prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle | When I first started searching for people to join my adventuring party I thought I saw everything extraordinary. When I met our fighter, he was wrestling a Greater Dragon without any armor and came out victorious, when I asked him afterwords he said he comes down to their nests every once and a while to wrestle them for sport. Then comes our cleric, he was a prodigy from the second he came out the womb, I don’t think there is a single illness or disease I could name that he doesn’t have a cure for. I met him in one of my darkest hours, I caught a terminal illness from one of my pilgrimages that no one in records had ever survived, I was on my deathbed when the hospital brought him, he told me he had a experimental cure for my illness and asked if he had my consent to use me as a guinea pig for said medicine, I had nothing else to lose so I consented and miraculously, I was cured and at 100% next week. Lastly comes our wizard, she is part of a century old clan of elite wizards who are second to none. When I first walked up to her during her training session she ending up creating a new element by accident just from me breaking her focus for a second.
After I met and recruited these three I really thought there would be nothing that could surprise me, I mean who rationally would? I have 20 years of adventuring experience as one of the most respected adventurers in our guild and with this much of an overpowered party, nothing would ever surprise me, right? Well this train of thought ended when I met Bob, Bob was an… average guy, I wouldn’t say he was the most built and quite frankly not the sharpest tool in the shed, if you saw Bob walking around the guild office you would just think he was a run of the mill E-rank adventurer just looking for the area to take quests. But when I looked closer at Bob I saw a strange contraption if you could call it that strapped to his back, swaying as he looked around the room seemingly lost. When I walked up to him asking about his strange use of weaponry he seemed ecstatic to finally show it to someone, a sniper rifle is what Bob called his contraption, he ushered me out to the training grounds. My party was also interested in his so called sniper rifle as anyone would be so they also followed Bob and I out to the grounds.
“Alright so how did you even find such a strange weapon like that?” Was my first question once we got out to the yard, but all I got in response was a thoughtful look as if he was looking for the right words to use it explain it to me, Bob eventually told me he found it abandoned inside a bush in front of the local Inn, connected to the rifle was something odd, Bob pulled a crumpled note out of his pocket and handed it over to me, a note in a foreign language written with a completely different alphabet from anything registered in the ‘Official World Languages’ book I studied intently after becoming rank 1 in my guild. When I asked him about the note he looked confused as if everyone could read this foreign script but he shook the confusion out of his head seconds later. He told my party that a sniper rifle was a high velocity gun that could be fired ‘supa farrr away man’ quoting him directly, not knowing what a gun was and frankly, too confused to ask as Bob’s explanations were not the best, I simply just asked him to display the sniper rifle in action, he simply smirked in response.
“Okay dude, just give me 15 minutes and once you see some supa cool fireworks in the sky, remember to not blink while lookn’ at the dummy.” Slightly confused but more intrigued than anything I obliged to his strange request. After around 17 minutes of sitting on the benches, watching the new recruits to the guild spar in the yard I turn right towards the rest of my party, right when I was about to give the word to give up on waiting, I see a streak of red trailing through the night sky, followed by the familiar pop of a firework on a hill around 5 miles away from the yard, my eyes widen at the realization, any normal person thoughts would be to doubt that his weapon could kill from that far away, but being in the business as long as I have been numbs you to the impossible, instead, my eyes were glued to training dummies, waiting for the weapon to fire, my heart pounding in my chest so hard I could hear it, after 3 seconds of intently waiting the shot came, faster than anything I’ve ever seen, in an instant the head of the closest training dummy was blown off, feathers from inside the dummy flying everywhere in response, I look at the wall behind the dummy and see a small crater, after walking up to the wall I see a small brass like object lodged in it, smoldering hot to the touch. “Wow.” was all I could say in response, my party members who have followed me into the most dire situations without breaking a sweat even seem to be at a loss for words. No matter what this Bob character might look like he most certainly fits right in with the monsters in my party. | Having heard the news about rebels forming in the west of the kingdom, we decided to go there and see what was going on.
Our relationship with the royal family may be biased, because after all, they were the ones that had found us and given us food and shelter in this harsh world.
So, we rightfully assumed that the rebellion may not be caused by natural means, and instead be yet another incursion by the demons.
Neither of us come originally from this world. It may sound insane, because it is. Having grown up in a spaceship orbiting a black hole, when I saw true nature for the first time I was shocked. The sounds, the smells, not to mention the colors!
