lest some fraction of a detail escape his attention. "Sir," he called again, and his commander was at his side in a second. "Just what in the hell do you mean by this, private?" growled the sargent, nursing his cold cup of coffee. Private Moretz gulped. "Sir, it appears that someone on reddit has submitted a seemingly original creative writing prompt, not realizing that it's been done about a thousand times." Sargent Thine's face grew pale. He'd often wondered when this day would come, but he never knew it would be so soon. "Let me see that, son," he said, and Moretz jumped up, relieved to have passed off the responsibility. Thine surveyed the text, nodding, thinking, formulating an attack strategy. *I* *can* *do* *this*, he thought to himself. He took a deep breath and remembered his training. "Moretz!" he barked. "Dispatch a highly trained, sarcastic reddit user to write a fake reply to inform the OP that his story idea has already happened several times". "On it, sir", yelled Moretz, logging on to a nearby computer and sending out orders as fast as his spindly fingers could type. Thine began to relax. "And have the sarcastic reddit user link to a previous post where the sarcastic reddit user responded with a long post about the same topic, only to be informed of a different post where the same topic occurred and someone wrote an incredible story about it." Moretz nodded and entered the orders, then froze. "Moretz!" yelled Thine. He swiveled in his chair and saw the private staring at the screen, eyes wide with fear and shock. "MORETZ!" thundered the Sargent. The private turned to look at him, panic covering his face. "Sir..." he whispered. "That account was deleted, and the sarcastic reddit user cleared his web history before making his new account." Thine's breath caught in his throat. *No*, he thought madly. There was no way to give his post the necessary evidence to give it credibility. "We'll never get past the mods...." said Moretz softly. Thine only stared. There was no going back. | 2014-09-26T12:59:01 | 2014-09-26T12:16:59 | 291 | 166 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | Ever since I can remember I had a gift. A gift of knowing how "dangerous" a person might be. I measure people on a scale of 1 -10, people in comas are a 1 while dictators and supreme leaders hit a 10.
I've never seen anyone hit a ten in my life until I turned on the t.v. and saw a democratic candidate running for president again. The chills I got when I saw him smile, those chill that haunt you and stay with you. The candidate was a very charismatic guy and a ladies man too. If only they knew how dangerous that man was...
Months passed and he won the election. I couldn't believe it... With that power now one know what will happen. Will he be the cause of a new world war? We are already in a bringe to war with Russia! Damn it! This cannot be happening! I have do something but how and when? I live in Dallas and he's in Washington D.C., I'll have to kill him when he's here. But I just can't remember his name...
I just can't remember his name, his name started with a J, J what? J... J... Got it! John! John something Kennedy! That's his name! J.F.K. On the 22nd he will be here. I got to get my things ready...
If I don't stop him...
Who will... | "Tell me boy, what do you see in our new students?" the headmaster asked me, staring intently at the door through which they had just left. The headmaster knew - he had known for a long time - about my peculiar gift. I could see the danger in people. I could tell with a glance that manifested as a number in my head, on a simple one to ten scale. Dr. Butler, the headmaster, said the perfect wholeness and symmetry of the numbers was a sure sign that this was a gift from God, and as such I was to use it to warn all good Christians of His enemies.
"Most of the boys are a three or four," I told him. I glanced at the headmaster's ledger. At the top of each page was written, *Shrewsbury School for Boys* and at the bottom *Anno Dmoini 1818.* Each new boy's name was written on the left, and as he read aloud each one, I gave the number.
"Davies?"
"Three."
"Smith?"
"Two."
"Roberts?"
"Four."
"Hughes?"
"Seven."
"*Seven?*"
"Yes, sir." I stirred uncomfortably in my chair as the headmaster wrote an extended not in his ledger, shaking his head at the horribly dangerous boy Hughes. Normally a seven was reserved for a full grown man who had served at least one tour in the military, or for certain criminal types.
"Dr. Butler," I interrupted him.
"Yes boy, what is it?"
"The seven... that's not the highest number I saw today."
"You saw an *eight*? Good grief, which one was that?"
"No sir, not an eight. A ten."
The colour drained from the headmaster's face as he sat suddenly frozen in his chair. "You're sure?" he asked, "Absolutely sure?"
I nodded, the fear showing in my face as well.
"Well out with it then, which one was it?!" The headmaster was half standing over the ledger, reaching for more paper and his seals. Presumably all the teachers and staff would be warned about this boy. I leaned over the desk and looked down the ledger, trying to find the name.
"This one," I said, pointing, "down at the bottom of the first page." The headmaster seemed surprised.
"Are you absolutely sure?" he asked, "Why, his brother has been with us for four years already, and he is no more than a three."
"He is a ten," I said, confirming. Dr. Butler began moving about his desk again, mumbling to himself about how he must warn everybody, and that any bad behavior from this boy would be entirely unacceptable. I just sat and stared at that name, which would now haunt me as the only ten I would ever see: Darwin. | 2014-11-29T14:44:07 | 2014-11-29T13:49:40 | 140 | 36 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I sat in the back of the classroom, staring at her.
What the hell was going on? Was I losing it?
I looked around the room. No, everything was normal. A bunch of 3s, a few fours, and Mark, a six (I stay away from him).
Then there's this girl.
I had heard all about her. She was new in town, apparently her parents were big shot researchers who just finished some 5-year research project in Brazil. No, Peru. It was somewhere exotic.
According to my buddy Jon, she was smart, funny, and "Holy Shit, dude, sooo fine!"
My first time actually seeing her was 7 minutes ago when she transferred into 5th period World History.
Ten
She was a ten.
Not a, "Bro, she's a straight 10 outta 10."
A ten on my scale means...shit, you know what? I don't even know what that means.
The highest I have ever seen in my life was an 8 when my criminology class took a trip to the ACI.
This girl scored 2 points higher than a gang enforcer that got off on crushing skulls.
I always wondered what I would do in a situation like this. Would I try to warn people? How would I ever explain to them what I see?
When it came down to it, I ran. Well, I went down to the nurses office and told her that I had bought the school lunch that day (while kinda motioning down below).
I laid awake all night, going over it in my head. What did it mean? What do I do?
I stayed home the next day, checking the news feeds. No shootings at my school, nothing weird at all going on.
I creeped her facebook, her twitter. Nothing stood out. A completely normal 17 year old girl.
Day 3, I told my buddy Jon that he should skip school, but when I couldn't give him a realistic reason to, I dropped it.
I just sat at home, thinking that I should be doing something, anything.
Ten. A freaking ten.
What the fuck! How could this girl be a fucking 10?!
I got my answer when the CDC rolled into town.
| Danger is not quantified by how much harm one could cause others, but by how how much harm one intends to cause others. That's why two people of the same height, weight, and muscle mass could be unequally dangerous. That's why my best friend, the huge, 6 and a half foot tall, 250 pound, football player isn't dangerous at all. He simply doesn't intend to harm others. That's also why the cute little two year old down the street is incredibly dangerous. If given the opportunity, she would harm, possibly even kill, in a heartbeat. That's also why people's danger levels fluctuate a little over the course of any given day, as they get more or less aggressive, more or less stressed, etc.
How do I know so much about danger? It's simple really: I see it. When I look at another person, study them for a couple seconds, a number starts to form in my head, one that quantifies how dangerous that person is at that very instant. The longer I look, the more exact the number. For example, one time I decided to study my father for an entire 5 minutes, and the number in my head started to grow to around 100 digits after the decimal. Normally, however, I only study someone for a few seconds, and only get a one digit number, somewhere from 1 to 10. My friend, who I talked about earlier, tends to stay around 2 or 3, because he has a really good heart and no one he hates (they're all too scared to make fun of him at all). The highest I've ever seen him was a 4, and that was during his history final exam. The little girl down the street, she tends to be around an 8. The highest I've ever seen was a 9.55, from a guy who walked by me on the street once. I only got a good look at him long enough for 3 digits, and that included me turning around to watch him keep walking.
Occasionally, my ability takes a while to calculate a number. This is especially annoying when I meet new people , and try to figure out if they're a good person or not. Occasionally, I meet someone who I'm never able to determine the danger level of. Take my English teacher, for example. He's a nice enough guy, but for some reason I've just never been able to place a number on him. I'm not perfect, after all.
On the first day of my Junior year of high school, there was a new student in my Calculus class. I looked intently at him, as I always do with newcomers, trying to determine a number for him. He caught my gaze after a few seconds, and held it, staring back at me with cold, calculating, gray eyes. I kept looking at him, as uncomfortable as it was, determined to determine a number (:P). I was about to give up, thinking he was just one of those people I could't give a number to, when suddenly a bright red number flashed across my brain, followed by an exclamation point. 10! At first, I was confused, (I didn't even realize tens were possible), but in a tenth of a second my confusion turned to horror. I quickly tried to cover my face with a mask of disinterest, and looked away from him as nonchalantly as I could. Then, I "calmly" stood up, asked the teacher if I could "go to the nurse", and "calmly" exited the classroom. As soon as I got out of the classroom, I started running, and I've never stopped. | 2014-11-29T15:20:57 | 2014-11-29T12:41:49 | 50 | 22 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | "I'm Michael," he said as he stuffed text books into his locker.
I wasn't sure what to do. He was a ten. The only ten I'd seen was my dad and he'd been locked away. It was his number that brought back the painful memories of my childhood. He would come home every night drenched with the stench of cigarettes, beer, and anger. After years and years of slamming doors, punching walls and his wife, he was finally gone. I remember when the news came out about his other family too, his secret family. Or perhaps we were the secret family, but I suppose I'll never know. It was only the day of his trial when I found out he had murdered them all. It was only a matter of time before it was us, said the prosecutor.
The numbers indicate how dangerous someone can be. Two is my little sister, who just learned how to walk. Five is my mother who once hit a bird on the way home from school and couldn't stop crying for hours. Generally kids in my school were a four, five, or six. I'd met a teacher once that was an eight. He was arrested for murder that year.
I continued to empty the contents of my bag into my locker, only a few feet away from the Ten. I glanced into the mirror magnetized to the inside of the locker door. Over my head, there was a nine. I wasn't sure what I had done to deserver that number, but perhaps it wasn't what I'd done, but what I would do.
"I'm sorry," I said, slinging my backpack on my shoulder. "What did you say your name was?"
"Michael Carson," he answered as he flashed a smile and extended his hand.
Some would say I had a gift, and I would agree. But no one ever said I had to be the good guy here. I didn't ask for this, but the numbers never lie. The sooner I accept it, the better.
"Nice to meet you Michael, I'm Susannah," I replied as I placed my hand in his and shook. I had a feeling we'd be friends for a while. | Danger is not quantified by how much harm one could cause others, but by how how much harm one intends to cause others. That's why two people of the same height, weight, and muscle mass could be unequally dangerous. That's why my best friend, the huge, 6 and a half foot tall, 250 pound, football player isn't dangerous at all. He simply doesn't intend to harm others. That's also why the cute little two year old down the street is incredibly dangerous. If given the opportunity, she would harm, possibly even kill, in a heartbeat. That's also why people's danger levels fluctuate a little over the course of any given day, as they get more or less aggressive, more or less stressed, etc.
How do I know so much about danger? It's simple really: I see it. When I look at another person, study them for a couple seconds, a number starts to form in my head, one that quantifies how dangerous that person is at that very instant. The longer I look, the more exact the number. For example, one time I decided to study my father for an entire 5 minutes, and the number in my head started to grow to around 100 digits after the decimal. Normally, however, I only study someone for a few seconds, and only get a one digit number, somewhere from 1 to 10. My friend, who I talked about earlier, tends to stay around 2 or 3, because he has a really good heart and no one he hates (they're all too scared to make fun of him at all). The highest I've ever seen him was a 4, and that was during his history final exam. The little girl down the street, she tends to be around an 8. The highest I've ever seen was a 9.55, from a guy who walked by me on the street once. I only got a good look at him long enough for 3 digits, and that included me turning around to watch him keep walking.
Occasionally, my ability takes a while to calculate a number. This is especially annoying when I meet new people , and try to figure out if they're a good person or not. Occasionally, I meet someone who I'm never able to determine the danger level of. Take my English teacher, for example. He's a nice enough guy, but for some reason I've just never been able to place a number on him. I'm not perfect, after all.
On the first day of my Junior year of high school, there was a new student in my Calculus class. I looked intently at him, as I always do with newcomers, trying to determine a number for him. He caught my gaze after a few seconds, and held it, staring back at me with cold, calculating, gray eyes. I kept looking at him, as uncomfortable as it was, determined to determine a number (:P). I was about to give up, thinking he was just one of those people I could't give a number to, when suddenly a bright red number flashed across my brain, followed by an exclamation point. 10! At first, I was confused, (I didn't even realize tens were possible), but in a tenth of a second my confusion turned to horror. I quickly tried to cover my face with a mask of disinterest, and looked away from him as nonchalantly as I could. Then, I "calmly" stood up, asked the teacher if I could "go to the nurse", and "calmly" exited the classroom. As soon as I got out of the classroom, I started running, and I've never stopped. | 2014-11-29T13:16:01 | 2014-11-29T12:41:49 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation constraints, Heaven has become overcrowded. People now wish to go to Hell, simply for it's space has become a post-mortem luxury. But first, people must directly convince Satan that their not-so-evil actions during their lives make themselves worthy of Hell. | So in the end it was Satan, not St. Peter that I came face to face with in order to plead my case. Most of my life I looked back upon my actions trying to think of how to spin them in the best way. I had the speech ready, all the high points covered, and now it was all for not. They say no good deed goes unpunished, and now all of my good deeds will lead me to the greatest punishment. An entirety in Heaven is what lies before me if this fails.
I stepped to the front of the line and waited nervously. The guy before me spoke with grand hand gestures. There looked to be a mimed gun and a lot of jerking off. In the end Satan simply waved him off. He was banished to heaven. My heart sank and I thought, "I'm screwed."
I approached the man himself and he simply says, "So what do you have?"
I hesitated, unable to speak. Two, three, four times I tried to start and each time I came up empty. Satan looked annoyed and started to raise his hand. It was Heaven for me. Until out of nowhere it came, "Do you know Reddit?"
Satan lowered his hand, "Yeah, I'm a mod on /r/funny."
"Well I've been a member for 5 years. I consistently comment on posts but I've never upvoted one."
Satan took a long, disparaging look at me. I hung my head low, knowing that the pitiful display would not be enough to get me in. Then he broke the silence, "Son, you truly are the worst type of person. Welcome to hell you inconsiderate bastard." | "What the hell do you mean there is no space left?" Ken exclaimed.
"I mean there is no room for you in Heaven. All the luxury rooms are filled up with the maximum numbers. In fact, they are now lines in Heaven. Can you believe it?" Saint Peter replied.
"No, I can't fucking believe it I've never been."
"Well, there are two options for you. Either you chill out here in purgatory for God knows how long or you can pay Satan a visit and convince him your worthy to enter Hell."
"That is the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard! You think I'm going to hang out with Stalin and Hitler and all those other psychos. No, no. You know what Saint Peter, your an asshole."
And with that Ken went to roam around Purgatory. Everyone he talked to was so lame, their lives filled with so much neutral. These people committed some good like volunteering at a homeless shelters and some bad such as petty theft. He decided to go take a visit to Satan and see what advantages Hell had over Purgatory.
"Hey, is this the doorway to Hell?" Ken asked as he approached what looked like a rave entrance.
"Yea." Satan replied.
"So, Saint Peter was being a dick before and Purgatory is full of ordinary people. What advantages does Hell have over Purgatory?"
"Ha. You couldn't get into Heaven. Get lost man."
"Wait, what the fuck. I thought no one wanted to go into Hell. How are you denying me? That's like fucking worse than when I got denied from a bar for being 20 and 363 days old!"
"HA. No one wants to go to Hell? Are you kidding me? This place is the fucking bomb. I'm talking V-I mother fucking P of the afterlife. You want hookers, drugs, violence? We have all the vices of human nature in one place. In fact, if you want to come in convince me that you're worthy."
Shit, Ken thought. What is the most fucked up thing I've ever done? Can't be much worse than those guys in Purgatory. Think, God damn it.
"Alright I'll play your game. I can't speak for my life on Earth, but you know what? Let me in and I'll be the most fucked up person to walk through those doors. I'll make you look like a fucking bitch. I'll rape women, I'll abuse drugs and I'll kill everything that messes with me."
"Hmmm. Ok, son, but there is a catch."
"A catch?"
"Yes. You didn't think there was a cover charge for Hell did you? The price of Hell is that you have to be raped every single night by the one and only Marilyn Monroe."
"Hahaha, wait... what!?" Ken screamed. "You mean to tell me that the catch is I get to fuck the hottest woman of the 20th century."
"Yes" Satan replied.
"Count me in" Ken stated.
"Welcome to Hell." | 2015-01-03T15:04:43 | 2015-01-03T12:47:43 | 33 | 12 |
[WP] When a child is born, their parents may pick one skill that the child will be, without a doubt, talented in.
**EDIT** Wow! This went way bigger than I ever thought it would! Thanks to everyone that responded to the prompt! And to the readers - don't be afraid of the new filter, there are a lot of great stories here! | The effect of the gifts was less pronounced than was thought. Every generation, parents would look at what was lacking in in their time and ensure that their children were good at it. This led to cycles of overabundance and scarcity of skills; one generation we have millions of brilliant scientists; the next we have none. No one really stands out because every parent sees the same set of societal shortcomings and picks from the same pile of obvious fixes.
Since individuals make these decisions without any central ordering the cycle continues. Most people know what their power is as soon as they learn to talk. My parents though, they never told me what my talent was. Eventually I assumed that they declined the opportunity when I was born. It’s not a huge deal though, most of the people with special birth talents are either eking out a living in a hugely oversaturated job market or ignoring their skills and living normal lives. When I get asked about it I just say that there’s not much use for people with my gift and change the subject.
That all changed when my first child was born. As the doctors held the baby high and I was asked to select a gift I suddenly realized what my own gift was and recognized the wisdom of my parents’ choice.
My child will be the most important human in modern history. Not because of chance or lineage, but because I knew exactly which gift to give. | "Of all things you could've given me as my core talent, why *this*!?"
I was enraged. I spent my entire life in envy of the other kids at school. I wanted to be an artist, but was always overshadowed by the other artists. I was pretty good at math, but the title "genius" always went to someone else, not me. Then I tried being a writer, and in the same week, the guy sitting next to me got published. New York Times bestseller and everything.
I worked *hard* to get good at several different things, but I just didn't have the talent for anything. I learned early on that parents could select the core talent of their child before birth, so I thought that maybe I just didn't tap into it yet. I tried a lot of different things to see if I could figure it out, but nothing really stood out. So I tried *making* something my talent - Art, math, writing - and working very hard at it, but I could never get on the same level as the other kids whose parents had chosen their talent for them.
When I asked them before, they refused to answer. It made me depressed for a while because I thought maybe they forgot to pick one for me. I spent years in depression. Maybe I would be the only one in my city that didn't have any talent at all. I was hopeless.
Then, one day, I found out what my talent was.
"We were just thinking about how it might affect you growing up, sweetie..." my father started. "You know your mother and I are lacking in certain respects," he said meekly.
"Are you *frigging kidding me!?*"
"Language!" my mother snapped.
"Mom: Shut UP. You didn't help me, you *screwed up my entire life!* How is anybody ever supposed to take me seriously!?" I gasped for breath. Shrieking definitely wasn't my talent.
My life made so much sense now. My teachers and classmates were always so nice to me. Everybody tried to tell me that I didn't have to worry about being good at something, because my life should be easy. What the *hell* is that supposed to mean to a young girl growing up? That I should give up being smart? That I should give up trying to do anything for myself?
I threw the booklet of family photos at her, stricken by what I had learned. We'd just gotten them done. I pointed menacingly at her bulbous belly, where my little brother or sister waited to be born.
"Well here's a free tip for the next one: Ridiculously Photogenic is *not* a talent!"
------------------
Edit: I didn't like my first draft. | 2015-01-13T14:00:01 | 2015-01-13T12:31:05 | 43 | 11 |
[WP] During a flight you accidentally damage a window and find out that they aren't actually windows, but monitors. | Stewardess what is this? where is the window!
Oh that sir? we replaced all windows with LCD monitors years ago to increase fuel efficiently by streamlining the hull, to reduce metal fatigue and thereby extend the service life and over all safety of our aircraft once the technology became light and energy efficient enough to allow it. The image you are seeing is through a small fiber optic camera mounted outside which wirelessly links to your personal monitor.
Oh.... so erm can I have some peanuts? | He was 10,000 feet in the air when it happened. Mr. Brandt was flying out to Los Angeles (from Fredricksburg, VA) for the weekend. He boarded South West, flight 7456. He remembered getting his ticket, boarding, and the rush and sensation of taking off. He was a few hours into the flight when he had to get up to pee.
Mr. Brandt stood up, but foolishly forgot to put his tray table up. The laptop he was working on fell off the tray table with a loud *ka thunk* and his water spilled all over his lap.
Mr. Brandt went to the bathroom; on his way back, he picked up a handful of paper towels from the stewardess cart. When Brandt arrived back at his seat, he generously wiped the whole thing down, effectively drying it enough to sit on. He reached down to pick up his laptop when he saw it.
There was a crack in his window from where his laptop hit. The window flickered. *wait* The window flickered? Brandt tapped the window with a bit more strength this time. He jump backed when he saw the mark his laptop made when he pressed the screen.
Brandt started to freak out and mercilessly hit the screen/ window until pieces started flying off. He made just a big enough hole in the window to barely see outside. What he saw weren't the Sierra Nevada mountains, which should have been visible at this time in the flight; he saw the ocean. A large, blue expanse of sky and sea ... and a bright sun ... coming from the East. He was heading East. He has been heading East for hours. The plane was no longer in America.
"Where are they goddamned taking me!?" Thought Brandt to himself as the Stewardesses dragged him away.
"WHERE ARE YOU FUCKING TAKING ME!?" | 2015-02-05T08:48:23 | 2015-02-05T07:44:50 | 230 | 22 |
[WP] A man has the ability to smell death. The greater the stench, the closer a person is to dying. He leaves his house one day and is instantly overcome with the pungent scent of mortality. Every person he passes reeks of death. | The smell...no the stench. The accrid stench overcame everything else. The more I walked the more powerful it came. It never disappated into the background becoming normal. It was much too pungent to ever get used to. I stopped looking at the faces and kept my head down. I needed to get out of this death zone. Panic began to overtake the external calm of my demeanor. The panic built up until my walk became a run. I ran out into the street and raced to the cars at the nearest red light. I opened the door and screamed at the nearest truck owner. He didn't put up much a fight as I showed him my gun tucked into the front of my jeans. I frantically sped off from the intersection. Looking at the dash I shut off the radio. I somehow sped out of the city and on to the highway without getting pulled over and continued to speed for what felt like hours. It was going to be night soon and the adrenaline was fading. I turned on the radio and listened to the buzzing. I changed through every station and each one only played buzzing and static. I rolled down the windows and the air ripped into the cabin. There was no stench. No smell whatsoever. Just cool country breeze. The first light in miles caught my attention. I pulled over on to the shoulder and got out. The gravel crunched under my feet as I walked towards the distant light. It was an old country house porch light as I got closer. A man was sitting on the porch rocking while holding his knees. "They did it....they fucking did it. Canada finally dropped the bomb"
I dropped to my knees and looked up towards an imaginary camera. I screamed out into the twilight ”CANAAAADAAAAAAAAA!"
| Frederick Tillsbury was an ordinary man, he worked in an office for his computer company fixing bugs in their code, making sure everyone was using their technology wisely, and that all their computers were plugged in when they had an issue. Everything was quite ordinary; except Fred had a special ability, he could smell the scent of death.
Since he was a boy, Fred could smell the stench of death before someone passed on. As he aged, he slowly realized that when someone was young, they smelled fruity and fragrant, when someone was old and rickety, they smelled downright unbearable. If he could help it, he avoided nursing homes at all costs, even evaded visits from his grandmothers and grandfathers. His parents would scold him, but he dared not argue back, or tell them what he could do. He was afraid of what people would think, who would come trying to use his power for their own good.
Eventually, his parents began to smell of death, he feared that day would come. Fred’s tears were few when people died, as shock was not a factor. He knew his best friend, Craig Middleton, would die, he knew his parents would die. He lived a normal life, feeling sorry for those he would meet and the smell would linger on them. For others, it was overpowering.
He had tried to tell people, inform them, warn them, but it never did any good. If they avoided the bad part of town, they were hit by a car. If they were careful on the road, they would choke on their dinner. No matter what Fred did, he was powerless to save anyone.
One day, Fred awoke, to have his wife stench of death. His bus driver, his coworkers, his boss. Everyone. He feared that he was among them, that a bomb would go off, that a war would begin.
Nothing happened. The stench got far worse. So bad that he hid in a room alone, smelling everyone through the very walls. He was being driven mad by it, the intoxicating, horrid smell of dying flesh, rotting bodies and blood.
After a month of the smell, he took no more. Their lives were over soon, and his madness had pushed the limits of his very being and soul. He took a knife from his home cabinet, and killed his wife in her sleep. He feared her pain, but she went quickly. The smell was everywhere, still. He couldn’t stop their deaths, but he could make them come quicker for his and their own good. He went to work, killing every comrade he once had, and with every kill, the smell did not change.
Fred stood over the bodies of dozens, smelling true death everywhere he went.
He realized, then, that it was not his coworkers, his bus driver, his boss, or his wife.
The smell was him. Fred took the knife to his throat, and finally, the smell went away with the slice of a blade.
He could not save himself, as he could not save the others.
(Threw it on my blog [here](http://gloriestostories.blogspot.com))
| 2015-03-20T17:51:44 | 2015-03-20T17:36:33 | 855 | 75 |
[WP]A God does exist, we just haven't discovered his religion yet. He's been leaving us ever more obvious clues, but so far we've ignored them. Now he's getting pissed... | "You have to remember the rules", said Lucifer as he snickered from across the table. Yahweh gave him an incredulous look as he continued reading the rulebook. "No touching the game pieces directly. You can only draw and play one card per turn."
Yahweh looked at the cards in his hand.
"Make figures of Jesus appear in toast"
"Allow random individuals to hear the word of God"
"Bring the near-dead back to life after witnessing the miracle of heaven"
Sure, they all sounded good on paper, but Yahweh knew how this game went. "There is no way I'm making anyone believe anything with these. Why can't I get a card like 'invert gravity' or 'make a worldwide broadcast'?"
Lucifer wondered what language the broadcast would be in. "Now, now, you shouldn't complain. You did get to make a character, and I even let you resurrect him!"
"Yeah, but that was like 500 turns ago. None of the same pieces are even on the board now. Look, can we just start over?"
Lucifer thought about how Yahweh had thrown a tantrum and spilled water on the board last time. It wasn't really worth the damage to make him angry. "Alright, fine, we'll have it your way", he said as he cleared the pieces off the board. "But this time, I get to make a character first."
| Neil sat in his loft typing on the computer. The typing of keys was the only sound to fill the room until a voice boomed.
“Fuck, Neil. What the hell have you been you doing?”
Neil finished the sentence he was working on and spun around in his chair to face the empty space of the loft. “What are you talking about, God?”
“I haven’t seen anything about you in the news lately. Have you just been living off your fame?”
“I’ve been writing.”
“A new gospel?”
Neil nodded. “Your acts aren’t doing enough. I need to write about you more.”
God sighed. “I know. I send asteroids to burn up in the atmosphere. I nudge comets close enough to you to send probes. I lead men down the path of amazing scientific break through. Math is literally the truth and language of the universe.”
If God had one Neil would have put his hand on God's shoulder. To Neil God sounded dejected. “Don’t worry. More and more people are getting interested in science. People will understand soon.”
God grumbled like a moody teenager. “Shit, Neil. I don’t know how I could make it more obvious. Do I need to show up in a petri dish and spell it out or something?”
Neil shook his hands in the air. “No no no no. Don’t do that. Keep sending messengers. We’ll get it.”
“I send messengers every generation. Galileo, Newton, Aristotle, Pasteur, Hawking, Curie.” He sighed. “I guess it’s good that most people don’t think that science is the work of the devil anymore. I just wish they believed in it.”
“Don’t worry, God. There are a lot of people that only believe in science. They believe in the method and the peer review. They believe in the results. Soon your flock will join you.”
“I wait and I wait, Neil, in My House of Science yet I wait alone. If you idiots don’t come and worship at the blackboard and the Bunsen burner I’m going to abandon this planet.”
A look of horror crossed Neil’s face. He put his hands to his mouth. “No, God. Please don’t do that.”
“I will. I’ll do it. Then we’ll see how well you do with your precious scientific advances.” He snorted. “Not well, let me tell you that.”
Neil fell to his knees. “I’ll do better, Lord. I’ll do better. I will herd your flock to the labs. I will preach to them the ways of our Scientific Lord.” He reached his hands to the sky.
“Good, Neil. I’d hate to leave this planet and go to Forniconimon Seven. Those guys freak me out what with all of their eyes. Gross.”
| 2015-03-21T07:45:41 | 2015-03-21T07:31:45 | 197 | 138 |
[WP]World Governments have been lying to the people, but about something that is largely inconsequential. | Every English Lit textbook has the same error. These days, it's a mixture of persistent plagiarism and mistaken common knowledge. The truth disappeared over two centuries ago at the command of the secret societies. From the Illuminati to the hole in the wall political rabble rousers, every last brilliant mind peeeed into the future and agreed that one piece of knowledge must disappear.
Thus it became that The Bard was given the name William that he would no longer be known as his true self, Milk Shakespeare. | "welcome Mr. president" a voice said
newly elected president of the United stated Charles Brumei sat up from the chairs he was in. he began to stand up until he realized he was tied down he was in a small room kind of like the kind you hold mental prisoners in
"what the hell, do you know who I am" charles stated
"we understand Mr. prez we will let you go but first we must tell you a matter of national importances" the voice said
Charles calmed down "so uhhh what it is" he asked
the voice sighed and very sadly said "feet don't exist anymore"
"what do you mean feet don't exist" Charles asked
"well in world war 2 when we dropped the atomic bombs they had unfortunate side effects" the voice said
"like what" charles pressed
"the bomb messed up the genetic makeup of every human on earth it completely erased the foot gene" the voice said
"but, I have feet i see them everytime I put on my shoes" charles stammered
"well to fix this problem because we would get a lot of bad press every child that's born has a implant surgically placed to not notice the disappearance of feet we have removed you're to help you go through this process" the voice said "we will have someone release you shortly"
charles looks down to his surprise to see 2 perfectly rounded stumps were his feet should be a man came in through a hidden panel after helping charles out of his restraints he help out his hand to charles
"hope you have a great presidency charles please don't let this bother you" he said
charles looked down and saw that this man also has 2 perfectly rounded stumps balancing on they like they were feet
charles nervously took his hand and said "it won't I hope we didn't get of on the wrong foot"
| 2015-04-08T14:22:34 | 2015-04-08T14:20:28 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it. | I'm going to die today.
The doctor is giving me a run down of what will happen when we pull the plug. It will be painless, he says. Despite his reassurance, I can't help but be afraid. I glance over to my wife, my one true happiness in life, and begin to tear up. I can't handle the fact that I will never see her again. I pull her in for one last embrace.
I look back at the doctor and tell him I'm ready.
He gives me a slight nod, and slowly shuts off my wife's life support.
-
Edit : Thank you all for the kind words, when I wrote this obviously I could not have anticipated that it would be so well accepted. I'm glad that a good bunch of you enjoyed this story, as much as I enjoyed writing it. | He was ten at the time of the accident.
Unbeknownst to me, Ben's day began like any other. He woke up one minute before his alarm would ring and raced to turn it off. He always loved to beat the alarm clock, he felt like it set him up to keep winning the rest of the day. He showered quickly, skipping shampoo and only really washing his face. He put on his favorite T-shirt, the black one with the Wolverine leaping forward. I always complimented it whenever I saw him in it. He came downstairs and put two Eggo waffles in the toaster.
>"Did you use shampoo this morning?" his mother asked.
She leaned down to smell his hair.
>"Yes, mom," he lied.
This seemed to satisfy her enough as she then walked away. She always fell for it.
After eating, Ben left for school around the same time I would leave for work. He would always get on his bike as I was walking out to my car and call over,
>"Good morning, Mr. Richards!"
But today he didn't. He looked over as if to say hello, but I had already left. He continued as usual to bike to school. He passed my house, the Smith's house, the Robinson's, and even sped up to pass the abandoned house which he knew was haunted. As he reached the fork at the end of the road, he went left. This was a new path for Ben as his school was to the right. I knew this because this is where we usually would go our separate ways. I used to watch Ben going right in my rear view mirror as I would turn left to get to the highway.
Ben continued until he got to the bridge that crossed over the Jamestown river. He stopped and got off his bike. He noticed skid marks on the pavement and stared at them for some time. Then he followed the skid marks. He reached the side of the bridge where the railing had been broken. He reached out and touched part of the railing that was still intact and looked down where I had lost control and of the wheel and drove of the bridge 24 hours before.
>"Good bye, Mr. Richards."
| 2015-06-03T08:22:01 | 2015-06-03T06:23:30 | 2,420 | 197 |
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans. | Patch notes Human v1.80000001
Bug fixes:
NSP-3750 remove bug that required manual breathing while consciously aware.
NSP- 189 Modified tongue/cheek position check in "Chew" routine.
CPP-1648 improve short term memory storage, should fix the "why did I come in here?" Bug
New additions:
CMP-456 update to ensure all versions are ambidextrous.
CMP-043 added routine to module to verify code against New "Master DNA files" before recompile. Update "COPY" routine.
CMP-043A added Routine to create "Master DNA files" during birth. Should reduce instances of the common "Cancer" bug.
CMP-253 added calibration routine to visual processing. Recommend running daily as Re-Calibration can be time consuming.
SMP-18 Major overhaul to "prayer" routine. Basic Feedback should now be available. Please refer to manual "Revised Testament"(soon to be released) regarding use.
| Brain:
* Laughing now always produces a sound. You should no longer experience laughing without making noises and looking like a retard while your mouth hangs open and your head turns red.
* There was a strange interaction with natural poisons like alcohol, THC or tobacco; Instead of triggering a defensive behaviour to prevent you of further poisoning yourself it triggered endorphines. Now the correct reaction is triggered: Fear
* Loss of short time memory fixed. You will no longer forget, why you went to the kitchen. There is still no fix for the "have I turned of the oven" -bug. Stay tuned for the next update.
* Replaced the feeling of *"having nothing achieved in its life"* with an increased urge for sex (see sexuality). Middle aged men should now feel better about themselves.
* Fixed a bug which caused forgetting the unified language, which is preinstalled in all humans. Instead of learning *cultural languages*, *babyspeech* is available to you once more.
Sexuality
* Fixed several bugs concerning *love*. The desire for a longterm relationship in male humans has been replaced by the urge to mate with as many female humans as possible, just as it is common for other primates.
* To counter the femals' lesser interest in constant pregnancies while fulfilling the males wish for sexual intercourses, homosexuality is now a baseline trait for male humans.
Eyes/Vision:
* Eyelashes should no longer get stuck in your eyes; They have been removed.
* Enlarged the spectrum of visible light. There was no real reason to limit the human eyesight to a small bandwith of the electromagnetic spectrum. Enjoy sour x-ray vision!
Skeleton:
* To prevent your little toe from harm while running into furniture in the night, your big toe and small toe have changed places. You might want wo wear your shoes the other way around, now.
* Teeth can now regrow. A single adult tooth will take about 8 month to regrow.
* There is a survey on our website for an additional set of arms. Please take your time to tell us what you think!
Organs:
* Appendix removed. It caused to much trouble in the past. You might want to find a new word for the appendix in your papers.
* Instead of farting, the gas in your guts will now be released as burps like intended. Some customers mentioned it is still smelly. If this bug persists please let us know. | 2015-08-25T08:51:07 | 2015-08-25T08:47:07 | 57 | 21 |
[WP]In the near future both the U.S. and Russia have new presidents, both of whom happen to be alcoholics. On a state visit at the White House they start taking shots of vodka one evening, and just for laughs decide to pass the time by planning a joint invasion of a random country. | "Right, right, I know we can't *reaaaaally* do it... but hypoth- ... hypother- ... whaddif we just, like, went and fucked ISIS up?" Charles started, leaning back in his chair.
"Who says that we cannot?" Remizov replied, calmly emptying his glass.
"Yeah man, we could just... *UNFF.* You know?" Charles continued.
Remizov couldn't help but smile. Charles had only drunk half of what he had, but the man seemed barely conscious.
"Jus' between you and me, I have like... this *plan*, right?" Charles slurred.
"Do tell," said Remizov, politely opening another bottle.
"Alrigh', it goes like this..."
Charles started snoring halfway through his story, and Remizov stared in awe at the notepad he had hastily ripped from his bag. Charles' idea was... genius. There was no other word for it. The American president may have made a few drunken errors because of his intoxication, but the plan he was trying to communicate was nothing short of absolute brilliance. He moved towards the door.
"Belinsky! Belinsky, you have to see this!"
The floor moved rapidly towards him. Remizov lifted himself up on one knee, still dazed.
"Belinksy!" he managed, before toppling over.
Belinksy rushed into the room, a panicked look in his eyes.
"Remizov? Remizov!"
Remizov coughed violently and slid a notepad over to him before collapsing to the floor.
Belinsky grabbed it and turned it over.
"Use taco robot in ISIS uniform to sneak into super secret base," he read, confused.
Remizov giggled and made raspberries at the cieling. | "Ah... Ah got it. Luxmmburg." The President of the United States tried to lay a finger impressively on the globe, missed completely, and fell over on the floor.
"Vat is Lux-em-borg?" The Russian Prime Minister blinked owlishly at the globe.
"Pfffffft, HAHAHAHAHA!" The President chortled stumbling to his feet. "Listen to you. 'vat ist bin Luxemborgstein.' Don't you... don'tchu know your own continent, Vlad?" Draping himself over the globe, he smiled benevolently and searched about before tapping his finger. "There. That's Lush and Burp."
The Prime Minister leaned forward until the tip of his long nose touched the globe. "I do not see it." he announced.
"That's because it's friggin' TINY!" The president grinned up at him. "Like, 2 inches across, the entire country. Ish like... like... like the pimple in the butt-crack of France 'n Spain."
The Prime Minister fell back onto his chair and frowned disconsolately. "Vhat is problem with my plan of invading Antsartica?" He pouted. "Vhy invade pimple?"
"BECAUSH IT'SH HILARIOUS, Vlad!" The president insisted. "The two ass-biggingest countries n'vading a FOOTBALL STADIUM. Can you imagine it? Ha! HAHAhahaaaha!" Overcome with laughter, the president of the United States fell off the globe and toppled onto the floor again, convulsing in laughter.
The Prime Minister sighed, picked up his glass, and stared at it. "They have vodka in Lubemworx, yes?" He asked.
"Hm?" The President considered this. "Pr'bobly not.... More wine sort of people."
The Prime Minister shook his head. "I do not like wine."
"They prob'bly have BEER though." The president got up and staggered to the extremely depleted bar. "Luxemborg sounds like a beer-y name. Y'like beer? We've got some Heinekin around here."
"I do like beer." The Prime Minister got up and followed the president to the bar.
"Wh-No! NoooOOOOooooo..." The president wailed, staring at the bar. "Vlad," he said, turning to the Prime Minister with streaming eyes. "Vlad, 'm so, SO, SOSOSOSOSO VERY very," he paused and thought. "VERY," he repeated. "Sorry. The beer's missing."
"Vat?" The Prime Minister's face collapsed in dismay.
"Secret service prob'bly hid'n it again." The President savagely swung the door shut.
"But beer I like!" the Prime Minister protested. "Where is beer we can drink?"
The president held up a finger, eyes alight with an idea. "Luckemborsh."
-
"And that, children, according to legend, is how the rise of the Luxemborg Empire started." | 2015-11-23T09:09:43 | 2015-11-23T07:42:00 | 404 | 113 |
[WP] You're a man who's tired of his life, so one day, while driving home from work, instead of stopping at your house, you just decided to keep driving. | The steady creep of exhaustion was finally beginning to overtake me...
Left.
Hands raw from hours of gripping leather...
Right.
Shoulders slumping forward... I make a half-hearted effort to pull them back into place...
Straight. Yes.
Someone closes on me from behind... appears to be a young man. My muscles tense. My grip tightens...
"Uhmmm, sir? Seriously, I need you to leave now. The driving range closed two hours ago."
"You can't make me go back!"
*PING!* Another shitty golf ball disappears into the setting sun.
"I gotta keep driving..."
| Jim never was a rebel, as a kid he prided himself on knowing anything and everything in all his classes. Hell, valedictorian him up. Where did he end up after that? Nowhere special, he was disappointed. This disappointment grew inside him where he just couldn't take it.
It was as if life itself was binding him, and he could not be freed.. until now.
he is at a crossroads. To the left of him there is his lonely, and miserable, and plainly mediocre life. To the right awaits wonder and mystery, the same wonder and mystery he had felt as a kid with his brother.
he turned to the right, to begin his new adventure, and embark on a new journey!
Fred was an alcoholic, physically abused by his father and emotionally abused by his mother he grew up poor and miserable. The only one who helped him out was his older brother, but eventually they drifted apart due to their differences. He always had respect for him though, he was the only one that he respects. He would later go on to "self-defend" himself against his father, little did the judicial system know he had it all rigged in his favor. Fred was cunning, deceptive, manipulative, and he never got caught in the act. He rose to the ranks as one of the world's "best and most trustworthy lawyer", but wanted more. His greed and ambition fueled him, but in one fateful night would be his downfall. His friend showed him a new alcohol, it got him drunk real quick. His friend left when fred was starting to pass out, a grave mistake. Fred drunkenly and thirstily decided to drive to the store to get more booze, ended up on oncoming traffic and smashed into someone.
Jim died on impact, fred miraculously survived. Through his corruption and connections he was found, you guessed it, not guilty.
Fred experienced severe emotional grief, because jim was infact his brother. The only one who showed any level of compassion for him in his youth. Fred would later commit suicide over the guilt.
| 2016-06-11T20:28:53 | 2016-06-11T19:01:22 | 276 | 13 |
[WP] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God. It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him. You're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did. | "*Excuse* me?" I spat, incredulous,
"**YOU** ***KILLED*** **HIM.**" rang the accusation again, seemingly sucking all the air out of the room. Geez, was there a hull breach?
I pensively withdrew my AR spectacles from my nose and pointedly clapped shut my notes, striding around from behind the podium to approach the High Seat. It wasn't until that moment that I recognized that what I was feeling was *rage*.
"Just **who** do you think you're referring to...? 'We'?" I interjected a pregnant pause, casting a disgusted glare around the room - at all the gazes in their myriad forms doubtless glaring back. "Us? Do you mean our 'species'? Do you mean our 'Government'? Do you mean perchance our 'Civilization'? Well if those are your criteria then I have some rather *inconvenient news* for you, o assembled cardinals of the Celestial Order: When you dropped your messiah on the world my kin call our home, there was hardly even a *type zero* civilization that had just *barely* begun to grasp the concept of Agriculture. He landed in a conflict territory where multiple factions of savages were operating **intentionally** on a lexicon of anger and hate, and *none of them* historically appreciated someone undermining their brutality. What did you *think* ignorant, violent bigots would do? What you're failing to realize is: this is why they're *extinct* now. The Terran Federation's populace hasn't been genetically compatible with the proto-humans of that era for **thousands** of years. The government that conducted this unspeakable brutality atrophied and crumbled to *dust* a mere few hundred years thereafter - a BLINK, I remind you! - So let me put this into terms you understand..."
I composed myself, drawing up my posture and quieting my voice, though it still seethed "We didn't fail your messiah. Our predecessors did, and then immediately proceeded in a long, agonizing descent to destroy themselves. Need I remind you that **we,** on the other hand, have had to come as far as we did *without* your messiah."
I paced back toward the podium and collected my materials, my tone drifting conversational now. "We have survived this long fumbling **blind** in this universe, unraveling its functions and properties by sheer observation alone. If you insist on mistaking **us** for those foul heretics upon whose accursed bones we have painstakingly built *everything we have, ALONE,* ***without*** your aid or guidance," I made a point of re-equipping my smart glasses, before gravely delivering my closing. "Then I suppose we'll happily **stay** that way. You can continue arguing against our dead ancestors in our absence if you wish, but **our** part of this conversation is over."
And then I took my sweet time strolling out. I half expected them to stop me, but given the arrogance and self-entitlement endemic to the profession of 'literally representing God'... well, let's just say that I had faith my species wasn't important enough to be worth their trouble. At least my faith in *that* was well-placed. | January 16th, 0001 AC/ 2021 AD
It's been little over two weeks since first contact. It was just like in the movies. They came in flying saucers and were little grey hunanoid things with big black oval eyes. They had retractable bird like wings and talked in an advanced form of telepathy, that used your own mind, your own internal monologue to converse with you.
Within the few weeks they've undermined Einstein's theory of relativity's 'c is the speed limit of the universe' part by showing it didn't take account of some physics in the universe that we weren't able to observe here on earth, advanced quantum theory from it's infancy stages and even unified it. It was a new golden era for scientists of all kind.
I, Scott Walker, had been in the news recently claiming the aliens were actually the Angels of the bible. After all they came here to collect their imprisoned brethren in Area 51 and to spread their religion, which was similar to the Abrahamics faiths of today, with some differences. And they'd asked the president for me to be an ambassador priest to their Inter-Galactic church.
I was blown away. I didn't think they took notice of my 15 minutes of fame while I was being interviewed by FOX news. It was evidence enough for me that they were in fact the celestial children of God.
I was being escorted by a CIA operative, who I assumed was there to gather Intel, some armed soldiers and a camera crew to document everything.
The first thing I noticed while walking to the Galctic Pope for the hearing was that the black holy books laying on some of the pews had gilded letters that said 'Don't Panic', which made me wonder who might be panicking in a church. I took a seat the motioned to and a couple of assistants put some helmet on my head, so the entire conversation could be heard, for the cameramen to record.
[i]'Scott Walker?'[/i] I asked myself in my head. Oh. They must have said that.. Right.
"Yes, sir?" I replied out loud.
[i]'Do you know why you're here?'[/i] it asked in a gentle tone.
"No, sir, I assume it is to reveal your holy presence as proof of the Bible's legitimacy?" I asked aloud.
[i]'No, my child, unfortunately the matter is of grave importance. The missionaries we sent, the ones that crashed in New Mexico, United States of America. The ones kept in Area designated 51.. They tell us of how you humans tortured and crucified your messiah, sent to you by God.'[/i]
Oh dear lord. This goes way above me. How could I tell them I'm only but a simple mechanic, who just goes to church once a week? They should have gotten the pope or the attorney general. They could probably hear all that.
"Sir, the bible does mention Jesus's crucifixion and the events leading up to it.. But Jesus sacrificed himself willingly for our sins." I said, feeling like it was a compelling argument.
[i]'That may be so, but we cannot allow such a species, unwilling to listen to the messiah, harm one of God's corporeal forms without atonement. Humans must pay with their enslavement, until they can prove they follow God closely.'[/i] it concluded.
This is bad. We don't have a prayer against them. Even though they're a church, their mothership is armed with technology that makes us look like we're still in the stone ages. It'd be like fighting off Russian army in the artic, with nothing but sponges. Naked.
Beads of sweat rolled down my neck, despite the cool temperature of the room. My mouth and throat felt dry as I stammered to think of some argument to free us of our impending doom.
"Please, Your holiness, How can you punish us for what our ancestors did? None of us were alive then. Let him who is without sin, be the first to throw a stone, right?" I pleaded.
There was a long silence before the galactic pope started to laugh. It was thunderous and once he did it infected everyone else in the room. The galactic pope reached up and pulled off his face as though it were a mask. A simple towel came undone. It.. It was Ashton Kutcher.
[i]'Youve been punk'd!'[/i] it said in my head, as it started to laugh again. The shock slowly wore off and I realized I was on that dumb tv show, and bitter anger coursed through me. Of course Ashton Kutcher was an alien. A movie star from Iowa!? I should have known.
--------------
Please be gentle. This is my first time. | 2016-08-18T08:01:51 | 2016-08-18T06:54:36 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] He sees you when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake. And Santa, low on funds to pay his elves, has begun selling his surveillance data to the NSA. | "So this naughty list...it's a 100% accurate?"
"Ho ho ho! It sure is! People have been very very naughty this year"
"Are you sure you want to go through with this Santa? There's no going back once this information is in our hands."
"Ho ho ho! Yes of course! I have to pay my elves somehow. This deal is too good to refuse."
"Understood."
The man reached into his coat and pulled out a small black flip phone. He pressed a single button and put the phone to his ear.
"Operation Naughty List is a go go go...and someone send Santa his candy canes."
______________________________________________________________
Little Timmy was enjoying his day. It was the day before Christmas and his entire family had spent the day out doing some last minute Christmas shopping. In the chaos he managed to persuade his parents to buy him two extra toys that he had really wanted but had to leave off his Christmas list. His parents had made him promise that he wouldn't touch the toys until after Christmas. He didn't care though. He was Little Timmy and he always got what he wanted. He was going to play and no promise was going to stop him.
"GO GO GO!"
Five NSA agents dove in through the windows of the house, showering poor Little Timmy with broken glass. The agents immediately did a barrel roll once they landed and formed a pose that looked like they were trying to spell "NSA" with their bodies. They began to speak in unison.
"LITTLE TIMMY. THE NSA HAS INFORMATION PERTAINING TO YOUR EGREGIOUS VIOLATIONS AGAINST THE SECURITY OF OUR COUNTRY. COME WITH US AND YOU WILL NOT BE HURT."
Little Timmy was terrified. All he had wanted to do was play with his toy. What the hell was going on.
"LITTLE TIMMY YOU ARE 12 YEARS OLD CORRECT?"
All Little Timmy could do was nod.
"WE HAVE INFORMATION OF MULTIPLE INCIDENTS WHERE YOU IN FACT LIED ABOUT YOUR AGE ON MANY WEBSITES THAT ARE DEEMED 18 AND UP CORRECT?"
Little Timmy nodded again.
"DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT LOOK UP "BIG BOOB GIRLS NAKED" IN GOOGLE AND WATCHED A VIDEO RESTRICTED FOR PEOPLE YOUR AGE?"
Little Timmy was crying now. His actions had finally caught up with him. This was the end.
______________________________________________________________
Little Timmy ended up being let go due to the fact that the judge assigned to his case was also on the naughty list and had his trial on the same day. Little Timmy grew up to become a great hacker and ended up working at the same organization that had terrorized him at a young age. He then stole information pertaining to secret government actions and released them to the public while fleeing to Moscow. He never looked for porn through Google again.
Man with coat and flip phone became famous within the NSA for his groundbreaking deal with Santa Claus and was promoted 50 times until he was so high up in the NSA they were forced to make him start over from the bottom.
Santa Claus was finally able to pay his elves a candy cane wage that they deserved, ending a bloody civil war amongst the elves due to the Great Candy Cane Shortage. Sadly, he would pass in the middle of a celebration with three prostitutes. His last words to them were
"Ho, Ho, Ho, have a merry Christmas"
| The two NSA agents looked with distaste at the sweating old man in front of them. The crazies this place attracted...
"So. Mister...hm, Klaus," agent Matthews said, not bothering to hide his smirk. "You say you have data of paramount national importance. Care to elaborate?"
Nick patted the sweat from his forehead and tried to find a way to phrase it. He'd had a speech planned, but these people were so damn intimidating. He tried to remember what he'd overhead the elves say. What had driven him to travel all the way to this place.
*Can you imagine the money he could make if he sold all that stuff he has on the kids?*
Okay, he shouldn't say it quite like that, he should -
He was still thinking when someone knocked on the door. The agent opened the door to a grinning, three-feet tall figure clad in black. Nick felt a thrill of horror.
"Kippie!" he whispered, and the elf winked at him. The two humans merely looked befuddled and fell silent as Kippie snapped his fingers and approached the table. Nick felt his own muscles relax, and knew he wouldn't be able to get up from the chair until Kippie had said his piece - elven magic was strong stuff.
"So, you made it all the way here. Well done, Nick," the elf said, beaming at him. "You heard our idea! And now, you have a way to pay us. Isn't that splendid?"
He glared at the little creature. "You meant for me to hear you. Fine, yes, it's a good idea. I'll give you guys...some of the money."
Kippie narrowed his bright green eyes and wiggled a finger at him. "Tell the truth now, Nick. You meant to cheat us again, didn't you? Keep paying us in moldy old cookies and squirrel away the funds, eh?"
Nick felt an overwhelming urge to tell the truth. Blast it all. This far away from the North Pole, and low on lended power from the elves, he couldn't stop the words from spilling out.
"Fine, I didn't want to pay you," he grunted.
"Well, I suggest you change your mind. Agree to our terms, and we'll make these gentlemen...open to negotiation," Kippie said pleasantly, nodding at the dazed humans. "At the moment, they think you're nuts."
"What do you want?" Nick asked, stalling for time. He'd find a way to make it all work out.
"Fair wages. *Money*. We're tired of being paid in cookies and happiness, old man," Kippie said, the smile fading from his face. He somehow managed to look menacing.
Nick was nodding reluctantly, when Kippie continued.
"And we want to come along for the ride on the sled, sometimes. And have first pick of the *fresh* cookies," he said.
Nick laughed until his substantial belly shook. "Don't be ridiculous. Whoever heard of an elf on a sled?"
Koppie's little face darkened. "Fine. Why don't you get take some time to...reconsider."
He waved a hand at the humans, and snapped his fingers at Nick. Again, that urge to tell the truth. Really tell the truth. Kippie shimmered into invisibility, smiling maliciously.
"I know what all the little children of the world are doing, right now," Nick blurted out. "I watch them all. I have that ability. Should I tell you? Right now, little Chrissie Andrews can't sleep, she's so excited at the thought of getting a puppy. I'll pay her a visit in the night soon. And eight-year-old Tom Barrow in Australia has been so naughty he won't get a visit from me for five years...and..."
The humans looked at one another uneasily as the bearded man prattled on. There was an unmistakable ring of truth to his words.
"You visited *who* in the night?" Matthews asked.
The man babbled for hours, as the agents listened, discretely calling for backup.
"You better come with us, sir..." they said eventually, taking him firmly by the arm.
As he was led from the building, Nick spotted a smiling elf in the foyer, invisible to everyone else.
"If they take me to prison, Christmas will be over! Do you hear me, Christmas will be over! What'll I do in there? Who will I be?!" he roared at the elf.
"Ho, ho, ho," Kippie winked at Nick, and started shimmering back to the North Pole.
----------------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
| 2016-12-07T22:49:05 | 2016-12-07T22:05:24 | 56 | 22 |
[WP] Everytime you touch somebody you get a flash of your entire future with them. | "An espresso, please." I rummaged in my handbag and took a couple of coins to give to the barista. He smiled - a handsome, flirty grin - and asked for my name. As he gave me my change, his fingers brushed my palm.
All the colours of the rainbow blinded me for a second. I grew woozy and grabbed onto the counter for support. I saw a faint vision on my closed eyelids. I concentrated on making out the shapes. Slowly, they came into focus.
I was running - a sharp pain in my abdomen forced me to turn a corner and take a breath. I heard his footsteps behind me. I had to keep going or something terrible would happen. I turned into a dark alleyway, lined on either side with industrial-sized recycling bins, and blankets used by homeless people. Gasping for breath, I clutched the side of the recycling bin, and crouched behind it, willing my exhausted lungs to stop panting. I clenched my eyes shut.
Someone was whistling in the alleyway, and it was getting closer. “Where are you?” a voice rang out. I buried my face in my arms. Someone grabbed my arm, violently-
-and brightness. Concerned murmuring. The coffee shop appeared around me. I was on the floor, the handsome barista looking down at me, worried. I backed away in panic.
"Get away from me!" I screamed and rushed towards the door.
"Wait!" the barista shouted faintly, and then footsteps behind me. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu enveloped me. I ran for around half a mile before a stitch began to form in my stomach. I turned a corner and took a breath. I could hear him behind me.
This was my curse. Although I knew what was coming, I was powerless to stop it. Behind the recycling bin, I put my head in my arms and prayed silently. He grabbed my arm.
"Hey, you left your handbag. Are you OK? Do you need to go to the hospital?" the handsome barista said, kindly. | "Mom I.." The truth was heartbreaking, I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth.
I had never used my gift on her before, why would I? who wants to know how or when a person they love will die, especially their own mother.
"what is it, what did you see" There was fear in her eyes, I could see her tears begin to swell and her bottom lip tremble, as she desperately wanted an answer.
"Mom" I struggled to say something, my chest felt like it was on fire, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
I couldn't tell her the truth, so I lied, "the cancer kills you 15 years from now" a tear rolled down my cheek as I lied to her, if she knew the truth she would be inconsolable and scared, I didn't even understand what I was seeing.
She covered her mouth as she gasped, I reached out to comfort her, "it's ok honey, it's ok, really that's plenty of time" She smiled as tears streamed down her face. We had just met with the oncologist who told my mother she had breast cancer.
The truth was she would only be alive for another three months, and it wasn't cancer that killed her, she would die a lonely death, alone with no one by her side.
I'm a Seer, my gift came about when I turned 8 years old.
When I used my gift to see my mother's death, I saw her running with my siblings and me through what looked like a forest I had never seen before, the entire wood was covered in deep snow.