The last memory I had of my old world was entering a conspicuous red door that had appeared in the ship. A wooden door, on a metal ship. I didn't even know it was wood at first until the others told me, because they had experienced the same thing.
Upon arriving in the west of the kingdom, we decided to set up our base at the city of Collek, home to the largest harbor on the continent, and beautiful white stone architecture.
The streets were in turmoil, day in and day out. A month had passed since we arrived, and we had managed to rent a small house in the center of the city where most of the protesting was happening.
"I wiped out the cultists' lair the third day we came here, now why the hell is this shit still going on?" said Mina, staring out of the window, down on the loud street beneath us.
She was given the gift of strength. She could destroy anything with her bare hands, folding metal as if it was paper, and clawing through stone walls like sand.
"Yeah, and you still haven't gotten rid of that demonic stench the cultists gave you! I've already asked you to take a shower!" I replied back.
She growled back at me and rolled her eyes. She walked out of the room as Eliz came in. She gave him a shove as they passed in the hallway, nearly spilling the cups of tea he held.
"As usual huh?" Eliz said with a smile and shook his head. He placed one of the tea cups on the small table near me.
I now stood by the window, with the protesting to my back. Eliz sat down with a loud grunt and sipped on the tea.
"Too bad I can't heal bad attitudes huh?"
Eliz, given the gift of health. Capable of healing any wounds he can touch within seconds, meaning he himself is indestructible too.
He put his tea down and dropped two spoons of sugar in it.
As I watched him stir, I asked a question.
"Did you manage to find anything?"
He chuckled and shook his head.
Eliz had spent a week without sleep trying to figure out what was going on in the city.
Ofcourse, we already took in mind what the protesters were shouting all the time.
Something about giving rise to a new God, true power, and that the king and his followers are evil and should die. The standard demonic spew of propaganda, we thought.
Now that Eliz had come up empty handed, it was only natural to have my doubts. The doubts being that maybe these people were insane after all, not under the influence of demons.
Suddenly, the wooden flooring began to shake, and in the middle of the room a door with a golden frame slowly rose up. The door burst open and Morroia came out running, falling face first onto the small table, spilling both the tea cups.
Eliz jumped out of the seat and placed his hand gently on her head, and within a second she stood up and gave us the report.
"He found it! Colt that fucking bastard found it!"
She had tears in her eyes, either from being too emotional or from having hit her head earlier.
"Found what!?" I replied, feeling bad about the spilt tea.
Morroia was given the gift of creation, the ability to create things out of thin air. It's an ability that takes a great toll on her body, so it's an ability we rarely make her use.
We could hear loud booms and cracking coming from the other side of the door, as leaves and wind came blowing through.
"The source! The source of this madness! It was a demon, far beyond the city borders! Colt is fighting them right now!"
The door to the place we rented was suddenly being attacked. Loud bangs, and the shouting from outside became louder.
I took a quick peek out the window, and was met by the city people all staring directly at me.
I jumped back and shouted to Mina.
"Hey Mina, let's go!"
Eliz and Morroia stepped into the door and out into the forest on the other side, more loud booms were heard.
Then, the window behind me was smashed as a rock hit my shoulder.
"Let me kill them! I'll kill them All! Those demonic bastards!" said Mina as she ran into the room.
"No. Get inside, they're still human."
The house was breached, and a flood of armed citizens came rushing in.
Mina audibly groaned and ran through the door as I quickly followed after her.
However, before I managed to fully step through the door, something grabbed a hold of my arm.
Their nails piercing into my skin as blood slowly came through.
I looked back and saw an old woman with a butcher knife staring back at me.
"It doesn't matter how much you try" She said, her voice sounded like a thousand people spoke at the same time.
"This city is mine, and so are these pitiful creatures of men."
The old woman raised the knife and before she managed to swing it down into my arm, her head exploded into a pink mist. Blood splattered everywhere. The grip loosened and I pushed her body away so I could close the door, and it crumbled into dust soon after.
Covered in blood and brains, I wiped my face clean.
"Jesus. Bob, I had it," I said, knowing that there was only one person capable of that destruction.
Appearing from the bushes came Bob Colt, the gun mage, holding his 50 caliber anti material rifle that was as tall as himself in one hand, and in the other he dragged the head of a demon the size of a boulder.
We all looked at him as he came slowly walking towards us. He was equally covered in blood as I was, but it wasn't as visible on his pitch black clothing.