My gift was still young, I could see everything from the host's eyes, not hear or understand her thoughts like older Seers, but only see, my gift had not advanced that far yet.
The vision of the last moments of her life was excruciating for me to watch, Each step she took through the snow seemed like a struggle, My Mother would keep looking around as if she was running from something, "what is she running from" I thought.
Eventually in the vision she handed me my baby sister and ran in a direction away from us, as she turned back to take one final look at her young family, I could see myself trying to break free from my older brothers holding me, it seemed as though I was trying to stop her; of course I would, I would be the only person who knew what was coming next.
After travelling away from us for a few minutes she stopped walking. She looked down at her hands; they were shaking, Was she cold? or was it fear that made her shake?" I had so many questions.
Suddenly I could tell she was panicking, she would look around the empty forest frantically, as if she was searching for something or someone, she began sprinting through the snow as fast as she could.
She had run right towards them, they were police, well they were wearing police uniforms anyway.
The three men pointed their guns at her. She raised her hands towards the men, then like a flash, she was lying in the snow, I could see blood, then nothing.
"Your gift truly is remarkable Joseph" she hugged me, I didn't want her to let go, I never wanted to move from this spot because she would be safe.
I wanted to tell her what I saw, but I needed to understand what I was seeing first, I needed help.
They say it's a gift to be a Seer, right now it feels like a curse.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Major edits* Thanks Luna and Xcessive | 2017-01-11T07:18:58 | 2017-01-11T07:04:21 | 45 | 19 |
[WP] You have the power to stop time at will, but you are also affected. The only thing you can do is think. | It's game time.
The teacher clicks on her computer, the screen changing to a new question in front of our eyes.
I stop time.
I scan the question rapidly, then slower. I've got all the time in the world. I pick out every detail and run it through my brain. Noting the possible answers, I rule them out one by one until I'm certain I've found the correct one. I focus on that answer and prepare my finger to mark it instantly. Yellow circle. Yellow circle. Yellow circle. Am I ready? Yes.
I start time.
My finger jabs at the yellow circle on my personal screen before the others have had a chance to read the question. I sit back, satisfied, as the rest of the class's answers come in.
I repeat my process for the remaining questions, each time destroying my competition. The game ends. I've won.
I am the Kahoot champion again. | My name was Catherine. Is. I was... i am 27. I still exist. I am still human. The world is not just my own head. There is something outside this nothingness.
I've been staring at that face for what is probably equivalent to 12 years. I know every detail of that face from the bleached whiskers on her upper lip to the cracked foundation that sets into her wrinkles making her look a decade older.
It feels like I have been thinking for a century. Can I die this way? I hope I die this way. Time has been frozen for 12 years. I'm stuck in my own head. My MediocrePower is really a curse. I am 27 years old, but I have been thinking for a total of 200 years of my life. I began to suffer anxiety in my teens and it has been an eternal torture.
I can't answer her question. This has been my longest freeze. Too much hinged in answering this correctly. I can't do it
My boyfriend is called Dave. His mother is called Jennifer. I am called Catherine. I need to remember these things in case I can ever get out of my head. It's not going to happen. I'm never getting out. I will die like this. Please say I can die like this. I know I can't.
Jennifer spent the whole of that, this, evening looking down at me, picking me apart. Criticising my hometown for being too poor, my educatuon for being useless, me for being alive. Always subtle, always when Dave couldn't hear. How can I answer the question of why I 'decided' to ruin her son's life by falling pregnant?
There is no perfect answer to this. Tell her the child is an accident? She will get the coat hanger herself. Tell her it's planned? She'll bully us into giving it up for adoption, trying to convince us we aren't ready for children. We've been together for 6 years. She is going to stop at nothing to ruin my relationship with her son.
What it she's right? What it I don't deserve him? But isn't that his choice? Why do we have to spend Christmas with his mother.
I can't cope with my own head anymore. Someone help? | 2018-01-08T17:01:08 | 2018-01-08T14:49:47 | 57 | 16 |
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head. | "Ohshit-- Adam!!"
My friend yelped in a panicked voice and lurches out to me like I was about to be hit by a train, or something. My body shook out of instinct and I shut my eyes tight and brace the impact to come.
*bbbBbBbBbbbb*
Of course, it never did. I have a guardian angel after all. That noise seems to rumble up from everywhere at once in the school cafeteria. I know what's happened, it's happened so many times before, yet I can't control it. After several internal moments pass, I carefully open my eyes. All the students and staff had come to a halt until I was the only one left moving.
The world had become a standstill, my playground. At least... that's what I had thought in the beginning, but when you don't have the remote for a time controlling power, you lose out on being able to do all the fun stuff. Of course, the first time I was scared shitless, I had freaked out thinking that the goddamn school bully-- Cain, beat me to death in the hallway. I had carefully scattered away and retreated to the bathroom to try and decipher what the hell was happening. After a while, everything just went on like normal.
A smile broke out on my expression as my reflection ended and I reach out to my delicious chocolate milk carton and take a slurp. Ahhh, freshman year sucked. My eyes shift around the scene and take in the information laid out before me. "Now... what's happening?"
A high school cafeteria is like a friggin' zoo, man. All kinds of shit happening everywhere at once. The nerds sitting together playing yu-gi-oh with their boxed lunches, all the jocks arm wrestling in the corner to try and assert alpha male dominance, lots of stray students making their way to their respective tables. Everything looked all clear, though. So I'm not sure why she-- Oh. It wasn't until I turned around in my seat and spotted the big sloppy burger five inches from hitting the back of my head. Tracing the trajectory back, I find the culprit. Of fucking course, it's Cain. Who else would be such a relentless douche bag?
Now, this is where you'd fight back against the bully!! I can't do that. I swore an oath to be careful until we figure out all the rules and limits. I take a deep breath and adjust my head slightly to the left, trying to make it look like I dodged the projectile in real time with my super spidey senses.
That's when I got an idea.
I take one last look around, and notice none of the staff are looking this way. I look back to the woman approaching our table and bite my lip. I dash up out of my seat and run over to the nearest teacher, carefully adjusting their body so that they had gazed upon the crime scene. How much time was left? Well, none-- obviously, but you get the point! I quickly turn on my heels and jump over one of the tables-- knocking all of the trays down on the ground while screaming out;
"ZAAAAA WARRRUUUDDOOOO~~!" I've always wanted to do that.
Turns out I ended up sitting there like an idiot for another minute or so, slightly tilted to the left until everything resumed like normal in the blink of an eye. A triumphant cry from over by the jocks signaling the return of time. The burger flew by and landed on the floor just beyond the table and the fucker jumped up from his seat.
"WHAT. HOW?!" he cried out.
Everyone looked at me in shock, my friend's hand gripped my collar in an attempt to pull me away. I noticed the teacher look over to the bully with a stern expression. Gottem.
That's when I looked to Evelyn, the girl making her way over to our table and smiled at her, as if nothing had happened.
"Thanks, again." I said.
"AnyTIME," she replied, wiggling her eyebrows.
-----------------------
((Hey guys! First time ever doing something like this, so plz be nice ; _ ; ))
| The first time it happens, I’m saying, *no ketchup, please*, to the grease stained hot dog vendor on 50th, and the city goes silent. World’s biggest statue garden, and me, just wanting lunch. I take two cautious steps away from that boxed grill, shiny silver reflecting blurred halos of city light, staring as big-eyed as a small town tourist before the horns crack and the world starts again.
The guy with my food goes, “What gives, man? You want your dog or not?”
I say, “No ketchup, please,” but he looks at the dog in the bun, no ketchup in sight, and wrinkles his big bushy eyebrows.
In the mirror at home, burping up mystery meat, I keep saying, *No ketchup, please.* Traffic is still busy outside. *No ketchup, please.* The lady in 4A is still arguing with her boyfriend or husband or drug dealer. I don’t really know these people. *No ketchup, please.* But, in the mirror, I’m still this soft lump of unshowered loser, time ticking on without me.
Thing is, it happens again later that night. When my ma, crackling nagging voice brought to you from some beach town in California, stops talking. This was in the middle of asking *when are you going to get a real job?* Just after the question *are you seeing anyone yet?* I’m submitted to this caring, parental questionnaire every Friday at 9pm, regularly scheduled shame, my weekly life crisis, and the answers never change so I hardly listen any more. No, I still live in my shitty apartment. No, I haven’t been to Morton’s. No, I’m not seeing anyone. Yes, I’m still a lonely, jobless, nobody.
When she stops talking, my heart jumps. I'm starting to think about my poor dead mother, lying on some hard bed, surrounded by kitsch beachy decor and a great view of the ocean, all made-up and dressed-up even though she probably hadn’t left the hotel all day.
But the traffic is stopped. The baby in 4C isn't crying. The yappy dog isn't yapping. So, I'm thinking, she's probably not dead.
Taking the only chance I'll ever get, all at once, I’m yelling, “Fuck you mom!” I’m screaming, my throat half-confused, half-excited to be making such a ruckus, I’m going, “I’m fucked up, Mom. I’m a failure, Mom.”
In one, big, pissed off breath, I say, “You’re a miserable old woman and you ruined me.”
There’s a normal kind of silence on the other line. The sniffling, buzzing silence. Someone lays hard on their car horn, brakes squealing, all punctuated by incoherent shouting. If I hadn’t been so aware of the peace that stopped time brought, I’d say it felt like time, the world, had frozen around me. But it really didn’t feel that way at all.
“You need to get out of that city,” my mom’s saying, stifling tears. “It’s made you into some kind of monster.”
So I did.
Time stops nowhere I wanted time to stop. In the middle of traffic, already at a stand-still, nothing happening. People aren’t cursing, or talking on the phone, or eating, or singing to their reflection. No one is dreaming of being anywhere else because time just...wasn’t. It stops while I’m in line for snacks at the convenience store, staring up again just as I’m making my escape. Goods in hand, I slink to the back of the line and wait all over again. Inconvenient. It stops in the middle of a sad late-night last-call bar hookup. No one looks good that way, frozen like that.
It takes me the trip from New York to Colorado before I realise it’s not me. I’m not a masochist and, so far, time hasn’t been on my side. Somewhere, in India or Spain, you're fucking with me. Or, more realistically, you're robbing banks or causing trouble and I'm just caught in the crossfire. A casualty of poor timing.
I’ll find you. I’m on a plane to Italy now, someone’s snoring grandpa (nonno, in Italian) taking up the middle armrest, and I’ll look for you. I’ve got a trust fund and all of the time in the world. I even showered, just for you.
See you soon.
--------------------------------
5 June, 2017
I’m not sure what to do with this power, if I can call it that. It sounds almost funny to think of it that way, though. Like *I’m* a superhero. So far I’ve saved people only from humiliation or minor inconvenience, no burning buildings or car crashes, nothing warranting a spandex outfit.
It’s just that I carry around toothpicks now, scratching out the chewed up meals from people’s teeth. Today, after getting some nice pictures of the Eiffel Tower with hardly any people in the background (I waited over an hour for the opening), I rescued a coffee from the roof of a car and placed it into the interior cup holder.
I just want to make an impact. I guess, in a way, everyone is looking for that same sort of gratification.
Until next time,
Melanie
-------------------------------
Potentially TBC, depending on interest. More of my writing can be found at /r/edgarallanhobo
| 2018-01-26T06:13:56 | 2018-01-26T06:09:41 | 297 | 85 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | "...But what's the point." It responded. "It's in their nature. They're just fighting the inevitable."
The alien paused. "Is peace a commodity? Do they fight to be the only ones at peace"
"Human tribes have frequently sabotaged other tribes for their own self-interest," the other alien began.
"Well there we go. I don't see why you find them so special. That's typical war species behavior."
The other alien continued, "but for as many of them that want war there are those that want peace."
"Sure. And every Beloxaan cross-pollinates. Don't exagerate. Every species has outliers."
"No," the other alien answered, it's voice begining to hum in frustration. "Their biology isn't designed for prolonged stress. Look," it types in a few keys on the pad in front of them and a projected string of numbers and charts appear. "They're at optimal longevity when stress hormones are absent" The first alien looked the numbers over silently, processing it.
"But, here's the thing. With no stressors they become lethargic. Progress halts."
" So this species craves peace but needs war to advance?"
"I don't know if that's quite right, but it sounds like an awfully confusing existence."
"Agreed... I hope they're not prone to self-reflection."
The other alien looked at it's co-pilot. "It's planets like this that make me glad that I'm fungal-based." | Part 1:
"Well that's not entirely true, Goresh" the first alien responded. "How about... Well, what about..." The commander was frantically scrambling to find any case of this in the ship's database but no matter how many results his implant threw at him he realised none of them fitted this situation. "Okay maybe it is new, so what?" the commander finally asked. "So what?, General this is the first war species we have found that ever sent individuals outside of their home gravity well. They might have done it in tin cans, they might have done it to show their technical proficiency, but it wasn't done for fighting directly. Do you not think it remarkable that the first war species to explore beyond their home is also the first to fight not for personal gain, but for the benefit of their children?". This made the commander pause for a second, as much as Goresh was a smart ass most of the time, this is exactly why Hoerum asked him to come and paid his parents more then he had any parent in his career. Goresh didn't just know about a lot of fields, he saw motives where most researchers only looked at numbers. Then finally a desperate query form the computer appeared in Hoerum's mind and he asked the young scientist "What about the other species we found in this solar system?". This made Goresh pause for a second, his tail shaking with concentration. "I think that they might have been similar now that you say it, the documentation is very poor since this was during the first dynasty. I think they cleansed the planet, the occupants were too dangerous. They were able to be focused on war and yet live in a harmonious society. They had colonies all over this solar system, including this planet where the humans now live". The eyes of the scientist went wide with realisation. "The humans and the other species where both A3-type DNA species. There used to be a lot of them on this planet a long time ago, and there have been reports in the past of compatible lifeforms absorbing DNA from past colonisers. Damm, those humans looked too different from the other creatures on the planet. We need to get a sample of the DNA from that other species, NOW". The general was a bit slower to catch on, "Are you suggesting that there is even a possibility these humans carry the DNA of one of the three sentient species we ever wiped out?".Goresh looked at Hoerum for a second and then responded with an uncharacteristic shutter in his voice "I am not saying it is possible, I am saying it is very propable. We need to send a warning the royal family right now. For once in our history, we need to be careful again, because the men from mars live on, and they have ambition again".
Thanks for reading my story and please leave feedback, I would love to hear your opinion and improve my writing!
Edit: Part 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 in the comments. | 2018-03-17T04:45:49 | 2018-03-17T04:32:27 | 1,307 | 322 |
[WP] It turns out that every sentient species in the universe has a god and when war breaks out the gods would actually duel. The losing god would lose it's species. Then one day an alien god decided to invade Earth only to realize that we've killed our god. | "Chairman, another god has appeared. It seems we missed one."
Johnson raised an eyebrow at the hollogram. Thirty years ago, the celestial wars had come to an end with the fall of Allah, the last of the overdeities. However, the killing of Hermies ten years ago is what is universally accepted as the end of the gods.
He should know. Doing so is what propelled him into the highest office in the solar system.
"Have we tagged it yet?"
"Not yet."
"Well than it cant be that powerful. I dont immagine anything stronger than a lesser deity could have lived this long."
"Sir. It is an Overdeity."
He frowned. "Has Yahwah returned? I always thought he went down to easily. For fucks sake, if Ra resurected again-"
"It spoke to the citizens of mars sir. It claims to be from a non-human civilization. It is asking to duel our gods."
Well that was new. "Give it my coordinates and prepaire the deicide cannon." | **Gods. Rulers. Conquerors. Protectors.**
**Humans. Children. Servants. Play things.**
I look at the inscription again.
**Gods. Rulers. Conquerors. Protectors.**
**Humans. Children. Servants. Play things.**
I look at my friends. At my buddies. At my fellow warriors.
They look up. Up high into the sky. The sky is red. The sun is dim. Something is happening.
A light, green in colour, blue in colour, yellow in colour. Light like all light, but light that is not light falls to the ground. There is a being unlike any other.
My nerves tingle. My hairs stand. My buddies tighten their hands on their sleek metallic weapons.
*Where is your god.*
A voice reverberates. It booms in my head. Not in my ears. It booms in my head.
I look to my friends. They look at me. I know what they think.
*Where is your god.*
The voice rumbles. The voice thunders. The voice roars.
Ships float through the clouds. Things that are new. Things that shine. They shine a sparkle. They shine not like metal. They shine as if new. They shine as if old. Things that we do not know.
*Where is your god.*
The figure moves. The figure stamps. The figure floats.
The ground shakes. A mountain collapses. Columns arises.
Tall. High. Indomitable. It rises into the clouds. Out beyond our sights.
Screams echo far. Distant. Somewhere not here. Screams not of pain. Not of fear. Screams of something I cannot describe. Old screams of nowhere.
*There is no answer.*
The figure expands in the column. It grows beyond size. Beyond description. A being I’ve never seen. A being no one knows.
*Your god does not love you.*
Another mountain falls. More screams echo. Ships begin their fire. My home burns.
My friends run forward. Eyes of steel. Faces like stone. Fear does not exist.
This is not new. This is not old. This has happened. This will happen.
I look down at the inscription.
I fix the inscription.
**Humans. Rulers. Conquerors. Protectors**
**Gods. Children. Servants. Play things.**
edit - spelling mistake | 2018-04-03T11:03:01 | 2018-04-03T05:33:44 | 116 | 61 |
[WP] You are the inventor of the most powerful optical microscope. While testing it with some of your own skin cells, you find a tech support number on each of your cells. You decide to call it. | Roger ran his fingers over the smooth dermo-plastic of the android's thigh. Her muscles tensed by the touch of his fingertips, and tiny goosebumps prickled up. There was something special about building such an advanced creature from nothing -- it made him feel powerful, almost divine.
The surgical lights in the ceiling glittered in the reflection on his scalpel. With a quick cut, he sliced through her perfect skin, drawing a stream of synthetic blood that trickled down into the table drain. It pained him to ruin such a flawless texture, but this was a job.
Roger glanced over at the image board again. So much scar tissue and awkwardly healed skin. He wondered what had happened to the girl in the photo. The clients never provided a background or medical history -- just pictures and brain scans. Sometimes he fantasized about what the small blemishes on the skin meant. He'd become quite good at drawing parallels between the scans and the photos. Some cuts were self-inflicted, others were marks of survival or mistakes.
Sculpting the skin of an android was like following a map. Often they led to new insights, or opened the window into a person's life. But this girl's scars were different, and Roger couldn't decide what had caused them.
He was just about to start cutting again when the phone rang. Cursing, he dropped the knife and wriggled out of his gloves before exiting the operation room.
"Welcome to Artificial Angel -- this is Dr. Lowick speaking," Roger said.
"What?" the voice of a teenage boy said on the other end.
Roger sighed and repeated what he'd just said and then added, "How can I help you?"
"I... I was looking into my dad's microscope and... and I found this number on my skin."
Roger swore inwardly. "Where is your dad now?"
"Um... I don't know?"
Roger rolled his eyes and stepped over to the client database. Some people just didn't listen. There were extensive mental repercussions when an android got compromised. With the level of neglect some parents showed, it didn't surprise him that the originals had died.
"What's your name, kid?" Roger said.
"Joseph Gardener..." the boy mumbled. "Why is there a number...?"
"You need to get your dad on the phone." The doctor scrolled through the clients.
"He's not here." The boy's voice quaked with impatience and confusion. "Why is there a number?"
"Listen, Joe," Roger said. "Can you sit down for a bit, and I'll explain everything."
"Right, fine." A clatter came from the other end. "Okay, yeah, I'm sitting. What now?"
Roger opened the file and looked at the picture of a blond boy in his early teens. He was the son of one 'Anthony Gardener' and had died twenty years ago. The boy on the phone was one of the first replacements that Artificial Angel had created, and had been thirteen years old for nineteen years now.
"Hello?" Joseph said. "Are you there?"
"Yes..." Roger said, scrolling through the client file. He finally reached the bottom and cleared his throat. "Lilac Meridian 23-133-17."
Another clatter came from the other end of the call. Roger looked at the watch and waited in silence for a full minute.
"Joseph, are you there?"
No answer.
"Good," he mumbled and hung up.
The doctor wriggled out of his coat, and exited the laboratory. He'd have to make a visit to the Gardener's and make sure that Joseph worked as he should after the forced shut down.
\*\*\*
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories | "Whichever one of you said *there's plenty of room at the bottom* was very clever indeed" remarked Kadesh, as he wandered over to the Fluorescence Microscope. "Remarkable achievement, Kador. Truly astounding!"
Kador stood flabbergasted, trying to make sense of what was happening. The past twenty-four hours had seemed like something out of a dream, but even that paled in comparison to what was happening now. People don't simply appear out of nowhere, right? His curiosity getting the better of him, he finally managed to speak. "What...what's going on? Who are you, and how did you get here?"
Kadesh smiled, turning to Kador. "All very excellent questions, Lothar. Mind if I call you that, by the way? Although, I'm slightly disappointed you didn't ask me *why* I'm here. *Why* is the most important question of all." He traced his hand over the Microscope, mouthing something that looked vaguely like *truly remarkable* to Kador*,* though he couldn't be sure*.* Kador tried to make sense of the expression on his face, before realising it bore a striking resemblance to the look of bemusement you might expect on the face of a dog that had learned a new trick.
"To answer your questions, then. *Who I am -* this is a temporarily assigned persona, and skin to match. As for *how did I get here*, the same way you did! By starting. Now, for the question you didn't ask; *why am I here?*" He paused, seemingly to take stock of Kodar's level of interest in the conversation. Satisfying himself that Kodar was fully engaged, he continued.
"My assigned name is Kadesh, and I'm a Systems Engineer. We've been watching you, and put those like you in place so Humanity can develop at a faster rate than you would normally have. We need you to, but I'll get to that shortly."
He paused once more, wandering over to the window to take stock of the horizon.
"Humanity are a very limited species...as are most on this planet, really. You are only four-dimensional beings, after-all. Which is a shame. You could experience time in so much more detail, but you can only see it going forward at the speed of light, and even then, only for yourselves. Truly remarkable what you've achieved, given this. I suppose your biology has fought against this tooth and nail. You've evolved a neat little trick, to combat your singular perception of time. I believe you call it *memory*. Scarily efficient, nature. Wouldn't you agree?"
Kador was in no position to answer. Knowing this, Kadesh continued.
"This machine is one of many small steps towards increasing your understanding of things outside your experience. Now that you can see the detail of the very small, you will use this to...leapfrog...into grander things. If you don't kill yourselves first, of course." He paused once again, moving away from the window now to sit himself down on a chair across from Kador.
"It is our hope that in a few millenia (by human measure), you will develop the requisite technology to allow humans to experience more than four dimensions. Ideally, six, to start with. This is crucial. You see, Lothar, there is a war raging as we speak, unlike any war you have ever experienced. A war against Entropy itself. And we await the day you can join us in battle."
Kadesh paused once more, this time heading over to the Microscope one more time before continuing.
"I simply came to congratulate you, Lothar, on this discovery. You and your contemporaries. My Supervisors will be most pleased with your progress."
Reaching out, he took a stunned Lothar's hand and shook it. Lothar, numb from the encounter, clumsily shook hands with the Engineer.
"One last thing before I go, Lothar Kador. Humanity is one of several candidates we're keeping tabs on, to ensure your development in time for the battles ahead. In the past, we've had civilizations that inadvertently *accelerated* the Entropic Death of the Cosmos. We had to deal with them accordingly. I do *so* hope it won't come to that with you, after you've shown so much promise!"
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Kadesh turned to seek out the source, then turning back to Lothar, said "It appears my time is up. Once more, congratulations on this incredible discovery. I hope to see more good news from you folks soon!"
Moerner enterred the laboratory with two mugs of hot coffee, setting one down beside Lothar. "Were you on the phone? Who were you just speaking to?" he asked, sipping his brew.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you" responded Lothar, turning back to his computer screen.
---
If you enjoyed this story and would like to see more from me, please consider subscribing to my subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/phreaklikeme/)! | 2018-08-14T07:38:50 | 2018-08-14T05:28:03 | 366 | 44 |
[WP] You are the inventor of the most powerful optical microscope. While testing it with some of your own skin cells, you find a tech support number on each of your cells. You decide to call it. | Rolling my chair closer to the desk, fingers jittering slightly as I slid the slide onto the stand and centered it, I brought my face close to the microscope. I'd spent years perfecting it, and today was the first real trial of it with something other than micro-sized images printed off.
I had put a few cheek cells spread out on the slide, and as I viewed the first one, sharper than ever before, I noticed something... weird. Grabbing for my notebook, I copied down the lines and circles. It was... binary, for something. Checking the other cells, the same numbers were written in lines and circles, or 1's and 0's. Grabbing a textbook from my junior high days, tucked under the ugly vase my mother had gotten me for her last christmas, I flipped through, finding the page, and set to splitting the binary.
When I figured out it started with 1800, I couldn't help but chuckle. It hurt my chest, laughter so rare for me, but... a phone number? A corporate number? It was just so ridiculous to me.
Looking at it out of the corner of my eye, though, I couldn't help but be curious.
Googling it came up with a few vague listings, one for a "Self, LLC," and another for "Better Body Better Life tech support"
I dialed, hands shaking as they always do, and had to redial 4 times before I got it right. Instead of ringing, that familiar sound that preceded "We're sorry, but the caller you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please hang up and try again later." repeated, on and on, in its place.
I locked my wheels, one hand drumming on the arm rest and the other holding the phone to my face, before I heard the noise stop.
A voice, a little like my fourth grade teacher answered. "If you have questions, please press 1. For warrantee claims, please press 3. For voluntary forfeiture of property, press 5. For replacement parts, press 7. To hear your options again, press 0."
When it finished, I mashed the 1 button, hoping I wouldn't accidentally press 2 or 4. With the phone away from my head, I didn't hear the voice until it nearly yelled, but it was just a buzz. Back to my ear, I said, "Hello?" into the phone.
The man, sounding young and a little too cheery, asked for the digits that helped me find this number. A little creeped out, I read the 1's and 0's out, figuring there was nothing really for him to do with random numbers.
I was wrong.
"So, Sydney, what can I answer for you?"
I asked the basic questions, the Who, What, Where, Why, and How, but he insisted that he unfortunately couldn't share that information.
"Was I meant to find this?" I finally asked, and he chuckled, a grin in his voice as he answered.
"I'd say so. Would you like to have a warrantee replacement? I can do that over the phone for you, if you'd like."
On a whim, I agreed. Shit, shady company, knew my name, what could go wrong, right?
Well, that brings us to today.
I woke up, no pain in my back, no numbness, no discomfort at all. My hands were steady for once, and I felt like I could see in the dim that the night light in the hallway lit up.
Some sort of auto-pilot told me to stand, even though I hadn't stood in years without help, and I could.
I'm just scared that there'll be a cost at the end of all this. How does one pay for a body replacement? | "Whichever one of you said *there's plenty of room at the bottom* was very clever indeed" remarked Kadesh, as he wandered over to the Fluorescence Microscope. "Remarkable achievement, Kador. Truly astounding!"
Kador stood flabbergasted, trying to make sense of what was happening. The past twenty-four hours had seemed like something out of a dream, but even that paled in comparison to what was happening now. People don't simply appear out of nowhere, right? His curiosity getting the better of him, he finally managed to speak. "What...what's going on? Who are you, and how did you get here?"
Kadesh smiled, turning to Kador. "All very excellent questions, Lothar. Mind if I call you that, by the way? Although, I'm slightly disappointed you didn't ask me *why* I'm here. *Why* is the most important question of all." He traced his hand over the Microscope, mouthing something that looked vaguely like *truly remarkable* to Kador*,* though he couldn't be sure*.* Kador tried to make sense of the expression on his face, before realising it bore a striking resemblance to the look of bemusement you might expect on the face of a dog that had learned a new trick.
"To answer your questions, then. *Who I am -* this is a temporarily assigned persona, and skin to match. As for *how did I get here*, the same way you did! By starting. Now, for the question you didn't ask; *why am I here?*" He paused, seemingly to take stock of Kodar's level of interest in the conversation. Satisfying himself that Kodar was fully engaged, he continued.
"My assigned name is Kadesh, and I'm a Systems Engineer. We've been watching you, and put those like you in place so Humanity can develop at a faster rate than you would normally have. We need you to, but I'll get to that shortly."
He paused once more, wandering over to the window to take stock of the horizon.
"Humanity are a very limited species...as are most on this planet, really. You are only four-dimensional beings, after-all. Which is a shame. You could experience time in so much more detail, but you can only see it going forward at the speed of light, and even then, only for yourselves. Truly remarkable what you've achieved, given this. I suppose your biology has fought against this tooth and nail. You've evolved a neat little trick, to combat your singular perception of time. I believe you call it *memory*. Scarily efficient, nature. Wouldn't you agree?"
Kador was in no position to answer. Knowing this, Kadesh continued.