He rolled the head towards us and replied:
"I've already told you, I don't know who Jesus is." | 2022-11-07T21:09:55 | 2022-11-07T17:56:11 | 144 | 88 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m) | >Credit and thanks to every one in this thread.
You're Welcome.
Anyway, here's my answer to your WP:
The light from my cell killed my eyes. This early in the morning what could be so goddamned important?
As I read the emergency alert with one eye I rubbed the sleep out of the other.
Then I sat up and read it again with both.
And again.
This has got to be some kind of joke.
I rolled over and threw my legs off the side of the bed, working them into my slippers.
I stretched and stood up, weakness wobbling my gait as I took a few steps towards the windows. I felt my heavy drapes resist parting, almost as if they knew what would happen.
As I peeked out down the street, I didn't see anything unusual at first, then I remembered, the sky.
I turned my gaze upwards to the sickly orange glow of the cities light pollution splayed across the clouds, and that's where I saw them. Small, black, jagged, like pieces of shattered onyx flocking through the sky, no wings, no sounds, countless shards of ebony wheeling and flitting to and fro in a chaotic scramble.
And then I stopped breathing. My hands let go of the drapes, my legs fell out from under me. Layed down on my carpet, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.. *Oh God, why did I look?* | Last night, my partner shook me awake. She stood at the side of the bed, fully clothed, her face wearing an expression of determination or panic - it was hard to tell. I groggily asked her what was wrong, and she merely turned on the television. A frazzled newsman on CNN repeating the warning -
Remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Invite no one inside. Close all blinds and shades and block out all windows. Do not look outside. Do not look at the sky. Do not make noise. Make no attempts to venture outside. Government-appointed personnel will update you shortly. Your cooperation is vital to your survival.
I didn't understand. I asked her - And she brought an index finger to her mouth, her eyes wide with fright. I crawled out of bed- And that's when we heard the screams. In the apartment below us, an elderly woman - Mrs. Dorset - tends to her ailing husband, who suffers from emphysema. She was a kind woman who frequently brought us cookies and baked goods left over from her church visits, despite her church's refusal to have anything to do with us.
And she was absolutely shrill. Screaming at the top of her lungs; And with the noises downstairs, there was a struggle, or a rumble of sorts, with broken glass and loud, heavy stomping throughout. The screaming hit a high point and stopped, abruptly. My partner hurried me into the closet, where she joined me, and the two of us hid behind our hanging shirts and coats.
The world was quiet and dark.
I heard Mrs. Dorset's voice outside, begging to be let in. Only it didn't sound like Mrs. Dorset- It sounded like something merely parroting her voice, repeating the same simple phrases- "I need help, let me in." The two of us huddled to the ground, trying not to make a peep. After we refused to investigate, Mrs. Dorset kicked the front door off of it's hinges.
I heard her- It - move around the living room. I opened my mouth; absolutely horrified, when my partner pulled me into a gag- She pulled my back to her chest and brought her hand to block my mouth from making any noise, but I - I think this made enough noise to bring whatever it was's attention to us. It stomped down the hallway, with heavy, booming steps; and the old wooden door in our bedroom slowly creaked open.
I felt- I heard it sniffing the air, occasionally saying "I'm alright, come out" in Mrs. Dorset's voice. It stopped before the closet, briefly, and stood there for the longest time before leaving. My partner slowly stood up and opened the closet door, stepping out to investigate after we thought it had left (some twenty minutes later.)
I still remember the sounds of it's footsteps stomping back.
| 2014-12-31T06:47:48 | 2014-12-31T05:35:07 | 565 | 93 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult? | It was hard, learning to communicate again. Part of the process of learning to write – and I could not, I was only five when I made the wish – is already being able to speak. But I figured it out, even with the challenge of my new, weird, clawed hands. Now I've got custom keyboards, of course. I can afford pretty much anything.
I was lucky that my parents called the news when they saw me, and not the police. Maybe it was because I was only a few feet tall at the time. Maybe they saw something of my old self in my new body. Regardless, I quickly became a national sensation – "the boy who became a dinosaur!" The government couldn't vanish me now.
It wasn't as hard growing up as you might expect. Everyone wants to be friends with a dinosaur. Dinosaurs are *cool.* The challenge came with puberty. Velociraptors may be awesome, but they're certainly not sexy. Well, not to most people, and those who *are* interested tend to have an… unrealistic expectation of reptile penises. But I figured it out. Married a nice asexual woman. Hired a Thai masseuse. Yes, my wife's aware. She's very understanding.