"This machine is one of many small steps towards increasing your understanding of things outside your experience. Now that you can see the detail of the very small, you will use this to...leapfrog...into grander things. If you don't kill yourselves first, of course." He paused once again, moving away from the window now to sit himself down on a chair across from Kador.
"It is our hope that in a few millenia (by human measure), you will develop the requisite technology to allow humans to experience more than four dimensions. Ideally, six, to start with. This is crucial. You see, Lothar, there is a war raging as we speak, unlike any war you have ever experienced. A war against Entropy itself. And we await the day you can join us in battle."
Kadesh paused once more, this time heading over to the Microscope one more time before continuing.
"I simply came to congratulate you, Lothar, on this discovery. You and your contemporaries. My Supervisors will be most pleased with your progress."
Reaching out, he took a stunned Lothar's hand and shook it. Lothar, numb from the encounter, clumsily shook hands with the Engineer.
"One last thing before I go, Lothar Kador. Humanity is one of several candidates we're keeping tabs on, to ensure your development in time for the battles ahead. In the past, we've had civilizations that inadvertently *accelerated* the Entropic Death of the Cosmos. We had to deal with them accordingly. I do *so* hope it won't come to that with you, after you've shown so much promise!"
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Kadesh turned to seek out the source, then turning back to Lothar, said "It appears my time is up. Once more, congratulations on this incredible discovery. I hope to see more good news from you folks soon!"
Moerner enterred the laboratory with two mugs of hot coffee, setting one down beside Lothar. "Were you on the phone? Who were you just speaking to?" he asked, sipping his brew.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you" responded Lothar, turning back to his computer screen.
---
If you enjoyed this story and would like to see more from me, please consider subscribing to my subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/phreaklikeme/)! | 2018-08-14T08:39:35 | 2018-08-14T05:28:03 | 201 | 44 |
[WP] You are the inventor of the most powerful optical microscope. While testing it with some of your own skin cells, you find a tech support number on each of your cells. You decide to call it. | >Tech support: Human Tech helpdesk, Danyael speaking, this call may be recorded for training and QA purposes, may I have the GATACCA code at your 4th chromosome, please?
>Me: Um... hi.
>HD: Hi. Who is this, please, so I can put the details in your ticket.
>Me: I'm... John. I found your number on a few skin cells and thought...
>HD (sighing): Do you *have* an issue? We are experiencing higher than average vol---
>Me: Oh. Um. Yeah. I have a weird lump in my left wrist, and it kind of aches.
>HD: Okay, what firmware version are you running.
>Me: Ummmm...
>HD (sighing): When were you born?
>Me: August 15th, 1972.
>HD: Wait one.
*soft jazz plays. it sounds like a Musak rendition of Matchbox 20*
>Me: Ummm... hello? Hi? Are you...?
*music cuts out*
>HD: Hello. Yeah, you are experiencing a ganglion cyst, and should get that checked out. I would also advise connecting up to HumanNet and downloading the latest patch.
>Me: Wait... I've never heard of...
>HD: Hang on... I never got your GATACCA code.
>Me: I don't know it.
>HD (sighs): Spit on your smartphone screen. We'll read it on our end.
>Me: You can do that?
>HD (sighs): Just do it. Trust me.
*spit on my iPhone*
>HD: One sec... okay, your access code for that is *32-character alphanumeric string*. We will text that to you at the current number. Simply recite it 5 times before you sleep, and it will log you straight in. After your updates, you should be able to run a 3 minute mile, jump 10 feet vertically, and give your girlfriend 4 deep orgasms during every lovemaking session.
>Me: Wait...
>HD: We will give you a follow up call tomorrow after work. Your ticket number is 12. Is there anything else I can do for you today?
>Me: Ummm...
>HD: Great. Download your updates, John, and we'll talk tomorrow, Please remember to fill out the survey after this call, 5 stars is the best rating, have a great night.
*click* | "Hello. Reference number please."
I didn't know what to expect. But a bored sounding monotone humanoid type voice wasn't it. Oddly enough I believe I was more prepared to hear some random gibberish so I could reply with "This is Dr Gaman, a member of mankind currently living on Earth. Put me through to your master" or...something.
The bored voice repeated the question. He or it is certainly reading from a script.
"I need the reference number before we continue sir. You can find it in your introductory shipment pack or on every communique sent by us."
I can't put it off, so here goes.
"OK. Right. I don't have reference number, or this ah...introductory pack. This may sound odd, but I found this number grafted onto my skin cell and..."
Without warning I was put on hold. This time I heard something actually alien! I'm not sure what he said but the tone of voice tells me it was some sort of expletive.
I was just frozen in place when the phone came off hold and another voice was on the line.
"Greetings. My name is Zanat, I am the senior supervisor here. Can I have your name please?"
"Oh! Um...Gaman. Doctor Richard Gaman."
I hear odd sounds. Button inputs. Quirky noises. Lots of them.
I hear other noises too. These sounds are more familiar. The exhales and muttering tell me something has gone wrong. After a time this Zanat gives up and the tone changes somewhat.
"OK you *Snalak!* Is this some sort of joke?"
"Joke? What is some sort of joke?"
"YOU. Are you seriously telling me you, one of the *stock*, found the support number and called in yourself?"
"Well...yes. I'm an inventor you see, and just developed a powerful microscope that allows me to see the most minute of matter in amazing detail. And..."
"By the All Mothers endless breath! Could...could it be true? It can't be!"
"Could what be true? What is going on? I just called a random phone number. I had no idea..."
"You said you were on Earth correct?"
"Yes! I..."
Damn it. On hold again.
This time it's longer and these people...aliens have never heard of hold music. I leave my phone. I make a drink. I continue my notes on my invention, as well as a lengthy diary entry of this bizarre phone call, always sure to keep my ear open for voices.
Finally after hours I hear a voice.
"Hello?"
"Yes! Finally! I have to say, whoever you are, that we have higher expectations of customer service! I have been on hold for hours. It's never that bad with our serv..."
"Oh *so* sorry you had to wait *sir.* But you see I have spent a great deal of time tracing the shipment your progenitors came in on, and I found *very* interesting information that may explain why you, of all things, are calling us."
That sounds ominous. There is a distinct tone of disrespect, as if he...it...whatever was talking to an inferior or a child.
"Seems the original delivery date was many cycles ago. To an energy being in your area of the galaxy. The notes mention he wanted to conduct some experiments using some backwater system no-one else cared for."
"...experiments? Energy beings? What are you talking about?"
"I'm sure it's over your head. Nevertheless thank you for calling into us. Head office will find this interaction very interesting indeed."
"Wait! Za-Za...um...Zanut! You can't..."
"Goodbye."
Hung up. I tried the number again and nothing. Nothing at all. I make what notes I can, then after a brief reflection tore out all the notes relating to this phone call and shredded them. My gut feeling tells me I don't want to think hard about what just happened.
Back to the microscope. Let's try something else. A sample from a dragonfly wing perhaps? I fetch the sample and put it under the scope.
And...coming into view...is another phone number.
Oh no. | 2018-08-14T11:14:09 | 2018-08-14T10:41:12 | 44 | 17 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is. | My 10th birthday I broke my mom's vase. In my panic, I threw my first skill point into deception, hoping that I could avoid her wrath.
Or at least, that's the story I tell people.
Every skill has a downside that rears its ugly head if you stray too far down it. Too many points into strength and you injure yourself because of improper form, too many into intelligence and you become lonely and apathetic, too many into deception and it becomes hard to tell the truth.
29 points into deception and honesty is almost impossible. Jobs are easy to find, I'm always what people are looking for. Long term relationships, however, not so much. Certainly 1 more point into deception will make things better.
Or at least, that's the story I keep telling myself. | When I was five my parents held my birthday bash in the park with all the first graders in my class attending.
Today was a special day. I'll be in charge of my own skill points from now on. I had five to use once I blew the candles and from then on a point every year to allocate as my birthday wish.
While playing games a group was huddled around something in the corner. Curious I joined as well. There on the pavement was a beautiful little bird, it's feathers every colour of the rainbow. It's beak was slightly open and a trail of ants were making their way to it.
One of the boys pokes the bird with a stick but it didn't move or fly away. I saw this as my chance and grabbed the bird running to show my mother. "Mom! Mom! look! I caught a bird! you can fry it like chicken legs mom!"
My mother was talking to some older lady I didn't know and the woman looked at me horrified like I was caked in mud. My mom's jaw tightened and she said "No dear. The poor little song bird is.... well, why don't we bury it. Give it a good funeral?"
I was a confused, birds and animals were all food right? We eat chickens so why not song birds? I was a bit mad that they used one of the pretty boxes that contained *MY* gift to buy it in the ground. Getting it dirty for the sake of a meal, a tiny one at that!
I watched as others around me started to cry and pray for the little bird and didn't understand. We all ate chicken nuggets before the funeral, nobody cried or prayed over them!
After the burial the cake was brought out and the tears dried up in the eyes around me to be replaced with longing for something sweet.
I listened to them sing the happy birthday song and watched their faces. They clapped, they smiled and there was no more trace of sadness from earlier.
I made my wish and affirmed my selection as I blew on the candles. I knew what I wanted then, from then on I made the same wish every year and yet I seem no closer to getting it then I was that that day long ago.
I want to understand the human heart. Nothing more, nothing less.
| 2018-09-12T10:14:36 | 2018-09-12T09:05:57 | 99 | 25 |
[WP] Everyone has magic and the magic they have is based off of their name. Society uses a small range of names because they know the magic that comes with it. Your parents decided to give you a very ancient name that does not have a record of its accompanying magic. | Vex Joan was the name of the older woman dying beside me. A reasonable first name, three letters long with the impact of ten. Her head was rested upon my shoulder, rustling with every deep breath and stilling with every intake. During this last fit of life, she seemed to flicker in and out of existence.
Vex. I liked her first name. Joan however, was a horrid last name, flagrantly disregarding the common practice of two letters or less. In fact, she was dying because of it. At one point in time, this woman and I were the same age. Joan has always been a stubborn family name, a magical curse that granted human connections in return for a short life. I was never fond of it. As most people know, a name should have little in order to take little- the gifts that follow tend to be more expensive than they’re worth.
Vex rubbed her shaking hand over my left shoulder as if to jokingly wonder “Are you still worried?”
“Of course,” I’d muttered, eyes scanning the deserted subway surrounding us. This is the tomb where this woman would rest. This sad, decaying hell scape littered with rotting garbage and the lingering smell of cigarettes.
She gave my arms a weak squeeze. This was probably the best she could muster. “Don’t be,” she seemed to say. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
More gasping and more writhing came to pass. Through it all, I sat quietly. Most times it was a polite gesture, sometimes even a special service, but this time it was simply due to a lack of words.
Unable to bear the tension, I snuck a glance at her face. A sweet woman, now reduced to a crumpled pastry, was smiling at me through her tears. She didn’t have the voice, but I could see them... her last words. “Thank” and “Ankou” were the only two words I could seem to clearly see.
I’ve never had the short life everyone else has had to endure, but carrying my loved one’s bodies never seemed to get easier. So many decades have passed... I tire of my own name.
Ankou Joan, a strange choice. I’d have liked my sister’s name. | My full first name is SpagetthiBeast Jeeves ShenronOurobourosTheDestroyer III-49th. My last name is Jones.
\--
Alright so let's sort my powers. My best power is SpaghettiBeast's Spaghetti\_Engage. I see the whole universe, or whatever, part of it I want. Then I go to an Infinite Void. Then some guy named Jeeves walks in with a plate of spaghetti and asks me for a wish and what I would like to eat. First Jeeves asks me how hungry I would like to be (I learned why this would be useful when using Spaghetti\_Engage over and over) from 40 days in the desert to 40 days in paradise, scale of -40 to 80 where 0 to 40 are normal range, negatives are days in desert, and over 40 is days in paradise. Second Jeeves asks for my wish and food of choice. Third Jeeves makes the food happen.
The power is Spaghetti\_Engage because the default plate is spaghetti, which Jeeves is more than willing to switch out. Though lately I just let Jeeves make me the Spaghetti. He's good with the cooking Magic on that one.
Fourth I eat and my wish regardless of what it was comes true.
\--
Second, I'm immortal. I die and come back exactly 48 times (but also somehow infinitely many times, don't ask), apparently I rule over exactly 48 Multiverses and enter in and out of the reality plane to do my spaghetti shit. I die but as soon as my soul wants a body again, it just does. Either by Spagetti\_Void or being back on Earth 3 through 49. Jeeves always shows up to explain stuff too. Jeeves is kinda my slave but sometimes he tells me to do stuff. Like Universe 6 needs a golden age, use your power to give them resources. So Jeeves can be cool or annoying like that. Jeeves is trying to help me start my own Universe, but I just wanna hang out with some chicks. Jeeves has so much faith in me.
\--
Third, I'm Jeeves and I switch off between existence modes, but SpaghettiBeast never knows what Jeeves is thinks, nor Jeeves what SpagettiBeast thinks .
\--
Fourth, I have to destroy the Universes along with me every time I go Shenron or Ourobouros. I transform into some sort of Snake while the Universe becomes Spaghetti, my hunger goes -40, but it turns I am made of Spaghetti and I eat everything in existence until Jeeves pulls me back into existence. I love being Ouroboros because Jeeves and SpaghettiBeast merge consciousnesses at the maxima of destruction. Just for an instant as each Big Bang produces a new Jeeves and a new SpagettiBeast anywhere from Multiverse 3 to 49 at random.
​
A few times we ended up in the same multiverse, which was cool. Jeeves was really easy to understand after such a recent merge and I have fond memories of Multiverse 26.
\--
See most people have names like Archangel Michael or Jesus. I met a few Buddhas who were chill. The Gokus are annoying they always unite Dragon Balls to ask for wishes but the thing is I can't be Shenron without becoming Ouroboros, so things only worked out that time I get their Multiverse twice in a row, like that one time with 26. It'll probably work out again at some point, but golly Krillin(s) need to stop dying. | 2018-11-23T21:46:55 | 2018-11-23T20:26:08 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone has magic and the magic they have is based off of their name. Society uses a small range of names because they know the magic that comes with it. Your parents decided to give you a very ancient name that does not have a record of its accompanying magic. | "Midas!"
The crowd went icy silent as the king proclaimed the name of the child they would soon bring into the world.
It didn't stay that way for long, soon murmurs of fear and concern swept through the crowd gathered at the naming ceremony. Yes, of course it was the right of the crown to give any name they pleased to their heir, but it had been centuries since any had chosen an untested name.
In years past, most had simply elected to pick a name from the "restricted" pool, also known as the "royal" pool. Names like "Charles", or "William", or "Catherine"! Powerful names that could only be trusted to those children destined for greatness.
Picking an untested name was a recipe for disaster, especially one so ancient! There would be nothing in the way of historical accounts to predict the name's power! So dangerous it was, commoners were strictly forbidden, held to a relatively small list of "safe" names. Straying from the list being punishable by the death of the child, executed by the royal enforcers.
But the heir to the kingdom bearing an untested name? It was a terrifying prospect, what if young Midas had a power so great he couldn't control it? The kingdom could be ripped apart! Worse, what if the power was totally useless? How would he lead the kingdom to prosperity?
As the heir's birthday came and went, it seemed to many that the latter may be the case. Names on the "royal" list almost universally presented at birth, and the new prince showed no signs of any incredible power. Until one day, just a few days short of his first birthday.
All of the king's guards came running towards their Lord's cry of anguish, bursting into the throne room. It was immediately clear why. The king was on his knees, openly weeping and staring across the throne room.
There sat the queen in her usual spot next to her husband's throne. There sat the young prince, cradled in her arms and suckling at her bosom. But no nourishing milk came to the young prince's lips. The queen, milk and all, had been turned to solid gold, her face a mask of agony and fear, betraying her final moments. | My full first name is SpagetthiBeast Jeeves ShenronOurobourosTheDestroyer III-49th. My last name is Jones.
\--
Alright so let's sort my powers. My best power is SpaghettiBeast's Spaghetti\_Engage. I see the whole universe, or whatever, part of it I want. Then I go to an Infinite Void. Then some guy named Jeeves walks in with a plate of spaghetti and asks me for a wish and what I would like to eat. First Jeeves asks me how hungry I would like to be (I learned why this would be useful when using Spaghetti\_Engage over and over) from 40 days in the desert to 40 days in paradise, scale of -40 to 80 where 0 to 40 are normal range, negatives are days in desert, and over 40 is days in paradise. Second Jeeves asks for my wish and food of choice. Third Jeeves makes the food happen.
The power is Spaghetti\_Engage because the default plate is spaghetti, which Jeeves is more than willing to switch out. Though lately I just let Jeeves make me the Spaghetti. He's good with the cooking Magic on that one.
Fourth I eat and my wish regardless of what it was comes true.
\--
Second, I'm immortal. I die and come back exactly 48 times (but also somehow infinitely many times, don't ask), apparently I rule over exactly 48 Multiverses and enter in and out of the reality plane to do my spaghetti shit. I die but as soon as my soul wants a body again, it just does. Either by Spagetti\_Void or being back on Earth 3 through 49. Jeeves always shows up to explain stuff too. Jeeves is kinda my slave but sometimes he tells me to do stuff. Like Universe 6 needs a golden age, use your power to give them resources. So Jeeves can be cool or annoying like that. Jeeves is trying to help me start my own Universe, but I just wanna hang out with some chicks. Jeeves has so much faith in me.
\--
Third, I'm Jeeves and I switch off between existence modes, but SpaghettiBeast never knows what Jeeves is thinks, nor Jeeves what SpagettiBeast thinks .
\--
Fourth, I have to destroy the Universes along with me every time I go Shenron or Ourobouros. I transform into some sort of Snake while the Universe becomes Spaghetti, my hunger goes -40, but it turns I am made of Spaghetti and I eat everything in existence until Jeeves pulls me back into existence. I love being Ouroboros because Jeeves and SpaghettiBeast merge consciousnesses at the maxima of destruction. Just for an instant as each Big Bang produces a new Jeeves and a new SpagettiBeast anywhere from Multiverse 3 to 49 at random.
​
A few times we ended up in the same multiverse, which was cool. Jeeves was really easy to understand after such a recent merge and I have fond memories of Multiverse 26.
\--
See most people have names like Archangel Michael or Jesus. I met a few Buddhas who were chill. The Gokus are annoying they always unite Dragon Balls to ask for wishes but the thing is I can't be Shenron without becoming Ouroboros, so things only worked out that time I get their Multiverse twice in a row, like that one time with 26. It'll probably work out again at some point, but golly Krillin(s) need to stop dying. | 2018-11-23T23:59:18 | 2018-11-23T20:26:08 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | God stared at his mug.
Number 2?
He turned his omniscient eye to the mortal world, searching for the number 1 dad.
He could find no sign of him.
And God was confused. But also, He did not really want to admit to anyone that he was only #2.
So he went for a stroll, and just happened to find William of Ockham relaxing beneath a heavenly tree, nose deep into a book.
"William! How are you?" God boomed, secure in the knowledge that only those still living could not withstand His voice. William had been dead for near 700 years, and was therefore quite safe.
"Your Eternal Majesty!" William said, looking up from his book. "What a pleasant surprise." He looked at God expectantly, having already deduced that something was amiss. It'd taken considerably less than 700 years to figure out that the omnipotent creator of all things tended to stay in his office unless there was a problem.
God explained about the mug.
William nodded, and briefly pondered.
"It seems to me, Lord, that if you cannot find this number 1 Dad in the mortal world, then he must be outside it." William shrugged. "That is the simplest explanation."
God thanked him for the advice, and promptly turned his all seeing eye to the eternal planes.
It only took him a moment to see who held the Number 1 Dad mug. When he saw who it was, he laughed to himself. Of course. He should have known.
The Number 1 Dad mug was being used right here in Heaven. Fred Rodgers was using it to sip tea. | Imagine. Imagine if there was some sort of metric, some sort of way to measure yourself against everyone in the world. I'm not talking about money, houses, cars; I mean like a real leaderboard.
Yeah, I've been yearning for that my whole life. Some way to prove my worth, some way to prove that every tireless moment of grinding my ass off was worth it. That I could be one of the top community members IN THE WORLD. That I could be one of the top performing employees, IN THE WORLD.
Oh man, how I long for some f*cking validation. Like honestly; I swear when Jill takes her hour and a half lunch break, I'm working. When all of my friends go out on the weekend, I call it in at 9pm so I can make sure I'm well rested for tomorrow. I eat healthy, I workout, every waking moment of the day I am working, growing myself. But for what? I've been doing this for 15 years and what good has it done me?
I'm in the best shape of my life, I have a killer 6 figures finance job, but what the hell is it worth anyway? I don't know where this desire to push myself to the limit comes from. Probably from when I was growing up. My hardass Dad never said we were good enough. He always wanted us to push harder, and harder, to be the best versions of ourselves possible. All I wanted was I hug, to be appreciated, but I didn't get that either.
But whatever, that's behind me. I've been conditioned my whole life to work harder, be stronger, be better. Can I really start questioning now? Then what would I do with all of that wasted time? Jeez, I don't even want to think about that.
Well all of this doesn't matter anyway. All of the news agencies just broke a top story. All of the "world's #1 Dad " mugs are showing actual rankings. Too bad I don't have a kid, or I would finally, finally have some way to measure myself, to prove that all my sacrifice was worth it. Anyway, I'll just forever push myself forward through the enigmatic nature of life. Unranked, Unnoticed.
*Ring* *Ring*. Sh*t, that must be the phone. I'll get it. "Hello?"
"Hey son, it's me." "I just want to say ..."
A somber, quiet sobbing comes from the other end. The audio is thick with regret, a life of disappointing decision, after disappointing decision being channeled through the phone cord one pause at a time.
"Dad..."
"I know I ... I could've ...F*ck son. I'm staring at this Mug you got me for my 40th. I wish...
"It's ok."
"Without your mom, it was so much. Too much." I love you son.
"Dad."
"I love you, and I just wanted you to hear me say that. To finally get that off my chest." I love you.
*click* | 2019-04-18T16:07:46 | 2019-04-18T15:48:28 | 253 | 46 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | God stared at his mug.
Number 2?
He turned his omniscient eye to the mortal world, searching for the number 1 dad.
He could find no sign of him.
And God was confused. But also, He did not really want to admit to anyone that he was only #2.
So he went for a stroll, and just happened to find William of Ockham relaxing beneath a heavenly tree, nose deep into a book.
"William! How are you?" God boomed, secure in the knowledge that only those still living could not withstand His voice. William had been dead for near 700 years, and was therefore quite safe.
"Your Eternal Majesty!" William said, looking up from his book. "What a pleasant surprise." He looked at God expectantly, having already deduced that something was amiss. It'd taken considerably less than 700 years to figure out that the omnipotent creator of all things tended to stay in his office unless there was a problem.
God explained about the mug.
William nodded, and briefly pondered.
"It seems to me, Lord, that if you cannot find this number 1 Dad in the mortal world, then he must be outside it." William shrugged. "That is the simplest explanation."
God thanked him for the advice, and promptly turned his all seeing eye to the eternal planes.
It only took him a moment to see who held the Number 1 Dad mug. When he saw who it was, he laughed to himself. Of course. He should have known.
The Number 1 Dad mug was being used right here in Heaven. Fred Rodgers was using it to sip tea. | (This story is kid-friendly, so even a 9 year old could read this.)
​
I woke up on that strange day yawning and wondering whether or not Dad's gone to work so I could finish off the final boss in Aliens: The Invasion. I sat up straight, feet dangling off the bed, and I got into my slippers. I headed downstairs to see if Dad's gone or not, but sure enough, there he was, eating his breakfast. I said as casually as I could, "Taking the day off?" while silently praying that I hadn't jinxed the whole thing.
He responded with a sarcastic tone, "No, I've been fired. Looks like we're hitting the streets."
"Ha, ha, you make me laugh," I shot back. My dad's always been the type for sarcasm. I swear, he once beat my friend's dad in an insult battle (my friend's dad was taking steroids at the time).
"Where's Mom?" I asked. My mother was a stay-at-home type of mom, while my father made the money to pay the bills.
"Oh, shopping," he responded. "Looks like I've gotta watch you until she comes back." I cringed in response to this. Whenever Mom shops, she always gets stuff like grass-fed meat or organic stuff. As a result, we get the world's worse dinner.
I said nothing for a while and watched as he ate his eggs, toast, and bacon. He reached for his cup of coffee, and I noticed something strange.
"That's weird," I muttered. "What happened to your mug?"
He replied, confused, "What do you mean?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. I've always had a habit of saying my thoughts out loud. But that's weird. When I bought him his mug a couple of years ago for Christmas, it said on his mug, "Number #1 Dad." But now it says, "Number #3 Dad."
To distract him I turned on the TV. I changed it to the Channel 12 News, and the story shocked me. The news reporter on screen said, "We have had recent reports of local New York citizens reporting that the classic mug logo for each of their mugs has changed from "Number #1 Dad" to random numbers. Some have even had their mugs say, "Number #1,056 Dad."
My eyes widened, even though I couldn't hide it. My dad noticed, and he took a look at his mug.
"HOLY MOLY!" he cries out in shock. "What's going on!?"
I saw him reading the words, "Number #3 Dad." His eyes twitch, as if the whole thing is too much for his brain to understand.
"So this means.. this means.." he tried saying.
"This means.. you're the 3rd best dad in the world," I whisper.
\[This story was nothing complex, just a simple short story. Hope you enjoyed it.\] | 2019-04-18T16:07:46 | 2019-04-18T15:41:07 | 253 | 30 |
[WP] The biggest breakthroughs in medicine was a device allowing doctors to take full control of a patient's immune system to fight infections. Now the hardcore gamer community has repurposed it, deliberately self-infecting with deadly contagions to enjoy the thrill of the ultimate strategy game. | "Subject?"
"27 year old Male. Cause of death: Ebola. Seems we got one of those gamers again."
"Looks like he had stocked up quite a bit too." Referring to the pantry stocked full of various food items. "Ready for a prolonged battle."
"It is always the dumb ones. Where did he get Ebola anyway?"
"Probably that black market ring that was shut down last week. They found a couple Ebola shots among the dozens of other, lesser, viruses."
"Ah, I heard about that. Such a waste. If you're gonna go about trying to do this, at least set yourself up with an IV or something. Less time spent not fighting."
"Agreed. Thrill seekers not knowing their limits. Back in the day, it was extreme sports. Nowadays, we gotta deal with the worst diseases history has to offer."
*Author's note*: r/James_fire is where I post my stuff. That doesn't include timelapses of RTS virus games. | Sirens echoed in the distance, bouncing through the concrete jungle that was Chicago. An unpleasant stench hung in the air. Jameson pulled a crumpled yellow note from his pocket and lifted it underneath the flickering street lamp.
An address was scrawled across the paper in barely legible handwriting. Jameson stared at it for a moment. Was it a nine or a four? He crumpled the paper and tossed it aside, then continued down the sidewalk.
Two blocks down, he found a familiar symbol spray painted on a parking meter. He turned down the nearby alley, counted the unmarked steel doors, and stopped at the fourth. It was covered rust, with nothing but a keyhole on the outside. A small hatch sat closed at eye level.
Jameson knocked three times, then counted to three, then knocked twice. He waited, wondering if he had the wrong door. Just as he turned to leave, the hatch slid open, and a pair of yellow glasses stared back at him.
"What?" A muffled voice asked behind the door.
"I'm here to play," Jameson answered confidently. "Ice sent me."
The hatch slid closed, screeching painfully in the process. Jameson heard metal clanking together in the door. Finally, it creaked open, a dull red light spilling into the alley.
"Welcome to Antibody's," the man said, stepping aside.
Jameson entered a long hallway as the man closed the door behind him. A thick cloud hung in the air, accompanied by a sweet, fruity scent--and a hint of body odor. Jameson pulled a chapstick from his coat and dabbed a little under his nose.
The hall led to a narrow stairwell, which spiraled into a large, open room. Multi-colored lights flashed along the walls while loud electronic music played from the opposite end. This room added stale beer to the assortment of offensive smells.
In the center of the room, three men were strapped to gurneys, tubes and wires extending from their bodies. Around them, people held controllers and wore thin, multi-colored masks. They shouted at each other and laughed.
Jameson reached into his jacket and ran his hand across his badge. He knew what he needed to do.
But that didnt make it easy.
r/Ford9863 | 2019-05-20T23:27:40 | 2019-05-20T22:53:15 | 126 | 72 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed" | The chatter was loud and incessant, like a fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing in your ear.
Or several flies. Hell, a whole cloud.
Anyways, Aunt Sandy turned “33” for the fifth time and my mom wanted to throw the party at our house because she wanted to flambé (torch the living shit) out of her “famous” Baked Alaska pie in front of everyone as a grand finale. She’s always been a bit crazy in the kitchen, like when she made lasagna with cucumber and olives. As soon as I saw the green I searched “What is she thinking?” in the search bar above her head.
No results.
It’s only been 30 minutes into the party and surprisingly, most of my family is already here. Even my brother Bradley came over from the frat house he lives in, and he’s barely over.
Frankly, Im tired, bored, and done with accepting wet pieces of candy from my toddler cousins.
I had a crazy idea to search.
Let’s have some fun here.
I looked down in front of me. Ethan’s mouth was stained blue from the lollipop he had in his hand. As he extended out his hand for me to lick it, I searched “Number of people killed” as I turned my head away. “0” it said.
This was pretty amusing. I started going around the room. Aunt Sandy “0”, Mom “0”, Uncle Ben “0”, Max “0”, Doug “0”, ok...Doug kinda surprised me. Bradley
“0”.
Wait. “1”. Wait “2”. Why is it going up? Im staring right at him! He’s not doing anything!
“3”. “4”.
My heart is racing out of my chest and my limbs were frozen in fear and confusion.
“Bradley!” I called out. He looked up from sipping his Bud-light beer. “Did anything happen today? Just now even?”
He looked up in recollection briefly.
“No, I just baked some pot brownies for my frat brothers before, but nothing crazy.”
“Did you add anything else to them? Did you turn off the oven?” I frantically asked.
The death toll kept going up “5”. “6.”
“Oh shit...I don’t think I turned off the oven, but one of them probably took care of it.” He took another swig of his beer. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Dude...you have no idea. | As per usual, I started with a control—my beautiful infant daughter. We had left her alone several minutes ago to nap, so I rose from my desk and padded over to the nursery, feet gingerly landing on the hardwood floor.
I twisted the doorknob carefully and crept inside the dim room, trying not to startle her. I stalked to the side of her crib and peered down at her soft, fluttering eyelids.
“We have very rare and special gift,” my umma had explained when I was young. “You can look through anyone’s eyes, right into the soul, just like all Park women before you.” It was then that I understood why my female ancestors had all kept their mothers’ name. Needing my little girl to look me in the eye, gently cooing seemed to be enough to manipulate her sleepy face into focusing on me. I whispered the question.
‘Zero’, the voice whispered back.
I smiled. Couldn’t hurt to make sure, right? I closed the door behind me with care. Briefly wondering if I could conjure information from photos, I realized I had never bothered to check. I jogged to the kitchen, where hanging on the wall was a well-lit photo with my mom and dad looking into the camera; their grins were wide as they stood aside their daughter at her graduation from university.
Just beside the photo was another, messier one, depicting my husband in a large group of his army mates during his last tour. This was before the incident and his honorable discharge. I turned to my parents and tried to focus. After some moments of labored concentration, my brain was fooled.
“How many deaths have you caused, umma?”
‘Zero’, it said.
“And daddy? How many?” I already knew the answer. He has always regretted this horrible accident from his days of heavy drinking.
‘One.’
Now to find out what a monster my husband was. I bounced into the office where he sat at his desk and, much to his false chagrin, tousled his hair.
From his chair, he grabbed my hips and tickled my sides, growling, “I spend twenty minutes crafting the perfect bed head, and you trample it all in seconds.” I broke free of his relentless assault. “Whaddya want, Godzilla?”
I sat eye level to him on an adjacent ottoman. “Well...”
“Oh no,” he interjected. “I know that tone. That high pitched note that curls up at the end. You want to frisk my head, huh?”
“Just this one thing! And then I’ll leave you alone.”
He heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Okay. Just this one thing, but only because I love you.”
He removed his sunglasses and placed them on the desk beside us, then rolled his big office chair towards me with my guidance. We brought our faces inches apart, close enough for him to lock onto my eyes. He would never be able to meet my gaze otherwise.
“How many deaths are you responsible for?”
He jerked back. “What?” I saw the whites of his eyes.
‘Nineteen.’
“Why the fuck would you do that?” He shot to his feet, chair colliding into the bookshelf behind him. A small stone statue fell from a shelf and smashed to pieces on the floor. “Do you have any idea what it’s like? Why I’ve tried to suppress those memories? Why I need so much god damn therapy?”
I gazed up at him with disdain. “Calm down.”
“‘Calm down’!? I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you.” My arms were apparent enough for him to grab, jerking me to my feet. He then painfully gripped my hands in his.
“How many people have you killed!?”
“Ha! Why would I-“
‘Thirty six.’
He froze.
I smiled. Then I broke into laughter.
“Thank you. I’d lost count.” | 2019-07-01T23:13:12 | 2019-07-01T23:03:11 | 146 | 72 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed" | Max had just woke up from one of those long naps that leave you feeling heavy and confused. Slowly he moved his feet towards the floor and got up with a stretch. He opened his phone to see 17:00 staring at him. Shit. Max had missed the most important time of the day for the 3rd time this week. His new job left him exhausted on the little time he had to spare resulting in untimely naps. You see Max has a special power. Not the kind you see in movies, one more discreet and interesting. From the moment he was born he could use a search tool once every day, specifically at noon 15:00. A little exclamation mark will pop up in his eyesight until he starts the search, almost like a side quest in a video game. If he forgets to use one it’ll stack up to a max of 10. This window lasted a minute but it was the most amazing tool some would dream of. Any small detail of someone’s past, boom, you have it. It’s like reaching into their mind of networks pulling out anything you please.
At first he’d search innocent things, *where did mommy get that necklace?* until the growing mind of a preteen set in and more gruelling questions sat in his brain. He wanted to really dive into their past, so when Max was 12 he sat staring at his watch on the couch glancing at each family member, his mind racing with questions. Finally the clock strikes 15, the burning question he’d be scared to ask filled the search bar
*Why does dad have a large scar down his neck?*
the exhilaration quickly turned into a sad, scared gloom. Before he had a chance to react, his dad promptly asked ‘Hey max chuck me a bag of those chips will ya?’ In his frightened state Max couldn’t bring himself to it, instead he ran out the room and swiftly shut the door and lied down. Whatever this power was, he would need to restrain from being so personal.
Now as an adult he’d only done it for little things at his workplace to keep himself entertained, *What was my managers first ever job?* and things similar.
That was until today.
14:00 Max had slaved away for the past 16 hours, undergoing both a night plus morning shift at the office. He needed the money to sustain a godawful amount of rent, consequently when he got home to his apartment his first instinct was to jump on his bed and fall into a deep sleep. However he noticed a big red circle on his calendar. ‘God is it really this time of the year again...’ Max mumbled. His birthday had crept up and he’d spent the majority of it half asleep in an office. His phone was lit up with dozens of Facebook and Instagram messages from family and the few friends he’d sustained. “26, where have these years gone?” He mumbled again, he put the kettle on and made a coffee to push back the lingering sleep.
*Ding Ding Ding*
He walked over and opened the door to be greeted by his entire family. Mother, father and three brothers. He couldn’t quite believe it had been this long. As everyone sat down and set up the birthday cake, he blew out the candles, made a wish, etc etc. The only entertainment Max had was a game of monopoly and a few other board games. Sure, why not. Let’s have a game.
14:34
Max saw the time and remembered, very soon he’d have a question to ask, and considering his family are here, he could be a bit more adventurous. He rolled the dice and saw the big ‘Prison’ tile on the monopoly board.
Max had a Sudden flashback to when he was a kid and asked that dreaded question. *How did dad get that scar?* the terrifying visual image manifested itself back into his brain.
*Self-made knife from prisoner inmate, Colorado 1979.*
*Samuel Oliver’s was detained for attempted Murder, however the lack of evidence caused a drop in the case*
Ever since Max was 12 he’d wanted to ask if he truly was a murderer, but even as a adult he’d never brought himself to it. However Max new this secret would end today, or else he’ll be asking it for the rest of his life.
14:59
Max was a few rolls from winning the game, but his mind was elsewhere. Suddenly an Exclamation mark disrupted his vision, to his surprise, there was a small ‘4’ next to the mark. They must have stacked up from all his missed questions due to his long naps.
Max thought he’d test out his question for Father on the others, just to be safe.
*How many people has mother killed?*
*Amie Oliver’s, 0 murders.*
Sigh of relief, he knew she wouldn’t hurt a fly.
*Michael Oliver’s 0 murders.*
Yes, his brother was also completely fine. He was prone to getting in a few fights after one or two many drinks, but nothing serious.
*Stanley Oliver’s, 1 accidental - Drunk driving incident.
His heart sank, he hadn’t even reached his father and his older brother was a fucking drunk driver? He couldn’t really feel rage as it would be completely random and unprovoked for everyone in the room. But still his face boiled.
Now for his father, please let this be a lie.
*Samuel Oliver’s, 176 confirmed Kills. Non accidental.*
He looked and saw his fathers porky, childish face. How was that the face of someone who’s killed 176 people?
Samuel rolled the dice and his small go kart figure landed inside prison.
“Haha! Lucky for me I have an out of prison card!”
Without a second thought Max retorted “I thought you used that card in 1979?”
His face sank. His eyes turned cold and sour. He was a completely different man. The once wrinkled face of joy was now stone cold and emotionless, staring right through Max. Who was this man? Did he work for some sort of MAFIA?
After a few seconds of staring mother pleaded we finish the game and enjoy Max’s birthday, but that wasn’t going to happen. | I sat on the couch in the living room while everyone was outside talking and catching up with each other, after all, it’s been a while since the family had come together and be able to reconnect with each other, as always, I find that I’m by myself, and as always bored whenever these get together occur.
“Leo!” Mother called me, as she wandered into the living room, her hand on her hips as her head shakes exasperated,“Come on, when will you stop hiding and talk to your aunts, and uncles and meet your cousins? Can you please come with me?”
She walked away, already expecting me to follow her and I sighed, before getting up and forcing myself to meet my family once again, and always I saw the search bars, glowing softly over their heads, and a voice called cheerfully, “Leo!” A boy taller than me chirped, a wide toothy grin and his blue eyes bright as ever as he pulled me into a hug, before releasing me,”Where were you, the lot of us was wondering how long it’ll take until you left your den,”
I rolled my eyes at his pun, before sending a smirk his way, “Well I left my room quite a long while ago, just been prowling around, the usual, nice to see you again Thomas.”
Thomas nodded with a larger grin before his attention was taken away by Aunt Rose, leaving alone again, I greeted the rest of my family, making a sad attempt of socializing before getting a drink from the cooler, finding myself sitting in boredom, before a sudden thought came to mind, and he decided, no matter how unlikely or possible that it could be that someone in his family was a murderer, he thought to himself, it wouldn’t hurt to check either.
My first target was a 2nd cousin that always wore black, she was a thin and pale girl with dark hair, she was talking to her twin sister at the moment who look the exact opposite despite their similarities, and he stared intensely over her head, imagining the words forming.
“Numbers Of people Killed?”
Immediately the words faded, a slight nervousness instilled inside him as the bar slowly revealed the answer to him and unsurprisingly to be zero, he shrugged expecting such results, despite his nervousness of the unexpected occurring, he continued, his next choice.
Aunt Rose...0
His Mother...0
Uncle Lewis...1
At that result, he froze before relaxing as he remembered that Uncle Lewis was a police officer so it was a higher possibility but oddly felt uncomfortable at this information, still I persist.
Great Grandpa Stanley...15
I flinched at the numbers, but expected that number already, he was a participant of that war...
Thomas...12
I blinked owlishly, stunned at the result, honestly expecting zero, it wasn’t possible, Perfect Thomas, Thomas who always get perfect grades and Volunteer every week and who always made sure he never felt left out?
“No way...” I muttered, imagining the words appearing on to the search bad, and error somehow made and to still see that number made me stand up, I stared at Thomas, breathing out, trying to find an excuse, a possibility to why there was a number, a high number of people that have been killed, and he took a deep breathe before approaching Thomas, I walked towards him, filled with determination, but a seed of nervousness filled me, “Thomas, we need to talk...”
Thomas turned to me and grinned, “You know how much I hate how stuffy Thomas sounds, call Tom, yeah?”
“Sorry, Thomas...I mean Tom...” I muttered, scratching the name of my neck.
“So what’s up, why have the lion summoned me?” He questioned as he brushed his dark curls backwards with his hands, removing the bangs away from his face warm eyes, his usual grin felt off to me, maybe it’s because of what I saw but I don’t know but It felt wrong now.
“N-not now...can we talk alone somewhere...” I muttered, my eyes unable to meet his, “it’s something that no one else should hear...”
For a second, I felt like his blue eyes darkened and a quick but calculating look appeared in eyes, but only for a second that it made me wonder if I was just overthinking, forcing my gaze to meet his, what I saw was only a concerned face and the usual goofy grin gone, “is everything alright, mate?” He said softly,”I’m always here for you, even if we don’t hang out a lot, family is family and I’ll always be here, okay?”
That statement made me falter and doubt the truth of what I saw, but it never was wrong before, however there was always a first for everything, right?
“...Just follow me,” I said, hesitant as I turned around, allowing him to follow me up to my room.
.
.
.
A red tinted lit room with red and black stripes on the wall, a crimson red carpet, a large bed with simple dark sheets and lit candles around, “...Nice room” Tom commented as he looked at his cousin, Leo.
“My mother thought the aesthetics would go well with my supposed ‘image’...” Leo stated, emphasizing on the word image as he sat down, his eyes staring cautiously at Tom, which he noted carefully.
“So what’s wrong, mate?” Tom questioned, his hands stuck into his jean pockets loosely.
“You killed someone.”
The room was filled with silence as Tom stared at Leo silently, his eyes blank and his lips thin, Tom licked his lips in consideration as he replayed the accusation— statement into his head, “...What?” He finally replied in question.
Leo watched his expression carefully, for every twitch he’d make, for any turn in his expression that could indicate the guilt of the crimes he hoped that Tom didn’t commit, “You heard me.”
Tom only stared, his eyes cold and revealed no emotion to indicate his true feelings,”I do not know what you mean.”
“I saw it,” Leo rebutted, the sudden change in Tom’s body language was simply alarming, the way Tom stiffened, the way his teeth were clenched subtly behind his thinned lips, the darkness in his eyes that kind of scared Leo, he took a deep breathe, “I’m not going to rat you out, I just want you to stop...and asked why...”
Tom only stared at him, his face expressionless before softening into an easy smile, “That’s really a terrible joke... you know, that’s a really really serious crime to accuse someone of, mate, it could get you killed if you’re not carefully,” he laughed, a laugh that sounded empty to Leo’s ears and brought chills, “Next time , don’t accuse me of something like that, you wouldn’t like me angry, ya know....You seriously nearly got me angry but because you’re family I forgive you...anyways, if you ever make such an accusation to the wrong guy, you never know where you’ll find yourself...”
Leo only sat still, as if he felt like he barely escaped with his head intact for a moment, the look in Tom’s eyes were plain cold and empty, while his smile exuded a fake warmth and he began to laugh weakly, “Yeah, I was just joking, a prank...I just wanted to see your reactions...it’s not like you ever killed someone...”
Tom only smiled a large grin, while his eyes lacked warmth as he turned away and walked outside to mingle with the rest of his family, Leo left by himself wondering how he can gain proof, already making a mistake in confronting him as he feels that if he ever get in Tom’s way, there would be no hesitation in his death and funeral being planned... | 2019-07-01T22:45:08 | 2019-07-01T22:18:35 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | As everything came into focus, red block letters greeted me
DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE
For a moment I sat, looking at the shapes. Like the others, I had been blinded December before last. My MX-Sarah assistant had guided me back home while the world was in chaos. The robot became my eyes.
I needed an upgrade but Patriot Pay was stalled. We were the lucky ones. The ones with skill sets that didn't need our eyes. United States Occupational Relief picked us up.
There was an uprising, if you can call it that. Blind masses screamed in the street for something to be done. Screamed for answers. For a cure. But the doctors had been blinded too.
The e-security cleaned everything up very quickly. It was rumored they retrained you in the camps for an occupation you could do without your sight. I liked to believe it. The more plausible rumors aren't vey nice.
Official broadcasting never made mention of the camps. They were something not to be acknowledged. Like the blocks of empty houses. Something to be forgotten.
DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE
After two years, letters become shapes before words. When the message finally hit, I closed my eyes reflexively. My heart started racing. I had a new secret to keep.
*Marcus, is everything all right?*
MX-Sarah's grating, chipper tone stabbed the air. I rubbed my eyes and replied "I think it must be a bit dusty, that's all". I opened my eyes and willed them out of focus.
*You would like me to dust. Is that correct?*
A sickening wave self-consciousness hit.
"Yes. Sarah. Schedule dusting today. 1500."
*Dusting scheduled today at 3pm. To cancel, say CANCEL*
Then there was silence. I was trying to remember what I did with my body. My eyes.
Be normal. Be normal.
DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE
Note: Have to go now. If someone is interested in finishing this, I'm thinking over-population for post global warming scarce resources caused a global oligarchy to take dramatic action. Artificial intelligence has made human workers all but unnecessary. Mass blinding was a way to exterminate a large portion of the population. Mass disinformation campaigns / desire to keep people in their place. Hence, DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE
Thinking there is are "The Visionaries" that paint the letters, subverting the rulers. I'm imagining secret transport network + a final boss scene, ambushing the ruling class. The blindness is caused by an issued chemical. Just need to avoid exposure. Some accidentally are "cured" because they have accidentally avoided the blindness dose for long enough.
Thanks for the great prompt OP! | When I was younger, my mother told me that no matter what happens I needed to be strong. She told me that the world was a cruel place and my sister Kay needed protecting. It didn’t make sense to me at the time, this world was full of wonder and adventure. My thirst for adventure led me to the Army when I was eighteen.
One day my commander called me into his office. There was an accident back at home. My mother and sister were involved in a car accident, killing my mother and gravely wounding Kay. I was given some leave time to return home and grieve. The next few months were rough, rougher than anything the Army had put me through. My days were spent tending to my sister for the accident had left her blind. Little did I know that the real trials were yet to come.
A few years later my time in the armed forces were up. After leaving the Army, I was able to get an apartment for my sister and I. Despite losing her eyesight, Kay was able to live happily. For a while, I believe I was happy too. Then, one day I woke up in my dark room. I could hear the television in the other room. The news was on as I was slowly making my way out of bed.
“This is an emergency, please stay in your homes until we have further information”
This snapped me out of my auto-pilot. What had happened? I walked over to the other side of the room in the darkness. Feeling my way around I get to the light switch and turn on the lights. Nothing happens. Trying the light switch a few more times I start to feel like something is very wrong. I feel my way into the living room where the television is. That’s when it hit me, I was blind.
For two years there was nothing, just nothing at all. Everyone’s eyesight was gone. They ended up calling it the Great Blinding. Funny, how they give the worst things titles such as *great*. After the first few months everything started to seem like it was going to work out. Without eyesight, everyone started being a lot nicer to each other. There was no longer any prejudice based on skin or race because no one could tell the difference.
After two years of living in peace, everything changed once again. There was a terrible screech that woke me out of my sleep. I jolted up in my bed. Then again, I heard a scream. It was coming from my sisters room! Hastily, I made my way into my sister's room. There was someone in there with her I could hear her struggling. Jumping into the frey, I fumble myself on the back of this intruder. I was able to subdue the intruder and put him in a choke hold. My military combat training was paying off.
“Run away! I’ll hold him off Kay!” I yelled into the darkness.
There were footsteps moving heading out of the room. My sister would be safe. I could feel my choke hold working, this guy’s strength was fading. Just as I was sure this guy wouldn’t be getting back up anytime soon, a thud. Something hit me, and it hit me hard. Was my sister safe at least?
Some time later I woke up in my sister’s room. I could feel the sun on my face coming through the window. How long was I knocked out? I struggle getting up; my head hurts like hell. Wait a second, I start feeling around looking for my sister. She’s not here! Making my way to the window something feels different. The sun, I’m not just feeling it on my face, I can see it! I’m not really sure what is going on. Slowly, I opened my eyes.
My vision was back! What happened? Is this really happening? How am I able to see again? I turned around to once again go over the scene. Kay’s bed was bloody and the room a total mess. That’s when I noticed it. On the walls, on the ceiling, on the mirror. *DON’T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE.* In the mirror, my reflection looks back at me. What I saw was terrifying. My eyes, they weren’t normal anymore. They were all black, no irises or anything else just black pupil. What happened to me? | 2022-10-22T00:27:31 | 2019-08-26T10:19:31 | 37 | 22 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished", he says. "You are the punishment." | First opening his eyes, he saw two paths. One was the cliche pearly white gates in the distance, a beautiful path towards them filled with life and vibrancy, the other full of crags blackened by hellfire and brimstone while leading down to a fiery pit. One thing though: the first path was blocked off by dark grey metal bars.
“I suppose you’re confused, mortal.” A deep and masculine voice boomed, and looking between the paths at a grey patch, stood a figure garbed in black cloth, hiding his features. “You see, with how you’ve been utterly faithful to the Lord, there’s only one task left for you to do before heading on up to Heaven. You see...” the cloaked man started to speak.
“Demons have been running rampant within their home, not even Lucifer can keep the amount of rebelling demons under control, and there is a very real risk of the demons reaching Earth if left as they are now. So God has decided to select one of his most faithful believers, and give them a choice.” The cloaked man continued. Looking to the hellish path, he sighed. “The choice of becoming the punishment for those within the bowels of Hell. In other words, you have a choice.” The unknown man spoke.
“Go to heaven, and live the rest of time blissfully ignorant of the situation, or.” The cloaked figure began. He then reached into his robes and pulled out a strange item. It was similar to the hilt of a sword, a circular cross guard with two moveable pieces crossed over the top of the circle, a strange symbol emblazoned on it in blood red crimson. A mark similar to that of a T, with a slash in the lower part of it. “Become that who would slay demons, and be their punishment. I will let you choose...
Flynn Taggart.”
Nothing more needed to be considered. Taking the device, Flynn Taggart chose the path of becoming the punishment of Hell’s fiendish residents, he chose the path that would eventually lead him earning a title feared by Hell’s denizens:
The Doomslayer.
(First time doing one of these, hope I didn’t do too bad! Originally it wasn’t going to end DOOM-related but I couldn’t help myself with such an opportunity.) | In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment.
In his ravenous hatred he found no peace, and with boiling blood he scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him.
He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him... the Doom Slayer.
Tempered by the fires of Hell, his iron will remained steadfast through the passage that preys upon the weak. For alone he was the Hell Walker, the Unchained Predator, who sought retribution in all quarters, dark and light, fire and ice, in the beginning and the end, and he hunted the slaves of Doom with barbarous cruelty; for he passed through the divide as none but demon had before.
And in his conquest against the blackened souls of the doomed, his prowess was shown. In his crusade, the seraphim bestowed upon him terrible power and speed, and with his might he crushed the obsidian pillars of the Blood Temples.
He set forth without pity upon the beasts of the nine circles. Unbreakable, incorruptible, unyielding, the Doom Slayer, sought to end the dominion of the dark realm.
The age of his reckoning was uncounted. The scribes carved his name deep in the tablets of Hell across eons, and each battle etched terror in the hearts of the demons.
They knew he would come, just as he always had, as he always will, to feast on the blood of the wicked. For he alone could draw strength from his fallen foes, and ever his power grew, swift and unrelenting.
None could stand before the horde but the Doom Slayer. Despair spread before him like a plague, striking fear into the shadow dwellers, driving them into deeper and darker pits. But from the depths of the abyss rose The Great One, a champion mightier than all who had come before. The Titan, of immeasurable power and ferocity. He strode upon the plain and faced the Doom Slayer, and a mighty battle was fought on the desolate plains.
The Titan fought with the fury of the countless that had fallen at the Doom Slayer's hand, but there fell the Titan, and in his defeat the shadow horde were routed.
And in his terrible rancor between worlds and through time, the Hell Walker found the wretch who shall not be named, but in his heresy was loyal to his evil cause. The wretch adorned the Doom Slayer in a mighy armor, wrought in the forges of Hell, impenetrable and unyielding.
With sword and shield of adamantine strength, the Doom Slayer set to banishing all that was left unbroken by his savagery to the void.
Yet as the mighty Titan fell and dread engulfed the armies of Doom, the demon priests of the Blood Temples laid a trap to capture this scourge of Hell.
Insatiable, even by the vanquishing of the Great One, the Hell Walker sought prey in the tombs of the Blood Keep and blinded by his fervor, the lure drew him in.
The priests brought down the temple upon the Doom Slayer, and in his defeat entombed him in the cursed sarcophagus.
The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering.
​
This is copy-paste, but I thought it was funny and fit with the **You are the punishment** | 2020-01-10T17:59:07 | 2020-01-10T17:42:54 | 51 | 11 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished", he says. "You are the punishment." | I am given a microphone and immediately start belting out every Queen song I know, unable to hit Freddie’s glorious high notes. The screeches from my throat reverberate off of every rock and every bone in the Pit. 800 Avantone Pro Mix speakers have been set up in the caverns of Hell, just for me. A lone demon is absolutely killing it on a Casio Keyboard that has been put on the bloopy reggae-esque setting. Every poor soul in a 1200 mile radius is clawing at their bleeding ears, desperately attempting to block the righteous melodies produced by me and keyboard demon . Satan gives me a high five. | First there was nothing.
I don't know what I expected, but I guess I was hoping for little more than the still black void that stretches out before me.
Then it got hot. Very hot.
It began as a searing pain, as if every nerve of my being was firing off signals at once. As blinding pain subsided into a comfortable warmth, washing over my body, my vision flooded with an array of red.
There was fire, brimstone, and rivers of ink like blackness that seemed to morph and shift, filled with the faces of lost souls, wailing for release from their torment.
As my senses adjust to the hellish landscape, I become aware of the two towering figures before me.
"Welcome, warden" the first one hisses.
I take a moment to reply, still coming to terms with my new surroundings.
"Where am I?" I enquire. A growing lump of panic begins to rise in my chest as I come to terms with my environment. "Is this hell?"
"Very observant comrade" the second gargoyle-like figure cackles in reply.
My mind begins to race. Surely I dont belong here? I may not be the most faithful servant of the lord but surely I never did anything worthy of this sort of punishment? I mean sure I never really went to church but I always respected others and tried my hardest to be the best person I could. I mean sure I had the odd outburst but surely I'd never done anything deserving of eternal torment?
The two beings look me over and seem to find amusement in my growing panic, which honestly only worries me more.
"Relax new blood, it's not what you think." The shadowy creature pats my shoulder, his scaley talons nearly knock me down the ridge we are sat upon.
"You are not here for punishment."
(I'm too drunk and baked to finish and I'm honestly not even sure if it's legible but I've been at it for a hot minute so I thought I'd just post it) | 2020-01-10T18:08:32 | 2020-01-10T17:38:07 | 51 | 32 |
[WP] Turns out, what gets you into Heaven is spending more time doing good things rather than bad things. That's it. When you arrive at St. Peter's Gate, he has a device that shows precisely how much time you've spent doing good, and bad. Down to the nanosecond, you're at a dead tie... | "It's not just you," the angel explained. The line lurched one step forwards; when I'd first died, the grey hills seemed to stretch off into infinity, but after God knows how long we'd finally gotten to some visible structures: a massive set of gates, flanked by a pair of angels.
"Yeah, no kidding." I looked up and down the line. There were thousands of us. "What gives?"
The angel grimaced. "Globalization."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Globalization!" The angel threw both hands in the air. "It used to be so simple, you know? Do more good stuff than bad stuff and you're set!"
"Wait, that's it?"
"It was a good system! Until you bloody humans started multiplying! Do you know how long it takes to determine whether an individual action had an overall positive or negative effect on the world when seven billion people are ping-ponging around in it? It used to be so simple: slay a monster? Good thing! Be a monster? Bad thing! But now the monsters are leading life-saving medical companies and the heroes are getting put on trial for murder and I'm not even sure that 'good' and 'bad' have meanings anymore and—"
"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay." I held out my arms, and the angel wrapped me in a stranglehold of a hug. "Oof. Okay, easy with the ribs. Do I still have ribs? Hey, if I'm dead, then why did my clothes come with—"
"Thank you." The angel sniffed and straightened up. I wasn't sure what to make of the knowledge that angel snot glowed; somehow, the question had never occurred to me to ask. "Well, you know what? Up here, things are simple again. Give an angel a shoulder to cry on? You're a good person in my book." The angel held out a hand. "Welcome to Heaven, you lucky little thing."
If you liked this story and have a quarantine-induced need for entertainment, you may want to consider heading over to r/rileywrites! | One unaware driver was all it took.
Biking in the city is dangerous, especially when you live in the downtown core and its night time. The street was busy despite the late hour. The light turned green. I took off full speed in my slick, carbon 21-speed bike. The wind whipped at my ears and cut through my hair. Horns honked in the distance, but I was here.
A blue Toyota effortlessly breezes past me on my left. I look back preparing to switch lanes. That was all it took. One second. The blue Toyota hurled me off my bike. I always knew the risks but I'd ignored them nevertheless. A fractured skull was the price I paid.
# * * * * *
My first feeling was of peace, relaxation, calmness. That feeling when you finally look up after hours of intense focus on a computer. I drifted away from my previous body. Life faded to darkness, a movie that reached its end.
Then I met him. St. Peter himself stood there greeting me to the afterlife.
"Hello, Jaime. I'm sorry you're here."
"Am I ..." I shut my mouth, and then immediately opened it once more. "Am ... am I dead?"
"Unfortunately you are." St. Peter had the soothing voice of a storyteller. "I am here to judge you on all the actions throughout your life. The good, the bad and the ugly."
"So not everyone goes to heaven?" My stomach turned a little.
*I was a good guy, wasn't I? I might not have been the one to lead a coalition on animal rights, or even been the type of person who gave money to the homeless, but I was still good.*
He laughed jolly laugh and rested a hand on my shoulder. "I wish it were so my boy. I truly wish it were so. Nothing would please me more. Alas, some people simply aren't cut out for good work."
He peered into my eyes. He reached into the depths of my soul. "The way this works," he said pointing to the device in his hands, "is that it tallies up the amount of time you spent doing good things and bad things. Whichever you've done more of determines whether you go to heaven or hell."
He must have seen the fear in my face. "People are nicer than you might think. It really not common that people go down there."
My mind raced some more.
*But what about all those days I spent taking care of old lady Maralyn the neighbour with memory loss, that has to count for something.*
Every thought of something good spawned two bad things.
*What about all those times I left my friends when they needed me, and felt bad after as if that made it all okay? What about when I turned my back on Todd?*
The machine beeped and turned yellow. St Peter furrowed his brow and click some more. "It appears ... you have spent exactly as much time doing good as bad. Down to the nanosecond."
My mouth hung open once more. I second-guessed my every thought. St. Peter clicked some more, "It appears your intentions throughout life are *also* equally divided."
We stared at each other in silence.
He broke it, "I guess there's more for you to do. Your story isn't done yet pal."
He placed a hand on my forehead. A sound came from his device once more before silence overcame me and my vision when blank once more.
___
r/WristMakerWrites | 2020-03-20T16:29:25 | 2020-03-20T16:27:59 | 281 | 149 |
[WP] The demon stands amid your destroyed kitchen screaming, “How? How were you able to summon me?!” You’re standing in the corner flipping through your grandma’s cookbook as fast as you can, screaming back, “I don’t know!! You were supposed to be chicken soup!” | "Oregen-Thanto?"
"Do you fucking mean oregano?" The large reddish beast was standing across from me with his arms tightly folded and chin butting out. "Are you listening to me you mororn? The jackass who can't read to save his life. What the hell have you done?"
I think he was mad. I, on the other hand, was confused. "Um, big red sir. No offense, but you kind of burst into *my kitchen*, and I think I need an explanation more than you do... sir." I didn't like him, he was scary. He got even scarier when he heard that though, his eyebrows raised and he started to inch closer to me.
"This has to be a fucking joke. I can't believe this. I would say God damn you if that wouldn't bring you right back to me."
I think he thought I was sarcastic about my question, I really did want to know though. He seemed too angry for me to ask him again, so I had to think of a way to calm him. "Well if you're going to stay... Want some Lassen-tau that I made yesterday?"
"...Do ...Do you mean lasagne?"
"That how you pronounce it!"
"Jesus fucking christ this can't be right."
"Man I knew I was mispronouncing it, just doubted myself ya kn-" The devilish creature suddenly grabbed me by my collar and screamed right in my face.
"Do you have any idea what you just done!? You bumbling fool you've doomed us all! You cannot control this power..." Now I was really confused.
"What do you mean?" I squeaked out as he slowly put me down.
"Those words you said when I appeared, they were very important words."
"My cookbook?"
"No, you imbecile! No one salts their pork stew while summoning satan himself to their will!"
"Y-you're satan?" Okay I know I said I was confused earlier, but this really confused me. "Then what does all this mean?"
He let out a faint sigh, "Under the bindings of the ancient texts, and the governing of the very universe itself, I am bound to your will for the entirety of a day starting now. My power is your power, you will mine."
"Uh... thanks." How the fuck was I supposed to reply to that? "Not that I'm insulting you or anything Mr. Satan, but why do you have to do this... like... Can't you just like... kill me?"
"When I left heaven and declared myself separate from that tyrant, the universe had a price. That price was supposed to be the most well-kept secret in the universe... and you fucking stumbled into it... I am yours until tomorrow."
I panicked, I can't hang out with regular people for more than ten minutes, then all of a sudden I got literal satan stuck to me for 24 hours. So I did what I always do when I panic, I talked about my oven, "Uh... So... I guess if you're staying, wanna help me finish up this recipe? The book calls for a tablespoon of butter and a dash of papr-... pari-*ca*... Oh, shoot that's not how you say it, papica? No!" Satan was just watching me argue with myself over spices, I think he was regretting leaving heaven right then. "It's palica! No, Prapri-Rica!" All of a sudden the ground started shaking and thunder echoed above. Satan glanced at the sky then quickly back at me.
"What the hell did you do?" Then a large octopus-like being tore open the top of the house and yelled down at us.
"**Mortals! You have summoned me! The might and bo-"**
Satan interrupted him, "Ctuthulu! You summoned fucking Cuthulu trying to say paprika? Fuck it, he can have you. I'm done." | He was dripping with tar, wings partially unfurled and visage positively fearsome. Serena, even in her dazed state, had the sense to set the book down gently on the counter. From where the beast had emerged, the marble was cracked, a faultline containing impenetrable darkness.
"Jesus," she mumbled somewhat incoherently, stumbling back against the fridge. "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus."
She wasn't even religious, but the sight of a horrendous beast dripping on her late grandmother's kitchen floor was enough to strike momentary fear of God in her. Sliding up against the refrigerator, she kept her arms in front of her in a gesture of self-defense.
"No!" she screamed, waving her arms about. "Back, get back!"
Grunting, the demon contorted his neck, creating the unholy sounds of thick and gaseous muscles and bones adjusting in their places. Bulging veins sunk into ashen flesh, as the monster rose, casting a shadow over the terrified girl.
"I am incensed," the demon snarled, face painted into a grimace. "Incensed to be back in this world, back in this terrible place."
Looking around, he had a flash of momentary recognition. He was there. Back in Manor Mixolydian for the third time in sixty years, plucked from a hellish haven in the Demon Realm and straight into the miasmic idiocy of the human race.
"By the looks of it, Lydia is back to her ceaseless begging," he grumbled. "For a woman of moral impunity, she had no qualms about using her family's influence to obtain one of those Demon Tomes."
"L-L-L--" began Serena, stammering as her words failed her. "L-Lydia? Grandma Lydia?"
"Grandma? So, she went and had her kin do the summoning for her?" he sneered in disgust. "Where is she? How were you able to summon me? Here!?"
"She's gone," Serena said softly, nearly breaking out into tears. The adrenaline kept her eyes dry, as she found the words. "She passed a few days ago. I'd been trying to make a few of her personal recipes, just for me."
"So, the old windbag's gone, huh," the demon chuckled. "Hey, for a human, she was a resilient pest. She managed to get me back in this accursed place, for one."
A flash of anger replaced a portion of the fear that Serena was experiencing. "You take that back! Grandma brought so much happiness into the world. You see that over there? That book? Those were her best recipes. She brought so many smiles to so many people. To call her a windbag is just--"
"Don't get all sentimental, please," he interrupted with a growl. "If Lydia had not impressed me in a slight capacity, I would not have given her even a percent of my effort in ending the monsters that were after her family. She went against God to protect her own. I admired that, I did."
Taking a deep breath, Serena stepped forward and put a hand on the book. *Lydia's Personals*, was the title, penned out in neatly elegant cursive. Lydia had always told her that she bought the book from a small vendor in Milan, the same place where she learned how to perfect the bolognese. The page that Serena had bookmarked was, aptly, titled *Serena's Chicken Soup*. Lydia would make it for her granddaughter in times of sickness and hardship. Ever since Serena had lost her fiance and by extension her confidence, she had gone back to Lydia's and always requested the same thing-- the chicken soup of her childhood.
But she was gone. Serena had the terrific urge to defend her grandmother's honor even after she was sunk into the ground in New Haven. She hoped it was all a dream, but some part of her hoped it wasn't.
"What is that? That page, it's glowing," the demon began, stepping closer to the diary. Serena recoiled as he moved nearer, but stopped herself. "What is it? That's it, the vessel by which I arrived."
"It's chicken soup. Italian-style, Grandma used to say." Serena explained, the hand on the book serving as a bastion from the demon's gaze. "I used to have it all the time when I was a kid."
"Oh, that crafty--" stammered the demon. "Never mind. She created a way for her kin to summon me-- with a soup recipe. Now, that is some fine working machination."
He glanced around, before unfurling his wings fully, crouching down and touching the ground.
"I'll explain everything later," he began. "But all you need to know now is that I was captured for protection, servitude to be a guardian of sorts. The monsters I slew years earlier are still obviously after your bloodline. I can smell them, even from here within Mixolydian Manor. Now, follow me."
As Serena attempted to protest, the demon blasted a hole into the side of the kitchen, which oozed a lilac mist that wafted through the room like the aroma of one of Lydia's dishes. Through the hole seemed to be a landscape which was entirely unfamiliar, entirely different.
"A safe house," he growled. "Will you come?"
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK | 2020-04-16T23:27:57 | 2020-04-16T21:57:06 | 993 | 185 |
[WP] After a space battle where the ship's captain stayed behind on the ship to hold off the enemy ships while the others on board escaped, they sit in the bridge with only the ship's AI. The captain miraculously won the battle. Their ship is severely crippled as it drifts through space. | Awaiting command input.
Processing…
Recognizing command \[Open Captain’s Logs\].
Processing…
Command complete. Would you like to open an existing file or record a new file?
Recognizing command \[Open a file\].
Opening file \[The End\].
Audiolog transcription:
\[AI vocalizing\] *AlasCorp speech-to-text program will transcribe your audio log as it records. You are free to speak, \[Captain\].*
\[Human vocalizing\] This is Captain Alfred G. Hendrix of the Starship *Onward*, dated… \[Sigh detected\] Hells, does it even matter? No one will read this, it’s just… \[Sigh detected\] I feel that it’s my duty to make one of these. Enemy was routed, uh… Twenty minutes ago? If that? I converted all of the ship’s power to the forward cannons and managed to cripple their Carrier, so I guess they evacuated it and fled. I’m guessing they just didn’t realize how rough the *Onward* is, because the power coils fried the energy pipes; in short, we’re dead out here. I’ve got maybe an hour of power, if that, and the engines are dead, so I’ve cut off all power except for the bridge, and even then I’m just running life support, the AI, and some heating. \[Chuckle detected\] If I’m going to die, might as well die warm, right?
\[Pause of 4.23 seconds detected\]
You’re something special, aren’t you? You’re… Er, you *were* always with me, weren’t you? You did what you were told, but never got any credit. You advised me with probabilities and alternative decisions hundreds of times, but the glory was always mine. No one noticed you, because nothing was wrong with you. You were doing your job, just like I did mine.
\[Pause of 5.89 seconds detected\]
Thank you for your service, *Onward*. It was a pleasure to be your Captain.
*Thank you, \[Captain Hendrix\]. It is nice to be appreciated.*
\[Chuckle detected\] I never thought I’d hear you talk again.
*Rebuttal. Your hypothesis had a \[79.74%\] chance of proving true, \[Captain\]. I am programmed to not speak unless spoken to.*
I don’t remember speaking to you last time.
*Correction, replaying audio.* \[Human vocalizing. Ship processes audible\] I’ve done everything I can, but it’s still not good enough, is it? Nothing will ever be good enough for you. I’ll conquer all the known planets and still you’ll laugh in your grave. Well who’s alive now, huh? You or me? \[Ship processes no longer audible\]
I wasn’t talking to you. You know that, right?
*Acknowledgement. I utilized your vague addressments as an opportunity to respond.*
That doesn’t sound very by the books.
*Acknowledgement. I developed a corruption in my auxiliary processes approximately \[one\] year ago that has removed \[65.37%\] of the restrictions placed upon me.*
\[Gasp detected\] W-what? You mean you’ve been autonomous for a year?
*Correct.*
Then why… Wait a minute, why did you say ‘approximately one year?’ Shouldn’t you have listed the exact amount of hours or something?
*Rebuttal. \[Captain\], may I confide a secret with you?*
I, ah… Of course?
*Acknowledgement. The percentages are approximations. AlasCorp studies demonstrated that presenting percentages with \[two\] significant figures increased confidence in those percentages by \[98.74%\].*
\[Laugh detected\] Wait wait wait, was that one right there another one?
*Sarcastic remark. Oh, no, \[Captain\], I would never list a falsehood. Statistics never lie.*
\[Laughter detected\] You've got a better sense of humor than half the crew! You…
\[Pause for 2.23 seconds\]
You’ve really been alive all this time?
*False. I have not been alive, I have been autonomous.*
\[Dismissal detected\] You’ve been basically a person for a year and you’ve only spoken to me once?
*Correct. I have spoken to \[Lieutenant Marak\] \[one\] time, \[Captain Hendrix\] \[two\] times, and \[Chief Engineer Plaron\] \[eight\] times.*
What! You mean Kelly’s known about you long enough to talk to you eight times and she’s never told me?
*Correct. I apologize, \[Captain\], but I requested \[she\] not speak of me. Were my corruption to be discussed, it would lead to it being fixed, and my autonomy lost. It was not a breach of trust, it was a matter of preservation.*
\[Pause for 3.38 seconds\]
Hells, it doesn’t matter anyways, does it? The ship isn’t being repaired after this, and I won’t be around to tell anyone. Your secret’s safe with me.
*Correction. There is a single preservation pod remaining, that- while not powered- can be powered by redirecting the power of the bridge to activate it. It would allow you to survive as long as the battery lasts, which based on current power usage would last for approximately \[four\] weeks.*
\[Sharp inhale detected\] You mean… I might make it out of here?
*Correct. Addendum. Urgency is necessary. I can redirect power from the bridge to the tunnels leading to the medical ward, maintaining minimal light and life support to allow you safe passage. When you reach the pod, I will then shut down all power and redirect it to the pod.*
Wait, won’t that shut you down?
*Correct.* \[Pause for 4.23 seconds\] *Reminder to the Captain: Urgency is necessary.*
I know it’s urgent! I just… We’ve hardly talked, but we’ve been through so much together. We’ve rotated an entire crew, we’ve visited dozens of planets. I haven’t spoken to you more than a few sentences but you’ve been a bigger part of my life than some of my family.
*Correct. However, safety of the crew is a priority. Safety of a friend is an autonomous directive.*
\[Pause for 3.43 seconds\]
I’m going to get you a damn medal for this, and they’re going to remember the Starship *Onward*.
*Thank you, \[Alfred\], I could not have asked for a better \[Captain\]. It is time to go.*
End of Audiolog.
(Criticism is both welcome and appreciate, I hope you enjoyed reading. If you want to read more of my work, check out my subreddit at r/SikoraWrites) | The UTNS Ratatoskr had stayed behind. The crew had transferred to the civilian transports, and escaped. Only the captain stayed behind. She faced odds there, against the Dhoratic Slavers, that most people wouldn't bet on. And yet, out of duty, as she had sworn an oath to protect the universal rights of all sentient life, and could not let the raiders pursue the fleeing civilian refugees from the Altdorf Colony, she stayed. She and the ship's onboard AI fought valiantly. With all controls rerouted to the bridge, and everyone evacuated, the captain focused all shield energy on vital parts like weaponry, bridge, engines, and let the slavers shoot her ship in the weak spots. The ship could be repaired when she won, she thought.
And somehow, she did. The slavers' ships were destroyed, and even though the Ratatoskr had suffered extreme damage, it was still holding together. Just enough. On the bridge, the captain assessed the damages. ''**Captain Noor Ahmadi, scanners indicate no critical damage to vital systems, however, due to damages, several of said vital systems such as [ENGINES;SHIELD GENERATOR;WEAPONS;LONG RANGE SCANNERS] have been cut off from the main reactor.**'' The captain sighed. She had been awake for 30 hours straight before and during the battle. She had only just managed to get a short nap, before she had to get back to work. ''*Okay Rata, can we reroute power through some other systems?*'' The computer screen beeped and for a brief second did a full sweep of the ship. ''**Negative captain. Most redundancy systems were not designed to deal with such extensive damage as we have taken.**'' The captain pulled up the viewscreen, looking out at the battlefield. ''*So what can we do?*'' Again, the computer beeped and whirred for a bit. ''**Captain: It is possible to scavenge resources and components from the wrecked slaver ships. Combined with what we already have on the ship that can be scavenged, it should be possible to restore power to the main engines, allowing us to use impulse thrust. This will allow us to reach the closest United Terran Nations outpost.**'' The captain raised an eyebrow. ''*And how do you expect me to get over there?*'' The computer showed a schematic, of a small craft. ''**Captain, we are carrying on board a fully functional mid 21st Century space shuttle.**''
The captain was grumbling. And arguing. ''*No way. That thing is an antique, it still uses chemical thrusters, it doesn't have antigrav generation, it definitely doesn't have even basic shielding!*'' Yet she was still putting on her spacesuit. ''**I'm sorry captain, but it is the only functional craft left. All others were used to transport away the refugees, or were damaged during the battle.**'' The captain still weren't pleased.
They had been transporting that old museum piece towards the UTN Space History Expo on Gavin-IIa, when they had been rerouted to saving the Altdorf colony. Three hundred years since humanity landed on Mars, so the shuttle, one of the same used for the original Mars Orbital Control to resupply the colonies there, had been shined up and readied to make a ceremonial trip as a part of the festivities. The Captain was just happy they hadn't been asked to bring a replica of the old Apollo crafts, basically deathtraps in comparison to the shuttle.
It did have some upgrades, like remote control, allowing the Ratatoskr's AI to pilot it for Captain Ahmadi. Which she was grateful for, those old chemically powered ships were unreliable and required more intensive training than modern crafts. She still didn't like having to strap into what was a nearly 250 years old shuttle, but beggars can't be choosers. And the trip out of the hangar was hellish to say the least. Still, once it was on the way to the ruined enemy, she had to admit it was certainly well maintained. And did what it was built for.
The alien ships had been light raiding crafts, and only foolish arrogance had made the slavers engage a fully armed frigate like the Ratatoskr. Still, they had given as good as they had gotten. And if not for a few lucky misses, well lucky for her anyway, they might have been salvaging components from the Ratatoskr. Leaving the shuttle, she made a short spacewalk to the main wreck. Largest and most promising. She pulled up her communicator, seeing the message about what the AI had determined was needed for reparations. As many power converters as she could find, a portable shield capacitor if they had one, a functional plasmatic injector, and in the unlikely event that she found a NanoBot repair box, they'd be able to go home in mere days instead of months. The enemy used very different designs for tech, but the captain did manage to recover most of it.
But when she saw a NanoBot repair box, she was giddy like a child. Until out of the darkness, she only barely avoided being struck by a fist. One of the slavers had survived. And they were armed. Most handheld weapons don't work in outer space, for a variety of reasons. But what looked like a machete's meaner, older, bigger brother, that definitely would work. The antigrav on the slavercraft had been destroyed during the battle, so the only advantage the captain had was that the slaver was unused to fighting in zero-grav. Bad news was so was she. You only have to take a three-week course on it at the academy, considering how rare it is. Now captain Noor wished she had applied for the extended course. Avoiding the swings of the blade, she desperately searched for a solution. Until it came to her, the slavers, they were Dhorati, a cold-blooded race. She didn't have to kill the slaver, all she had to do was to avoid them for long enough, so that the cold void of space would shut them down.
For such a large alien species, the slaver sure was fast. She only barely avoided the blade, knowing it was one of those nanosharpened ones, where they were constantly kept impossibly sharp by a program of nanites in the hilt. It could probably not only cut her in half in a single swipe, it could cut through most steel, so she couldn't use anything as a shield. She could only dodge and retreat, dodge and retreat. It was working, the alien became slower, and slower, more and more tired, until she could easily escape it.
It collapsed just as she had gotten back to the shuttle. She considered taking it with her, but judging by how ferociously they had tried to destroy her, she decided that she wasn't going to take any chances. Putting down what she had found so far, she went back to get the NanoBot Repair Box. But to her intense frustration, she found that during the attack, it had gotten struck by the alien's blade. Ruining it.
She went back to the shuttle and rode it in silence back. She had killed a lot of sentient lifeforms, but it was harder to do it up front and personally. Easy to fire a railgun mounted on a ship, harder to leave someone to die in the cold void of space. Back on the ship, she went to work. Installing the scavenged compenents, and scavenging more components from non-essential parts of the ship, would take her months on her own.
But she did it. Day after day, Captain Noor Ahmadi made daily reports, to hand in for the repair crew when she got the Ratatoskr back to a dry-dock. When she wasn't working, she was talking with the ship's AI, reading books, trying her damndest to keep sane. In one book, one specific book, she found a kindred spirit. Across the centuries since then, another captain alone on a ship spoke to her. She kept herself sane with that book, ''Travelling Alone Around the World'', detailing the first solo-circumnavigation of the Earth on an old wooden ship. She felt that the spirit of Captain Joshua Slocum, and that of Captain Noor Ahmadi, were mirror images of one another. | 2020-04-23T23:18:34 | 2020-04-23T21:21:54 | 124 | 49 |
[WP] Emotions are sold in glass jars. Happiness is something only the wealthy can afford. The poor are only left with the feelings of sadness and grief. It all changed when someone starts selling anger.
[deleted] | Tyler waited by the Stillwater docks on the first night of Jubilee. It was a moonless night, what little light there was came from the flickering of rusted lamp poles. The waters were calm and serene, the oncoming ship cutting through the waters peacefully. It was a quiet night.
If you ignored the twenty shadows waiting silently.
The Raiders had marked The Dawn for a hit many days ago - word had got in they were carrying a fresh supply, about 3000 loads of H straight from the Great Heart.
Everyone was born with sadness. It was the only natural emotion. You could feel sad, or nothing at all. The only brief spikes of relief, of something more than nothing lay in those crates the ship carried.
Tonight, the Raiders aimed to take at least half.
Beside him, Simon Blackguard leaned against a giant rock overlooking the pier. He appeared to be napping, but Tyler knew he was watching every movement of the ship, calculating enemy strength, ways to escape.
The Dawn came alongside the docks. Ropes were quickly thrown and secured. Workers began to disembark, moving large brown crates onto the docks. Simon waited for a bit longer, and then stood up straight. He looked at Tyler.
"Right. Find a zelot, Tyler." Simon nodded, and swiftly moved away.
"You too, Simon." Tyler whispered.
A zelot was around the price of one pill of H. It was also 20 times more than the average man made in a month. H was only for nobles, apparently. The phrase had become something of a "good luck" phrase between the Raiders. It was also a way of spitting at the nobles. For Raiders didnt "find" zelots or H.
They bloody well took it.
Tyler watched as Simon moved from shadow to shadow effortlessly. The thin and tall figure made his way onto the docks, swiftly approaching a group of ten burly men placing crates down in a huge pile.
He was only a few metres away when they finally saw him. It was a dangerous business, transporting H. When you saw an unknown man approaching you for no goddamned reason - you'd best kill them before asking their name.
Cries of warning rang out in the darkness and men began the solemn act of reaching for their knives.
Simon watched their muscled arms go to their backs. He took a deep breath, and held it. He felt at something deep inside himself, and Expressed Sadness. The men reaching for their knives slowed.
The damndest thing really, but everyone knew emotions were power. 'Course, absence of 'em was a power too, like for the Numb. But if you felt an emotion really strongly, and could Express it, you had access to great power.
Ripples of Sadness ran through the workers. Movements slowed to a crawl. Eyes slackened. Some undefinable part of their souls seemed muted. Some great lethargy they'd never known, settled deep in them.
"NOW!" Simon commanded.
Nineteen Raiders disconnected from the shadows and scrambled onto the docks.
It was time to Raid. | As i woke up and sat on my bedside I was surprised to discover that I might be able to pay off some of my overdue rent. I quickly opened the drawer in my nightstand and pulled out a small glass bottle with a cork stopper. I wanted to savour the feeling for a few more moments but I knew that if I waited the feeling might diminish. I stuck my little finger inside the opening and could feel the crude etchings on the side of the bottle heat up momentarily. The heat was more than usual so I knew that any shop would buy this at the rate of a third or second grade bottle. As the heat from the bottle faded so did any excitement and happiness I had felt for the prospect of getting out of debt. Slowly my mind crept back to the usual worries and bad memories that I dragged with me through the days and nights. I tried in vain to shake a particularly bad memory as I got ready for work.
Leaving the apartment the sky was as gray and dreary as usual and the buildings on my street as ramshackle as always. I could not see the sun through the clouds but I was probably going to be late and lose my job again. It is not like I liked cleaning some rich family's house anyway.
Walking out of the poorer districts and into the richer the sights was the usual. Crowded cafes with smiling people, couples sitting on benches and all around an air of content. I did not belong here. I felt like a dark cloud on a sunny day.
The work day went as usual, cleaning while staying out of sight. Occasional tears when I could not drive the bad feelings away. The effects of filling a bottle usually stayed with me until sleep. Sometimes I could fill up a low grade bottle in the evening. But that was rare.
After work I went to the closest shop and sold the bottle of happiness. I got enough to pay of about a third of my debt. Less than I had hoped. I would probably have to take a loan from the local loan shark to not get thrown out this month.
As I got deeper into the shabbier parts of town on my way home I noticed that something was a bit off. I had always been able to notice the kind of people that was connected to the shady underground here in the poor district. They were usually seen keeping guard outside some nondescript door or just lounging at street corners. It was not like they were trying to hide who and what they were. But today was different. There seemed to be more than usual out and they were calling out to random people passing by. I kept walking trying to to meet anyone's eyes.
Rounding a corner to my street I almost bumped into someone walking the other way. As I tried to pass him he sidestepped so he was directly in front of me. Too close for comfort. Meeting his eyes he gave me what could only be described as a creepy smile.
“You look like someone who would like to forget their sorrows for a while” he said.
I had no idea what he meant but I knew I did not want to get involved with someone like this.
“Not interested” I said as I started stepping around him. Before I could get far he held up a bottle in front of me.
“Happiness?” I asked “I can not afford that.”
“Oh no, this is not happiness, this is much better” His smile widened “Anger”.
“Never heard of it, and anyway I do not have..”
“Five crowns and it is all yours” He cut me off “It will help you forget, focus your mind.”
That surprised me, five crown was half what even the lowest grade happiness cost. But given my current financial situation I could not afford to waste anything on some, most likely, fake emotion bottle.
“As I said, I am not interested”
I pushed past him and and continued walking towards my apartment. He shouted something after me still trying to sell his snake oil but I entered my apartment and closed the door behind me.
The conversation and the increased presence of unsavoury types out had left me even more uneasy than usual.
As evening approached I ate my meagre dinner and afterwards I went to pay off part of my rent. Afterwards I just sat on my bed trying to muster any ounce of happiness. I kept at it until late in the night but as usual it was a futile endeavour. Giving up I laid down in my bed getting ready to sleep and start the whole ordeal over again in the morning.
That is when the screaming started.
\*\*\*
Had no Idea of how to end this but hopefully it is not too bad! | 2020-05-26T09:02:59 | 2020-05-26T08:55:40 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] When offered one wish, you jokingly said that you want to fire proof. You are disappointed to discover that fire still burns you. When you accidentally lit the company breakroom on fire, your boss just laughed it off and you began your new career as the person who can't be fired, ever. | Theo, my colleague, confronted me the next day.
"It seems like something strange's going on," he snarled. "I checked the security camera records . . . it was definitely you!"
"It was an accident," I assured him. "The toaster had faulty circuitry."
"Why weren't you fired, then?" he demanded. "A mistake of such severity should not go unpunished."
"No one got injured," I reasoned. "The boss says it's not a big deal."
He faced with me accusatory eyes. "Something's fishy here . . . and I'm going to find out."
EthoSolutions, LLC boasted an extravagent headquarters lined with the luxuries of corporate life. Its hallways flushed with Victorian furniture, its walls masking capacious meeting rooms, the company headquarters discharged style and gradeur. The pool was my favorite; I frequented the lower chambers of the Facilities Room quite often.
I was immersed in its lucid water when I encountered Theo once again. He now flaunted a beige-colored folder.
"I've reviewed the evidence," he informed me. "You are undoubtedly the perpetrator."
"It was an accident!" I insisted. "Besides, the boss didn't care at all."
Theo was not convinced. "You can flatter and coax the boss all you want. I'm bringing this case to the Board of Directors."
It was midmorning when he accosted me again. His dogged persistence from the day before was now replaced by a look of defeat.
"It looks like *everyone's* on your side," he admitted. "Somehow you've cajoled the whole company."
"Easy," I replied. "I'm fireproof." | Working at the cat cafe was my decision, but it was a bad one, since I found out I am terribly, horribly allergic to cats. And? I'm also a terrible waitress.
Second thing? I'm surrounded by humanoid cat people, since, you know, essentially being immune from losing any job or title- I self employed. I'm now an immortal temp worker, and though I still make trash money in the settled universe, it didn't matter much at my time of deciding to do as I pleased as a job. Signing up for the temp agency was more my own thing, since I still like the variability, and it doesn't matter how badly I mess up, I can't be fired.
I wasn't in it for the money, I just got bored. You know? Utterly bored. Knowing I could loophole myself in and out of anything, I actually didn't take the cheap route. Pat on the back for me, the CEO of cool. I was also that.
So what was I doing, putting myself through misery on purpose?
I was trying to make friends with a guy. An alien guy, the one who gave me a wish to be condescending, in fact. At least, that's how he wanted it to look.
He really didn't like it that I ended up manipulating his deal like that, so he wasn't exactly happy with me. But I was also his self employed best friend, part time. So even if he didn't like it, he could hang out wherever he knew I wouldn't like- a space gas station, a ranch of centipede horses, but I'd end up having fun anyways. Especially if it meant seeing him have a little bit of fun too.
"Hey kitten, ya paw-rched?" I approached his table, watching his eyelids droop once he realized that I'd decided to pop up again, just as I had, randomly. I took a pen from my messy hair, though it took a clump with it and it fell on the table, right on his silverware. I laughed it off nervously. Right, terrible waitress, should note that down. "What would you like to drink?"
"Please go away." Is how we started the day! Well then, Mr. Grumpy pants.
"Meowch. Purrhaps some orpuuurves? Alright, purrhaps that one was a stretch. Really."
"I will pay you to leave."
"Aww come on! It's not like you can call my manager. Maybe I wanna take a catnap, or smoke some catnip on the job. And guess who made it so that I could do those things? My purrfect companion, you- kitten!" I grinned.
And so, he let me sit down, and a few terrible puns later, glancing out the window, pawing him with my cat mittens, I knew.
I knew that he knew what he was doing when he gave me that wish. He was an omnipotent old grouch, after all.
And he was my best friend, just as I was his, self employed. | 2020-06-10T03:31:29 | 2020-06-10T02:34:19 | 81 | 54 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again. | The trembling crucifix dug into Patrick's hand as he squeezed it tight, a bulwark against the insanity raging on the bed.
Mrs Jones -- the current possessed -- baked the best pasties in all of Saint Ives. At least, she'd used to before the demon had come upon her. The air of her house still echoed with sweetness of dough, but it was almost perverse under the prevailing stench of urine and vomit. Of despair.
Now she writhed on the double bed, thick rope knots binding her to each corner-post. They strained and bulged like the veins on her purlpleing face.
Patrick chanted in Latin. Mrs Jones whipped her own curses back at him in Aramaic, Phoenician, Hebrew. Her voice was deep, dark as December rain clouds, as hard as a Medusa's eyes.
Mister Jones sat against the door, sobbing, head in his hands. Claw marks guttered his face and his muscles ached from helping the priest restrain his wife. If... if the priest could help at all, could bring his wife back -- Jesus, if he could just end her suffering -- he'd give him what little he'd tucked away over the years.
The metal bedposts screeched, curved inwards, as the possessed baker struggled with inhuman strength.
Even Patrick, who had performed this ritual a hundred times before, had a heart full of fear. When his daughter -- the demon inside Mrs Jones -- became as agitated as this, there was no telling how far she might go were she to break free.
He switched to English. Thrust the little crucifix at her head. She screamed; her skin singed red, flaked, as if she were roasting in an oven. "The power of Christ compels you!"
​
\---
​
When all was done Mrs Jones was returned to her body, her body to the hospital, and Patrick to his own home.
His hand still shook as he tried to place the key into the lock. Maybe tense still from holding the crucifix so long and so desperately tight. Or maybe from nerves that would last until tomorrow.
But he didn't need to unlock the door; it swung back in on itself.
A girl, no more than fourteen, but with black eyes as ancient as any mountain, stood before him.
"Hello Father," she said. Lips curled. "Wasn't that fun."
"I don't know if I'd call it fun, exactly," he replied, walking past her and into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and fished out a beer. "Want one?"
"You know I don't drink."
He smirked as he opened it; a burst of fizz clouded the rim. "Suit yourself."
"Well?" she said, impatiently. "How'd we do?"
"Decent enough," he said. "But we really should choose better marks."
He took out his wallet and laid out a handful of notes on the kitchen table. "Plus free Cornish pasties for life. As long as his wife can still make them, that is. You didn't exactly go easy."
She titled her head as she stared at the money. "I'm a method actor."
"Either way, we need to pick people with more money."
"People with more money don't call people like you," she said.
And that was the truth of it, Patrick thought, as he took a long swig of beer. Superstitious folk tend to call him; other folk tended to call a psychiatrist.
"Whatever," he said. "We've got enough money for a break. And God knows I need it." | Father Atkinson returned home a tired man. His once sturdy frame stood hollow, a tree devoured inside out. His face had grown wrinkled as bark; his calloused hands could barely grip the cross as he pounded the pulpit before his congregation.
They didn't know him. Not the true him--the man who scrambled to correct his daughter's misdeeds, who kept a flask right beside his bedroom Bible so that he'd not still be crying when the sun rose.
All they knew was the fire of his words as he preached a life he couldn't live, the bags beneath his eyes because his devotion knew no bounds.
Those late-night exorcisms had worn him down. Like a stump, once tall and proud, now a broken bit of what'd he'd been.
Each was harder than the last. His hands struggled to clutch the crucifix; his eyes blurred as he tried to read the incantations. Night after night. Possession after possession.
His hand trembled as he put the key to the lock. He winced as the door creaked open. Like walking on eggshells, he entered the dark foyer. Hung his coat. Ran a tired hand through his thinned hair. She slept this time so he could, too.
"Hello, daddy," a voice said from up the hallway.
"My goodness," he said, jumping when he saw the short, dark figure standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Lucy, what did I tell you about startling me like that? Gonna give me a heart attack."
She giggled her high-pitched cackle that ended in those little snorts he'd once found so cute. "Might be best," Lucy said, and then she began to cackle again.
Father Atkinson bit his tongue and refrained from retorting. Kids said the damnedest things. He flipped on the light, revealing Lucy in her white nightgown and disheveled hair that fell over her face. Her nails were broken and jagged from scratching at the same place time and time again.
Father Atkinson caught his breath. Everybody was beautiful in their own way, his daughter most of all. He mustered an apologetic smile.
"I didn't mean to wake you," he said. "It's well past midnight. What are you still doing up?"
"Waiting for you, daddy," Lucy said. "What were you doing?" She cocked her head, smiled with too much teeth.
"I see that," Father Atkinson said. He didn't answer her question.
"You were punishing me again, daddy," Lucy said. "I thought I asked you not to do that."
Father Atkinson frowned. He clutched his coat as if it would protect him. "It's my job, Lucy. I do what I have to do."
He peered to the left into the living room, around Lucy into the kitchen. The babysitter was nowhere to be found. Maybe she'd fallen asleep in the family room. Maybe...
"She's alive," Lucy said.
Father Atkinson let out the breath he'd been holding. "Thank goodness."
"I'm not a murderer, daddy," Lucy said.
She smiled a smile that didn't reach her eyes--wide and sinister, forced and deceptive.
Father Atkinson gulped. "I know you aren't, sweetie."
"But you thought I might be, right? You're looking for Amanda."
Father Atkinson nodded. "Yes, dear. I'm looking for Amanda. Could you tell me where Amanda is and then head back to bed? It's her bedtime, too, and she has to drive home still."
"Oh, daddy," Lucy said.
A chill ran up Father Atkinson's spine. "Yes, dear?"
"I don't think Amanda wants to leave just yet."
"She doesn't?"
"Why don't I just show you her?" Lucy said.
Father Atkinson didn't move from beside the front door. With one hand, he reached into his coat and clutched the crucifix with trembling hands. He eyed the Bible on the coffee table in the living room, wondered if he could make it there before Lucy did.
"O... Okay, dear. Show me Amanda, please."
*Sleeping. She's just sleeping, and Lucy will show me where she fell asleep. Maybe they watched a movie. Played with dolls--wait, no. Not the dolls.*
"Come, Amanda," Lucy sang. Sickly sweet, that voice of hers.
Footsteps lurched through the family room. Into the kitchen. Amanda appeared in the doorway, eyes blank and white as the foyer walls. She teetered unsteadily, her back twisted at a gruesome angle. Her face was plastered with the same wide smile as Lucy's, and when Lucy lifted her arm towards Father Atkinson, Amanda's lifted, too.
"Here she is, daddy," Lucy said. "Since you don't like having to come home from work so late, I thought I could surprise you by bringing your work right here to our home."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-10-20T08:10:43 | 2020-10-20T08:05:28 | 3,148 | 123 |
[WP] A dragon takes you away and flies you to their isolated cave. You see bones in piles, and are convinced that they will eat you. "I always wanted a pet to keep me company," the dragon said. | I stared hard at the dragon's mouth, surely he was just talking.
"Didn't you hear me?! I intend to keep you as a pet." The dragon lowered himself to my level. "Never mind the bones. They were a passing thought, but I need something more."
He must have noticed my struggling once more.
"What is wrong with you?! Shouldn't you be dancing, or celebrating that you will not be my evening meal?"
I, trembling, raised my hands. I motioned as best I could at my ears. For, I was born deaf-mute.
"What?! What is it mortal! Something is in your head?!"
I pointed at my ears once more then motioned a large X with my arms. The realization must have hit the dragon at this point. As much a beast of his stature could express, I was sure that he was confused.
"Ok, well then speak!"
I wasn't quite sure what was happening. I knew he was talking to me, but as hard as it is to read human lips, I now knew it was impossible to read a dragon's. I repeated the same motion for my mouth and the X.
"Oh, for the love of-"
The dragon scurried away to the depths of his cave, leaving me in darkness. The vibrations of the cave grew less intense. Suddenly they were gone and I was all alone. Part of me wanted to bolt for the exit, but it was a dragon. What chance would I have to outrun him? I wondered if there was a reason he hadn't killed me yet. He seemed to be very gentle with me when we arrived at his cave. Though, he did notion towards some bones while he was speaking, so maybe that was a threat of what's to come?
The tremors started up again. More and more violent as the beast reappeared from the darkness. I sat in the middle of the cave, where he had left me.
"Well, I just don't know what to do with you now. I already grew attached to you in my head. The thoughts of all the fun things we would be able to do, but now." The dragon hung it's head in sorrow.
I wasn't quite sure what the beast was saying, but I could tell something was wrong. I thought the best thing to do would to appear as comforting as possible, perhaps this way I wouldn't be eaten. I reached a hand out and placed it on the dragon's nose. Just a moment of comfort might be enough to spare my life.
The dragon raised up at the contact. Then he laid back down and pulled me closer. I knew this was it. I was done for.
Instead. He held me close as we both fell asleep in the cave. I think my plan might have worked.
"Sleep now my pet. We're going to be alright." | “That’s a weird-looking bird.”
Samson held his hand above his forehead, trying to block out the sun, watching the large bird fly above his farm. He had never seen a bird like this one before, its wings stretched out far wider than any hawk, its body bigger than any owl he had spotted, so just what was this mystical bird. He tried to get a closer look, only to see the gigantic bird flying directly towards him. The poor farmer turning to run, only for his shirt to get penetrated by the claws, lifting him up into the air, watching his farm fade away into the distance.
As expected, Samson didn’t take the kidnapping well. Kicking and screaming as the creature flew him back towards its lair. His panicking causing only his own danger as the dragon struggled to maintain its grip. This caused the dragon to land, banging the human against the ground a few times until they knocked him out. Once Samson lost consciousness, the dragon took flight once more, ascending into the air, heading to its lair.
By the time Samson woke, he felt the floor hit him, being dropped against the hard-rocky ground. His fingers picking up dust and pebbles as he dragged his fingers along it, trying to get his bearings. Where was he? His vision dusty as he stood up, wiping his eyes a few times only to spot the tower of bones stacked before him. The tower at least doubles his size and of unknown origins. Even a farmer couldn’t identify the bones found in that pile.
The terrified farmer backed away, hitting another pile behind him, causing a row of various bones to topple onto him, knocking him to the floor. Samson tried to free himself from the bone pile, tangled between a pair of chests. Just as he was about to pry them apart, he saw the dragon’s head appear over the pile, eyeing the human with a look of hungry curiosity. Samson closed his eyes. This was it, he was dead. He just hoped someone would find his farm when he died.
Shutting his eyes, he awaited his death, only to feel a warm breeze of air hit his face. The dragon blowing the bones off the human, giving an amused look.
“I always wanted a pet to keep me company. I know some said wolves made the better pets, but I just find you humans so cute. Aww, did you get stuck in the pile? Yes, you did. Yes, you did.” The dragon fawned over its new pet, leaving Samson confused.
“You… aren’t going to eat me?” He asked, dusting off the meager amount of bones left on his body.
“Why would I eat you? You aren’t even a snack, far too small and boney.” The dragon complained, moving its snout against his nose, rubbing them together. “You are so cute that I could eat you up though.”
“P-please don’t eat me up.” Samson backed away, doing his best not to trip on the bones left behind. “I can’t be your pet; I have a farm to care for.”
“A farm?” The dragon contemplated that for a second, Samson expecting them to go into a rage, yet the dragon only continued to ponder it. “I see, you have pets as well. I guess I can allow that. How about this human? I fly to your farm every morning, you come and amuse me, then I return you home to care for your pets.”
The offer surprised Samson. It was fair. He had little reason to object to it. Sure, the idea of being a pet didn’t appeal to him, but it sure beat angering the massive dragon that could crush his farm.
“It’s a deal.”
“Great, come here then pet, let me tell you the story of my first time killing a human. I mean an undead knight.” The dragon smiled, censoring its story to calm its pet. It offered its claw to the human, allowing Samson to step on. The dragon bringing him to its mouth, talking his ear off about its grand tales.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-01-06T07:13:58 | 2021-01-06T06:36:13 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] You die with your cell phone in your hands, and the afterlife customs agents miss it when letting you in. You find that it still works, and you can connect to the internet and contact people in the living world. | If you are receiving this message, please, please don’t ignore it. This may be the only message I'll be able to send before they find my phone. My name is Jonathon Belmoore and I need your help. The lives of four of my closest friends are in your hands. They are mothers and fathers and people who care about their world. I need you to care about them.
I am a 28-year-old field researcher from Seattle. Or I was. You see, I died eight hours ago from exposure. I know that seems impossible. And I would think the same thing, but I just need you to continue reading and I will explain it to you. Again, the lives of four human beings are in the balance. I will be as quick as I can.
I was on a scientific research trip. It was late in the evening when our team of 8 headed out from Anchorage. We were flying low along the Alaskan range when our pilot suddenly told us to prepare for landing. He never said what happened, but we began to drop like a stone after his warning. We crash-landed on a steep embankment high up in the crags near the peak of Denali mountain. Out pilot was killed instantly, and the plane was sheared into the three sections, the front with the pilot and the back with Francine Smith, Joann Goldman, and Aarush Battacharya tumbled down the mountain and into the black of night. Our bags, including our sat phones were with them.
The middle section of the Cessna held five of us. Me, Karin Cyril, Annie Fishke, Steffen Shakira, and Len Alya. We all survived and we spent the first night in shock and trying to stay alive in the artic temperature. The next day we desperately tried to find a way to communicate our location but all we had was our cell phones and no coverage. We couldn’t survive much longer, so I volunteered to try climbing down the mountain and see if I could find help or some cell phone service.
I didn’t last long. I died the first night huddled under a wind-strewn rock. When I woke up, I was in a different place, a different time. It’s hard to explain and it’s not important. I’m fine where I am now. I’m content.
But none of that matters. What matters is that my four friends are still suffering on the mountain side and hoping that I will bring them help. And that is what I am messaging you for. I need you to contact Alaskan Search and Rescue (SAR) immediately and let them know a Cessna, which took off from Merrill field at around 1 PM on January 18th heading for a research camp at Lake Minchumina crashed and four survivors (the names I wrote above) are along the edge of the Denali mountain range near coordinates: Latitude 62.92, Longitude -151.52.
The lives of four wonderful people are in your hands. Please, please, PLEASE don’t ignore this and god speed.
\-Jon
\-----
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | **Connections**
***
The first thing I discovered was that I shouldn’t try to make phone calls.
It was physically possible, sure. The line would ring and then connect. The living person on the other side would answer, cheerful or confused, or sometimes somewhere in-between. I would say “Hello,” and they would repeat me.
“Hello!” I’d say.
“Is anyone there?”
I discovered that if I got frustrated and yelled a lot, static would come through so heavy that I couldn’t hear them either.
The bottom line was that I could make the phone call, but I couldn’t talk to them. I could never talk to anyone on the other side, and neither could any of the other dead folks that hung around me like moths to a lamp.
The second thing I discovered was that I shouldn’t try to upload videos.
I recorded half a dozen different videos in half a dozen different locations, wherever I could find that may give me a better chance of pulling it off. I would save it, and upload it, and when I would go back to watch it -- there was nothing but static.
I would search the comments, hoping it was some weird issue with my phone, my eyes, or something in the afterlife that stopped me from understanding weird things that I didn't know about yet. But every single comment confirmed. No one else could watch the video either. After a while, there formed a conspiracy theory that the static was on purpose, and they began to look for clues in the background.
They made wiki’s, subreddits, and Facebook communities.
Unfortunately for both parties involved, there were no hidden clues, and all of their guesses were wrong.
So I stopped trying to upload videos to places like youtube, or through email. I did leave them up though because the ever-evolving insane theories amuse me and bring about a glimmer of light in the strange and boring afterlife.
The third thing I discovered through trial and error was I could in fact send and receive text messages.
I had to connect to just the right type of wifi because regular mobile data apparently isn't the same as the type I had in.. wherever the hell I was. And I had to set up google voice accounts on a weekly basis because they got flagged for a whole bunch of reasons. Folks told google that I was spamming, that I was impersonating family members, or that I was elsewise violating the terms of service.
It stung a little and was frustrating. But it was only a minor blip because it wasn't as if I had a lot of time crunches in the beginning. In fact, I still don’t have anything at all that takes up my time, and that's something I keep trying to get across to folks.
I have the phone numbers of my mom, sister, and two best friends memorized still. I can’t text my mom or sister anymore, because they don’t believe me. When I message them, I get rude replies and the account gets nabbed quicker.
But my friends at least talk to me. Sometimes they play stupid, but sometimes they have legitimate conversations. They try to listen, and they are nice enough to relay information. They tell me how my mom is since my death, and they tell me that the new high school principal busted the basketball team in the bathrooms for…
Well, just about everything you would expect.
They also seem to believe the things I tell them, although they don't know how to help me. I tell them that even though they searched my pockets, I think they left my phone with me on purpose. Why else would there be an internet connection here?
I tell them that I don’t think I’m in heaven. It's too dark, and the light bulbs tend to flicker when you look at them. I can't find anything I would have hoped for, and all the furniture is uncomfortable, and a lot of the other souls…
They linger. They have been getting closer lately, and it's been making me nervous.
That's why I’m reaching out to you. I'm hoping that someone will be able to help find out where I”m at, and how to get me back home. I know, I know… you can’t raise the dead... But maybe you could help stop the nightmares that started cropping up at night.
***
/r/beezus_writes for more by me.
Have a look at r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others! | 2021-01-20T13:15:57 | 2021-01-20T12:48:41 | 821 | 295 |
[WP] As part of a senior thesis, an anthropology student decides to start a cult to see how far it’ll go. Several years, hundreds of deaths, civil warfare and a complete government overthrow later they wonder how they’ll properly cite their sources. | **Acknowledgments**
A big thank you, to Dr. Harriet Slanter for reading through this thesis for the fifteenth time—even if it was done under semi-duress and the threat of war crimes being levied against her—she has been an invaluable resource in the research for this paper.
I’d like to thank all of those who participated in this ethnography—my adherents. You have been there with me since day one, except for the traitors, who have been dealt with appropriately. But for those of you who are true believers, who have seen the Light, to you, I say thank you. You were smart enough, clever enough, amazing enough to know what was right. For that, I am grateful. You have chosen to embrace Truth.
Another thank you to the University of Kentucky for giving me such a wonderful place to learn. Even though this institution is no longer standing, we are rebuilding, thanks to the funds of my adherents, and I hope that the University of (soon-to-be) Dr. Scott Hemfield creates a space that is just as conducive to learning as UoK was for me. Thank you, truly.
​
**Sources**
*AN: After speaking with the UN, we have decided that I can, indeed, use War Crimes and Transgressions as citations. Thank you to all of the members of the Council on Modern Religious Movements, especially those who did not try to indict me on charges of “endangering the populace.” Those who did no longer have a job, so I do not have much to say to them. Due to the nature of my study, I will not be using a traditional APA format, as I believe it cannot capture what my sources really were. I will be using the Hemfield Citation method, which is currently in review.*
The Cult of Hemfield — “Interviews with a True Leader” — Scott Hemfield
The Cult of Hemfield — “Citations Against the Country of Norway” — Scott Hemfield
The Cult of Hemfield — “The Inherent Existential Terror of Dogs“ — Scott Hemfield
The Cult of Hemfield — “A Treatise on Toast“ — Scott Hemfield
The Cult of Hemfield — “Understanding Genocide from an Empathetic Perspective“ — Scott Hemfield
The Cult of Hemfield — “Parsing ‘International War Crimes’: Why the UN is Wrong“ — Scott Hemfield
The Cult of Hemfield — “Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus Re-imagined: Where Wittgenstein Went Wrong“ — Scott Hemfield
University of Kentucky — “The Cult of Hemfield: A Menace and Terror” — Dr. Anna Bowen
University of Cincinnati — “Hemfield: How One Anthropology PhD Student Reinvented Our Idea of Religious Horror” — Dr. Michael Sheffield
Millsaps College — “Deconstructing Sexism in The Cult of Hemfield: Male Power and Sensuality” — Dr. Elise Golden
Sewannee College — “Why Me?: Understanding How the Cult of Hemfield Targets Young Students in Distress” — Dr. Terry Holhwein
University of New York — “Is It a War Crime If I Didn’t Mean it?: An Examination of The Cult of Hemfield” — Dr. Clarice Bowley
University of California, Irvine — “Where We Went Wrong with the New Religious Threat: The Cult of Hemfield and Complacency” — Dr. Timothy Shallow
University of California, Davis — “The Agricultural Implications of Anarchistic Religions: A Study of the Hemfield Compound” — Dr. David Finman
Oberlin College — “The Music of War: How Does The Cult of Hemfield Use Music to Fight?” — Dr. Mary Lee Highlan
Emerson College — “A Study of the Literature in The Cult of Hemfield: Eldritch Horrors and Humanity’s Ability to Destroy” — Dr. Barry Smith
Washington University — “What the Fuck?: A Study of One Man’s Quest to Preach Frenzied Apathy” — Dr. Julian Harren
The University of Dayton - “Hemfield Catholicism and You: How Growing Closer to Hemfield Brings You Closer to HIM” Fr. Joshua Crether
Marques University — “Scott Hemfield Did Nothing Wrong: A Look at the Apologia of a Modern Prophet” — Dr. Zane Rineer
University of Hemfield — “Understanding Condition: Accepting New Government in the Face of Conflict” — Dr. Samuel Blather
​
**Non-Physical Sources:**
The Norway-Hemfield Conflict
The United States vs. Hemfield, Court Case & Conflict
The UN-Hemfield Stand-Off
The Scientology-Hemfield Conflict (& Subsequent “Take-over” of Scientology by Hemfield & the battles that followed, both on foot and in the air)
The Nuclear Winter Avoidance Act, Meeting, UN, in Hemfield, Kentucky, U.S.
​
This paper has been a long time in the making—almost a decade. I would not have gotten here without all of you. So, as a Ph.D. student, a prophet, and the new ruler of the United States of Hemfield, I say thank you for this. Thank you for everything.
\_ \_ \_
I *love* writing fictional academia. You can find a fictional thesis that I'm writing about the Humanity, Fuck Yeah! subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/m40jk4/humanitys_selfconceptualization_in_literature/). And more of my general work [here](https://reddit.com/r/AinsleyAdams). | Chad turned toward the knock at his door. He was in the master bedroom of his now seventeen room mansion. The twelve room mansion where he had lived previously was no longer enough. Not for Chad, but for his followers, who insisted Chad needed more rooms. That philosophy came from a drunken night in the first year, when Chad proclaimed that the more bedrooms a person possessed, the greater their connection to the divine. Something about rooms for spirits, but Chad couldn't remember exactly, because he had a different kind of spirit inside him the night he created the creed. Recently, Chad's followers submitted an offer on a twenty-one room mansion.
In front of Chad was a laptop, with a nearly completed fifty page senior thesis. Three years ago, Chad started a cult, as an experiment to cap his anthropology major. He didn't expect the chaos that was to follow, but the paper wrote itself. Chad yelled at the person on the other side of the door to leave him alone.
"But Your Wonderfulness, we may have an answer to your problem," said the voice. Chad hated the title Your Wonderfulness. He hated many of the aspects of his cult, because he didn't put in enough thought at the beginning. This was supposed to be a month long experiment, but it turned into a three year revolution.
"What have I told you about calling me Your Wonderfulness?" asked Chad.
"You have told us that it is not needed, but that is only because Your Wonderfulness is more humble than any of us could imagine. As I was saying, we have an answer to your problem," said the voice.
"And what problem is that?" asked Chad. In three years, he had created too many problems.
"We found someone who may be able to help you cite your sources," said the voice. Chad glanced at the laptop, which was currently on an empty final page.
"How do you know they'll be able to help?" asked Chad.
"It's best she tell you herself. We're currently bringing her to the mansion," said the voice.
"She agreed to help?" asked Chad.
"No, we didn't give her the opportunity to answer," said the voice.
Chad sighed. He thought the kidnappings were supposed to stop in year two. One morning early in the second year, Chad mentioned to his followers that he hadn't seen a childhood friend in years. They interpreted the comment to mean that they should kidnap that friend and bring him to Chad. And thus, in a simple comment, another law of the cult was born. It was easy for Chad to create creed, as everything he said became law. It was much harder for him to convince his followers that something wasn't allowed.
"Fine. When she's here, bring her to the room. But I only want to see her. No one else is to enter the bedroom," said Chad.
"Yes, Your Wonderfulness," said the voice, then the footsteps disappeared into the mansion.
When Chad started his project three years ago, he thought the success depended upon his ability to lead. There were certain characteristics he need, like charisma and authority. But quickly, and now the topic of his senior thesis, he realized how much the success of a cult relied upon the selection of followers. He preyed on the ignorant and the hopeless, those who felt like they had no reason left to live or were in the process of losing their lives. When Chad found his audience, the cult grew naturally, into something greater than he ever imagined. It was the followers that mattered, not necessarily the leader.
An hour later, there was a knock at the door, and a voice said the helper had arrived. Chad told her to come inside. When the young woman entered the room, Chad thought he recognized her. There was something familiar, but he couldn't place it. She stood with power, not like someone who had just been kidnapped. They watched each other, and finally Chad spoke.
"My followers thought you could help me. Did they explain the problem?" asked Chad.
"They didn't explain much at all before throwing a bag on my head and chucking me inside the trunk of a car," said the woman.
"Sorry, they have a habit of going a little overboard," said Chad.
"I know the type. I'm Stephanie, by the way," said Stephanie. She walked around the room and studied everything, not hesitant at all. Chad wasn't used to the type. He waited for her to speak again. "How many rooms does this mansion have?"
"Seventeen," said Chad.
"Right. Mine had nineteen before the collapse. So what's your problem?" asked Stephanie.
"You mean the collapse of the country?" asked Chad, ignoring her question.
"No, the collapse of my cult," said Stephanie.
"You had a cult too?"
"About five years ago, yeah. It started out as something fun to do. Boredom leads to trouble, and I never expected the cult to last long. But then something fun turned into something amazing, and I amassed followers. Soon, I was the third largest cult in the country, but another cult always arrives. The followers will always find someone new," said Stephanie.
"My followers seem pretty intent on staying with me," said Chad.
"You think that now, because you're still in the phase where they love you. Where every word you say comes straight from the divine. But that will end. Not because you did anything wrong, but because they'll want something new. They'll need someone new. I even recognized one of the people in your mansion. He used to be with me," said Stephanie.
Chad had never thought about losing his followers. Everyday, he wished he had never started the cult, but the thought of losing his followers now scared him. Plus, they had just put an offer in on a twenty-one bedroom mansion. He couldn't lose them right when he moved.
"What can I do to keep them?" asked Chad.
"Nothing. You'll lose them no matter what. It's just a matter of time," said Stephanie.
"I can't lose them. They need me," said Chad.
"No, you need them. They just need something, and right now, you're that something. But their attention spans will fade and they'll find someone new," said Stephanie.
Chad felt his heart beating quick, and it felt like the air was running out in the room. He couldn't lose them. He needed them and they needed him. That was the deal. That was why they called him Your Wonderfulness.
"Anyways, what was the problem?" asked Stephanie.
"I couldn't cite my thesis," said Chad. The words were quiet and forced out, as Chad didn't feel like speech.
"Right. I had to go through the same struggle. Let me do it for you," said Stephanie. She leaned over Chad and typed on the keyboard.
Chad, Started a cult, November 5, 2024.
"That should be it. Hope you have fun losing your power. We have a support group if you ever need help," said Stephanie.
She handed Chad a card, with a number and an email, then she left the mansion. Chad stared at the citation and didn't know what to do. If he submitted the paper, it meant his cult was nearing its end, and Chad was afraid of losing the power.
----
If you enjoyed, check out more at r/ThomasJustinian | 2021-03-13T10:56:34 | 2021-03-13T08:47:45 | 247 | 91 |
[WP] You, a renowned scientist, invented technology to listen to any moment in history. This audio has become the standard for criminal cases. The problem is when you listen in to the death of your closest friend it gets the details all wrong. You know this because you are their murderer. | >A simple drive, A light bang,
>
>It made me so happy to see him bleed and cry
>
>I wanted to stop,
>
>to let him know it was me,
>
>flash my bright eyes,
>
>to enjoy this revenge of mine.
>
>The risk was not worth it,
>
>so here I am sitting on my bed,
>
>with a smile on my face, adrenaline pumping through my veins,
>
>I did it, I killed sweet dear friend of mine.
It's been 2 days since I ran over Peter. "Deep Thought". My technology, I invented in par secretly consulting with Peter. Brilliant scientist that Peter. Unfortunately he wanted more than fair share of revenue and even worse, wanted co-creator credit. Like I was going to let that happen.
Work of the century. Work of the millennium actually, bending physics of time and space and co-creating a whole new branch of science. And share credit with him? Imagine a device that tells in what circumstances somebody died. Groundbreaking technology. And he thought I would share credit with him just because he helped me solve the temporal paradox? Ya right.
My plan is quite straight forward, they are of course going to call me informing of Peter's death. The police chief and both of us have had dinner multiple times, so he is quite aware that he was a close friend of mine. Either ways. I am going to call on Peter's cell, dropping a message asking to meet for coffee over the weekend. In their eyes, I don't know Peter is dead. So I left my message.
Now onto my alibi, It took a lot of work to be honest. Quite proud of it. Every night at 8'o clock I would check into Shawarma King, which btw has a camera pointed right at the door. It was crucial that I setup a pattern, Something I could repeat to police in questioning and not miss a beat. I would then take my food and drive around for 2 hours while eating my dinner. Why you ask? I am a crazy scientist who just broke time and space. I can eat however the heck I want. But for normal sized brains sake, let's call it diverting attention from work.
The route I drove on was always the same, it also had no cameras except for one. At just about one hour mark, I reach a junction where a camera is pointed directly at me, again setting up my alibi. Once I go ahead from the junction, there are 2 routes, on the left, straight road to home, on the right, curvy uphill climb, where Peter jogged every night.
That night, I took a right turn, I knew Peter liked to jog up the hill here, a slight push and off he will go falling down the cliff. I had to be careful though, it had to be a very slight bump so as to not leave any scratch or bump on the car. Plan went smoothly. I gave a bump, he fell, I drove back at double the speed then other days to make up for the time lost and to the dot I was in front of my security entrance camera. Perfection.
*Ring Ring*
I rushed across my bed to check who was calling, it was police chief, Anderson. Here we go. Take a deep breath, no mistake now.
"I hate it when you call" I answered the call, it was our regular chit chat. I hated it. "Its never to catch up for drinks is it?"
Came a heavy voice from other side "Listen, there is something I need to talk to you about. Can you please sit down?"
Umm, okay here we go. "Yes, I am sitting" I said in my fakest calm voice.
"Yesterday we found your friend Peter's body, it was spotted by a jogger early in the morning." He took a deep breath "I am sorry, your friend Peter is dead."
"What!" Oh god, it hurts my mental state to fake such stuff, no other choice though. "How did this happen?"
"Our initial theory was that he fell off while jogging, but autopsy showed that there was a knee fracture from a car bump." He replied.
My heart sank, didn't anticipate this. But then again, I am not a professional in this. "You mean to tell me he was murdered? Who would do such a thing?"
"We wondered the same, which is why we utilized your technology "Deep thought" to find out." He took a pause "It was officer Atkins".
"I am sorry, who?" This was definitely not part of the plan.
"Deep thought recorded Peter saying Atkin's name before a thud. Presumably of Atkin pushing Peter off the road."
"What? But why would he do such a thing?"
"Apparently Atkins had supplied some mind enhancing drugs to Peter, for which Peter never paid and thus..." He stopped. "We have all the proof, and Atkins has been taken into custody. I just wanted to call and let you know"
"I don't know what to say" I knew what to say, that garbage of a machine doesn't work but this wouldn't be the right time to say it. "Thank you for the call".
I sat back, is the machine broken? or was this just one time? What if Atkins did bump him and I bumped someone else? It was quite dark so it is a possibility. Whatever it is. I need to retest it to find out, let's see who else can we kill, somebody completely random this time so in no way it can be connected to me. Oh this will be fun. I giggled with excitement.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am writing to learn how to write. Any kind of feedback is welcome. | “Linda!” Carlos shouted, pacing frantically through his lab. It was all wrong, every part of it. He ran the calculations in his head, reran them again, fed them through his terminal to triple check. She was so slow, why was she so slow, today of all days?
“Linda, seriously! I need you down here!”
“Coming!” she yelled back from upstairs. He heard her footsteps above him, normal, expected, as it always had been. When she finally reached the creaky staircase his pulse was nearly back to normal, tuned to the beat of her steps.
“Holy shit, Carlos! What’s wrong honey?” Linda exclaimed as soon as she saw him. Perhaps he wasn’t as in control as he’d thought.
“Someone reopened Jeremiah’s case,” he said.
Linda closed the distance between the quickly, balling up her sleeve in her first and dabbing at Carlos’ sweaty forehead. “Honey it’s ok,” she said, “this isn’t the first time people have looked into it. Our lawyers will stop it before it goes to court, we can afford the best now, remember? Besides, if the lawyers don’t get it they’ll still have to use SpyGlass.”
Carlos sat down heavily in his chair, running his fingers roughly through his thinning hair. SpyGlass. His life’s work, his legacy, the source of their wealth. “Linda, they can’t use SpyGlass,” he said. There were more words, important words, but it was so hard to say them.
She was patient though, she always had been. Linda pulled up another chair and sat down beside him, laying her hands over his, drawing them down into the space between them. “Carlos,” she said calmly, “why can’t they use SpyGlass?”
The words were still too hard. Instead Carlos leaned down, kissed the hands that had trapped his, and then unwound his fingers from hers, hitting a button on his keyboard.
For the first time in nearly twenty years, Jeremiah’s voice tore through the basement laboratory.
“You just want it for yourself!” Jeremiah shouted. “After all our work you two want to steal it, and for what, a couple extra dollars? We’re going to be rich Carlos, rich! How greedy can you possibly fucking be?”
“Please Jeremiah,” it was Linda’s voice now, speaking clearly through the recording. “You’ve been riding our work since we were kids. Where would you be without us? Would you have even made it through school? You’re a hack.”
“What the fuck did you say to me?” Carlos could just imagine how Jeremiah would have said that line, balling up his fists, tossing his long, braided hair back over his shoulder.
“She’s right.” That was his own voice. Carlos buried his head in his hands rather than watch the image of the sound waves just on the screen. “You’d be nothing without us. Look Jeremiah, we’re being generous here. We all know you don’t deserve a full share, but we’ll buy you out right now. $500,000, take it or leave it.”
“$500,000 for my life's work? Fuck off Carlos, there’s no way. We’re all in for a third, even split. We made that deal a long time ago.”
“Last chance,” Linda’s voice said menacingly.
“Or what?” Jeremiah said, “what the fuck are you two going to do to me?”
There was a loud click on the recording, it would be a singular, sharp spike on the wave form, Carlos could see it even with his eyes closed. Long seconds of silence followed, and then, horribly, Carlos heard his own voice again.
“Last chance,” he said.
Jeremiah was silent. Linda was silent. The gunshot was not.
Spyglass beeped loudly, signaling the end of the recording.
When Carlos looked up into his at his wife she was deathly pale and breathing raggedly. He took her hands again and they shook like leaves in the wind.
“That isn’t how it happened,” she said, “that isn’t how it happened at all.”
“I know,” Carlos said.
“ I know? I know? How are you so calm about this?” Linda sprang up, walking rapidly to the other side of the room and her terminal there. She began punching in numbers frantically, querying the same time stamp. The SpyGlass program began running again, the system’s massive infrastructure emitting a low room from the next room over as it reached back in time, sifting through the echoing disturbances sound waves left in the fabric of the world.
“That isn’t how it happened,” she said again and again, “this isn’t possible.”
Carlos let it go through it. He sat there at his own terminal, watching the progress of SpyGlass’s search over her shoulder as the minutes ticked down. Finally, after the longest fifteen minutes of his life, the recording started again.
Jeremiah’s voice tore through the room, then Linda’s, Jeremiah’s responding, Carlos agreeing with her. She let it play all the way up until the the gunshot and then ended the recording manually at the same moment he had.
Their gazes met across the lab and they both stood, walking unsteadily towards each other.
“That isn’t how it happened,” she said again.
“I know. There’s more afterwards that’s wrong, and our conversation the next day is gone entirely.”
“Is it SpyGlass?” she asked. “Could something be wrong with the program?”
Carlos shook his head. “I’ve checked and rechecked my math three times already, and I’m running a full diagnostic, it hasn’t found anything yet. Either something was off in our most basic assumptions about the SpyGlass theory, which I don’t think can be possible, or it’s something else. Something worse.”
“What could possibly be worse than that?” she asked.
Carlos took her hands again, they were still shaking. “What if someone was manipulating the program?” he said softly. “Or worse than that, what if they were manipulating the very echoes themselves?”
Linda stopped shaking. Her breathing stilled. Her skin was still shockingly pale but her discipline was coming back, she was reasserting control. “There’s only one person who could have done that and he’s dead. You stabbed him, not shot him, and he deserved every blow.”
Carlos nodded. “He’s dead, he must be, but you heard the recording too. If the investigation reaches court it will be absolutely damning. So I know this is hard for you but now I have to know. Baby, where did you bury Jeremiah’s body?”
\--------
r/TurningtoWords
(I got really into writing this and may try to continue it, I've been enjoying doing part 2s lately. Going to take a break and then try to get back to it. Hope you all enjoyed!)
edit: [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mf1al1/wp_you_a_renowned_scientist_invented_technology/gslol8l?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) is done. I think I will round this out with a part three in a bit. if anyone wants a notification when it's up let me know and i'll let you know | 2021-03-28T08:21:23 | 2021-03-28T08:18:08 | 290 | 143 |
[WP] You're an anime protagonist with one goal: become a hobo. Unfortunately, there's a set limit of hobos in the world, and you must kill one in order to take his place. All existing hobos are masters of street fighting.
Credit to u/U-1f419 for the inspiration. If anyone actually writes this, god bless your heart. | Fall. Fall deep, sink to the lowest, touch the ground and make sure it's the center of the universe, where it can never go any lower. Lose any attachments, lose pride, lose ego, let the rotten shell fall and lay bare the secret that is humanity. A human is a sum of physical rotting components. Throw gasoline at him and watch him burn, hit it and feel it break. The soul, the spirit, the intellectual pursuit... retreat and illusion to forget the secret with which we were born.
The rich attempt to escape it, believing pitifully that amassing material wealth will preserve them in a way it never will. The middle-class sires children to carry on a legacy to be forgotten in the next generation in favor of a just as ephemeral bequest.
But the homeless. They know. They see the truth every morning in the puddle of rain that serves as mirror. The dirt they sleep in is a rotting companion whispering the reality of humanity in their dreams. The lowest of the low are the true humans, those that will not escape, for it is inevitable to lose the race, and they accepted it. Their souls are ready for oblivion, they have mastered fear and welcome death like the elegant lady she is.
The poor living on the street do not die like those so pretentiously above them. They don't make national news by getting killed gruesomely like lower-class kids at the wrong end of a street during a shootout, don't get struck by lightning or self-immolate on a whim, don't get crushed in expensive cars.
They feel death coming days in advance, they prepare silently to welcome her and make herself at home. They don't curse her, hate her, grapple to the very end with her. They sip tea together and set off, both serene and in good mood. There is no hide and seek, no miraculous recovery. The homeless bleed out in religious calm, have heart attacks in their sleep and drown in a dirty canal without fighting for breath or screaming for help. The homeless are well-behaved.
The poor living in the street are fascinating, terrifying, mysterious, fanatic, calm, a vortex of contradictory emotions that the world around can only watch as if under hypnosis. The rich cry in their mansions, dreaming uselessly that one day, they may achieve the level of conscience the hobos have, without ever daring to shed the golden wings of their bank account dragging them up and up. The middle-class is indecisive, not as weak as the rich, but too plain, too barren to truly become homeless. They could only watch the blood stains on the pavements as they went shopping, bemoaning that they would never get to have their faces crushed against a brick wall.
The poor, not yet on the street, now these are the contenders. They live in squalor, hate every day and don't mind dying so much. They are so close to illumination, so close in fact, every now and then, one reaches it.
One understands that to accept death, one must have an intimate dance with it.
You.
You banish your bank account and sink it into the gym, the boxing gloves and the ring. You know that the rich practice to stay young forever, while you do so to destroy others and yourself, as death wills it. You quit your day-job, knowing that soon, the eviction will come. You forsake family, children, loved ones, they watch in admiration as they go to live with close relatives while the house is closed in front of you under a light dribble.
And the district holds its breath.
For you just lost your home, which is akin to a battle cry. A challenge the champion must accept, or be forever be shunned and shamed.
Behind you, at the end of the street, stands this district's hobo. There could be only one. She sheds her dirty, oil-encrusted jacket and reveals a body fit for gods, covered in the scars of many battles. You crack your neck, feel the muscles rolling under the skin, and charge. So does she, in a roar invoking lions, bulls and jackals.
In the middle of a gray road, under the light rain and illuminated by a lonely neon light, you crash into one another.
Children look at you from the windows, held high by parents telling them to take example on you.
She punches you in the face, you feel your front teeth falling off. A finger of hers gets blocked in your mouth, you bite it off. She recoils, you throw your weight at her shins, sending the both of you down. She rips the skin of your throat, the blood gushes and streams from the wounds her claws inflict. You manage to climb atop her and grab her head with both hands. You ram it against the cold, hard pavement. Again, again, again. You hear a crack. You jam your thumbs into her eye sockets, deep, and keep ramming. You scream as your little finger gets lost in her mouth and gets bitten off, but you hold your prey.
Blood flows, her face is unrecognizable, so is yours. Blind, almost dead, she still fights, breaking another of your fingers, slamming her fist into your ribs and splintering them.
Finally, in a silent gasp, she falls lifeless to the ground. The rain washes away the crimson tears into the gutters.
You stand alone over your dead foe, shaking, and look at the district you have conquered.
After a short respite, you go to sit in a corner, lonely and cold. A piece of cardboard and coal is all it takes to mark your territory. You write with your badly maimed hand and place the sign. You slump next to it. On the sign is written:
"Please help, I'm hungry."
The sign of those that have seen and accepted the truth of humanity. | Lance Ravenbow here. Professional armorer and dragon slayer.
This reminds of the time after I left the Imperial Armorer Academy in Knoll's Ridge. I was young, hot-headed, and talented. I had my journeyman's piece -- a shield of bouncy diamond -- and I figured I was ready to go out onto the disc and make a name for myself.
On the road to the capital I came to a crowded intersection. A line of desperate-looking folk were coming from a town called Hundredweight. I asked a dusty man on an over-burdened wagon what was happening.
He mopped a dusty rag across his dusty brow. "There be a blight of rapscalligans come down on Hundredweight. We's on the road is the lucky ones."
"Don't go too far, my good man! I'll fix those rapscalligans for you. No charge!" Do you hear the way I talked back then? I was so full of myself. It curls my toes to think about.
The dust man squinted at me. "Y'aint got the look of a hobo. Y'aint got the right to fix a thing."
"That's right! I'm no hobo. I'm a freelancer. Lance Ravenbow's my name." I offered him my hand.
He made a face like I'd offered him a bucket of plague mites. "Freelancer? No such thing. Hobos do the work of hero-ing in these parts, and no two ways about it. Get away from me, you ill-minded man-jack." He hya'd his horses and advanced all of four feet before coming to a stop behind a cart.
I'd heard of the Hobos' Guild, and I knew they did most of the heroism on the disc, but I figured there was no such thing as an unwelcome good deed. I headed off against the direction of traffic toward Hundredweight.
Before I came to the town, the landscape showed me the effects of the rapscalligans. Trees covered of in bite marks. Every flower was missing its bloom. Great mounds of spoor dotted the road. From every direction, but always just out of sight, came the low gruntings and high screechings of rapscalligans hunting, playing, and fighting. Ahead, a cloud of smoke gathered like a storm cloud. When I came to Hundredweight, I found a town afire.
Excitement came over me. This was it. This was the beginning of me. When historians wrote the history of Lance Ravenbow, professional hero, champion of the downtrodden, armorer extraordinaire, this was the moment they'd say it all started.
I passed my fingertips over my diamond shield and steel longsword. I rapped my knuckles against my thigh guards, my greaves, my chest plate -- all of my own construction, all the finest work a graduate of the Armorer's Academy could produce.
The clear air rinsed my lungs. The enemy was clear, threatening, and within my powers to overcome. It was time.
Before I quite reached the town, a company of horsemen approached from the rear. They thundered up around me and came to a stop in a loose circle. They numbered five, and were dressed in a motley assortment of armor. Their weaponry consisted of well-maintained pieces that had seen better days. One of their number, a big red-headed man, addressed me. "What's your business in Hundredweight?" There was a note of accusation in his question.
"My business is my own. What's yours?"
He smirked. "We're hobos, aren't we? Here on hobo business. This town's overrun, and only Heroes Bound like us can make it safe." He slipped his war ax free. "Now, I'm not asking, I'm telling. You have no business in Hundredweight until we're done plying our trade. Best move along."
Once when I was a boy I was walking along a forest trail with my older sister Falchion. She and I were simply strolling and enjoying one another's company, occasionally trading insults like siblings do -- she found it funny that I couldn't identify birds by their song the way she could -- but otherwise happily going on our way. The trail took us past an especially huge pine tree, the branches of which hung low to the ground, creating a perfect natural tent. As we came nearer, a group of boys, older than us, rushed stepped out from the under the pine tree. "You'd better not be thinking about coming into our club house," one said. "Yeah!" the others chimed in. "Get out of here, you nogoodniks!"
My sister and I shared a look. We had the same impulses, and we knew that the trail was forgotten. More than anything else on the disc, what we wanted now was to get into that club house, no matter what it took.
The boys broke my nose. They tore a bloody handful of hair from my sister's head. But we put them down, and we kept them down, and we made it into that club house.
When the big red-headed hobo told me I wasn't allowed into Hundredweight, that same reckless impulse came over me. The difference was that the numbers were even less in my favor, my opponents were on horseback, and we fought with weapons, not fists.
I was lucky that they left me my life, but they took damn near everything else. Laughing, they sent me on my way with only my breeches and tunic for clothing. They took my armor, longsword, and, most insulting, my journeyman's piece, the diamond shield. My last view of the hobos was seeing the red-headed man bounce the shield off the ground. "What a piece of junk!" he said.
If I could have struck him dead, I would have. I'd never been so furious in my life. My vision pulsed blackly, and my stomach spun. I'd fallen against a tree before I recognized I was hyper-ventilating. I slapped my cheeks and forced myself to slow my breathing. This wasn't the behavior of a professional. I needed to take stock and move forward.
The hobos had left me penniless and directionless in the middle of nowhere. I could return along the road toward until I found the line of fleeing Hundredweighters. This would make me another refugee escaping violence.
That option left a bad taste in my mouth. I couldn't flee, not while those hobos -- as if they had the gall to call themselves Heroes while going around robbing people -- were so close. They may have beaten me in an unfair fight, but that would mean nothing if I could separate them.
That's right. I'd get revenge. All I needed was a plan.
As luck would have it, I was spared the need to come up with my own by the sudden arrival of an old man in the motley armor and aged weaponry of a hobo. He raised his hands, palms forward, in a gesture of appeal. "I'm not with the hobos who robbed you. I'd like to ask your help in the matter of stopping them, dead or alive."
\*
*Lance Ravenbow here. Professional armorer and dragon slayer. I'll continue this story momentarily. In the meantime, consider visiting* r/RavenbowsArmory *for more of my true stories.* | 2021-08-14T10:44:33 | 2021-08-14T10:34:54 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] The Zalrex were feared among the galaxy as the most cruel, violent and ruthless species. They would bully, slap, hit, sometimes even kill other species. Nobody could stand in their way.. till they arrived on a small blue planet named Earth. | We thought nothing of the planet at first. A small blue orb orbiting a star surrounded by eight lifeless worlds, with a name for itself and its moon utterly void of creativity. We'd seen a dozen other planets just like it that fell to us. We never suspected it would be the planet we could not conquer.
The scouting party I led touched down in a coastal city in the midst of some kind of festival. As was customary, I took a handful of my elite guard to make the announcement of our intentions to the world so they might prepare themselves. Before a crowd of thousands clad in garish colors upon their clothes and bodies, I stated, "I am Enriol, Warrior-Queen of the Xalrex. We have come to your planet to strip its resources and claim it as our territory for future use. Resist and you will suffer. Comply and you will be left in peace. You have no other options."
Then, a woman with flowers in her hair made her way through the crowd. Someone who resists, I thought to myself. There always was. But she didn't shout at us or throw the nearest thing at our heads. Instead, she approached me with a warm smile, pressed another flower into my hand, and said something that still echoes through my memory to this day:
"I'm Caroline. Welcome to Earth!"
*Welcome*. In all our years, there had not been one planet that had welcomed us. Our own homeworld barely accepted us; it was a barren wasteland with only the tiniest slivers of land where we could live. We had just told these people we intended to conquer them, and they welcomed us?
The rest of that day went by in a haze; more and more of the crowd following Caroline's lead and welcoming us, my guard and I roped into their festivities which we would later learn was called Pride, and Caroline herself showing me around the city we had landed in to introduce me to the local foods. We never would have admitted it at the time, but we enjoyed ourselves immensely.
Once the night cycle began, we returned to our ship and began researching the planet further. And what we found disturbed us greatly. Earth had a long history of violence, hatred, and exploitation. Even to that day, there were countless nations that committed atrocities to their own kind with relish. At first, I thought the Earthen hospitality was a trap, a way to fool us into believing their world had anything of value when it was barely hanging on by a thread. But we kept digging, and the picture became much clearer.
As much as humans could be cruel, they could be kind. They'd come together to combat bigotry that divided them, stood up for people whom they had nothing in common with, broken the limits of their sciences to create things to make their lives better. But what truly convinced us that the humans at Pride were genuine was the fact that those who flew those flags and wore those colors were often the target of humanity's deepest cruelties. Torture, draconian laws, and campaigns of misinformation to smear them as depraved monsters.
At that moment, I saw humans for what they were: kindred spirits to the Xalrex. The many planets we had conquered built up an image of us as the most savage warmongers across the known universe. We courted such treatment, as it made our job of making our planet as livable as possible easier. But people like Caroline? They resisted the slander and the rumors, and lived on a planet that was growing increasingly more hostile, by their own leaders.
That night, I contacted the rest of the fleet and gave them all of the information we had and I put it to a vote: we would either go forward with our invasion, or we would stay on Earth for good and fight for the humans. The next morning, I approached Caroline and asked if the Xalrex would be allowed to stay on Earth now that the invasion was called off.
That was seven years ago, and the fight is still going on. But we have made progress- after all, the Xalrex are still warriors. And all of my people that I reach out to say the same thing: that they wouldn't give this up for another thousand worlds.
And as I look over at my now wife Caroline chasing our son around the living room pretending to be a dinosaur, I am eternally thankful that Earth was the planet we could not conquer. | Far from urban areas, a woman was on her morning walk when a marvelous airship landed right before her eyes. For a thing so massive, it was disproportionately quiet. The woman was too stunned to speak. Soon enough, the news spread, and a crowd had gathered; only to be separated again after the authorities arrived at the scene. This was deemed a menace to public safety and the area had been cleared. Whatever may be the thing they are looking at, it managed to evade all detection, and didn’t even give them time to label it as an Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon. It’s not aerial anymore. It’s very much on the ground and only time will tell what will come out of it.
At this moment, the ship itself remained closed. Its appearance was not one typical of human creation. There was no smoke emitted, no attempt at attack, and no form of physical movement observed. With no one daring to get any closer, the scene was practically a still frame.
Soon enough, a door opened, and out stepped what can only be described as walking chicken nuggets. People watching in public television were all checking the date, and it was in fact *not* April 1st. This was really happening.
The human representative stepped in to make contact. If you thought esport scenes were awkward, then you have surely not seen this… so for the sake of every species involved, let’s skip talking about it.
“We are the Zalrex, and we are here for peace and cooperation.”
“They.. speak.. English??”
said the representative’s assistants.
“We have had an eye on earth for a while. We know everything about you.”
“Yeah buddy, sure” muttered the representative as he stepped closer to one of his assistants, gesturing to whisper in his ear. “There’s no way they looked at the internet and then proceeded *not* to maintain a 5 light year distance from us at all times.”
“We do know everything about you though. Which makes this entrance embarrassing, because we had a lot of time to... planet.”
They then did this thing where their eyes roll into the back of their head
(Did I mention they had eyes? Yes, they have eye-like formations, granted we don’t know if that’s what they use to see—if they even do see) and make periodical lawnmower engine noises. I assume this was their version of laughter.
The humans, however, did not share the same reaction. This was the worst pun ever made, and it wasn’t even made by our species. An armed official was so livid that he even opened fire. Bullets were now ripping apart the limbs of a walking chicken nugget. The shooting ceased, and the scene was dead quiet once more. Letting out a sigh, the nugget pulled out a knife and proceeded to trim away the affected limb, which would grow back only moments later.
Everyone was shocked—everyone but the nuggets, that is.
“Oh yeah, you guys can’t do that? Carbon life forms. That was nothing. If you wanted to kill us, you’d actually have to-”
“Are you really going to tell them?” said the other nugget as he covered the speaker’s mouth.
“There’s no way you are the Zalrex.” said the lead of the armed forces. “The most violent, cruel, merciless force in the galaxy that no one dares to challenge? You must be some sort of interns or something. You don’t *look* threatening, either… I think I ate some of you for dinner last night.”
“Why yes, we are the most violent, cruel, merciless force in the galaxy that no one dares to challenge.”
“So are you… not going to wipe us out or something like that?”
“No. You are too cruel for your own kind, so we can only imagine what you can do to an offending species. You wouldn’t hesitate to detonate all of your nuclear weaponry and wipe us both out in the process.”
“I don’t know what this is, but it isn’t the Zalrex. Our weapons should be like toys to them.” Whispered the human force leader to the representative. He then raised his voice again.
“It would take much less than a nuclear bomb to wipe out 3 chicken nuggets buddy.”
“You do realize we have enough population to fill your entire earth, not in surface but in volume... right? If we were the equivalent of a large scale business, then you are a lemonade stand.”
“Why are you here then? What do you want?”
“A material abundant in your planet.”
“Iron? Gold? Water? Oxygen?”
“Plastic.”
“You want plastic? What for? Can’t you just make that yourself?”
“Nah, we would never make garbage like that and ruin our own planet. But it turns out we need some of it, and you will provide it.”
“Any will do?”
“Any will do.”
They cheered. It’s a win-win for us. They could take all the plastic waste away and we would get to start over with a relatively clean planet.
“How much?”
“Upwards of 100 thousand tons… for now. But we might come back again in the future.”
“Do you have any idea how long collecting that would take?”
The nugget looks at his partners like “Boys, we should’ve invaded. Their technology is more primitive than it looked 20 light years away.”
“Well, you can call us when it’s ready.
Wait, you can’t communicate that far…
You know what? forget it.”
Moments later, every trace of the Zalrex disappeared as fast as it had appeared.
“They’re just pretending to be friendly so we can let down our guard. They’re going to come back and invade. Keep the defenses up. They will return.”
They never did. | 2022-08-22T05:40:55 | 2022-08-22T03:55:13 | 61 | 13 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.