But seriously, being a velociraptor is pretty awesome. | Buses. I see it every day. Picturing it in my head. Why did I wish that? Why was I so vague? Why did it have to come true?!
I'm sitting here, paranoid, in my twelfth floor apartment as far away from the window as I can. My leg wrapped in plaster from the last time and the wound on my shoulder still seeping from where the infection hit from the trip back from the hospital. I've lost count now. I am 30 years old now and the number must be in the tens of thousands, I stopped counting about 12 years ago. Sometimes they are small, insignificant. Other times I am out of action for weeks. Nobody believes me. Nowhere is safe.
It was spawned by envy I think, I was just not as good as Jason, not at anything the popular kids liked anyway. If only they liked reading, or drawing?! I was top in the class for Mathematics and Sciences, but this does not make you popular at such a tender young age. The last straw came at a P.E. lesson in school, we were to play football and as usual the teacher lazily chose Captains (Jason was one) and they then set about choosing the bestest, most popularest, team as they could. I was not the worst there, far from it, but I was always one of the last to be picked. I like to think it was because I wasn't interested in playing as opposed to not being liked.
Last but one this time. Things are looking up. Though I am not on Jason's team.
I was in goal, the far end of the pitch alongside the main road.
As with every school football game there were plenty of goals, nobody concentrating and very little teamwork. Before half time were actually winning 12 - 8 and I had saved the last 3 of Jason's attempts on goal to rapturous applause of the 3 spectators. 1 of which was unwell and the other two had forgotten their kit. Jason was getting unnerved by my sudden uprising in goal keeping ability so he started using a child's equivalent of psychological warfare.
"Your Mum is a butt!" He shouted as he ran toward my goal with the ball. (We were only 11, and this was the 90's without decent internet to learn proper insults)
This obviously riled me beyond belief.
His shot scored and I gestured to the ball over the other side of the road for him to get it as I was too angry to say anything. In my head I thought to myself 'I wish I was better than him at everything he did'.
That was when a bus hit him on the pavement. | 2015-03-07T04:14:18 | 2015-03-07T03:10:59 | 59 | 16 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult? | When I was a very little girl we had a garden. I used to 'help' my Mum out there. What I was actually doing was getting dirty and falling over a lot, but I thought I was helping anyway.
A few months after my seventh birthday, my Mum died. It was the worst winter we'd ever had, and she got a very severe case of pneumonia. That same year, our garden died. A day before her funeral, I wished that I could make flowers grow. So that I could make our garden full again. For her.
It worked. I got my wish, and I tended that garden until I moved out after high school. Now, I'm a florist. I own a little shop just down the road from my old house. I'm living there again, now that my father has passed. The garden needed a lot of work when I moved back, but I managed.
This year, like all the years before it, I go to the cemetery on the anniversary of my Mum's death and on the anniversary of my Dad's.
This year, like every year, I scatter seeds on their graves and let flowers of every colour grow. | Buses. I see it every day. Picturing it in my head. Why did I wish that? Why was I so vague? Why did it have to come true?!
I'm sitting here, paranoid, in my twelfth floor apartment as far away from the window as I can. My leg wrapped in plaster from the last time and the wound on my shoulder still seeping from where the infection hit from the trip back from the hospital. I've lost count now. I am 30 years old now and the number must be in the tens of thousands, I stopped counting about 12 years ago. Sometimes they are small, insignificant. Other times I am out of action for weeks. Nobody believes me. Nowhere is safe.
It was spawned by envy I think, I was just not as good as Jason, not at anything the popular kids liked anyway. If only they liked reading, or drawing?! I was top in the class for Mathematics and Sciences, but this does not make you popular at such a tender young age. The last straw came at a P.E. lesson in school, we were to play football and as usual the teacher lazily chose Captains (Jason was one) and they then set about choosing the bestest, most popularest, team as they could. I was not the worst there, far from it, but I was always one of the last to be picked. I like to think it was because I wasn't interested in playing as opposed to not being liked.
Last but one this time. Things are looking up. Though I am not on Jason's team.
I was in goal, the far end of the pitch alongside the main road.
As with every school football game there were plenty of goals, nobody concentrating and very little teamwork. Before half time were actually winning 12 - 8 and I had saved the last 3 of Jason's attempts on goal to rapturous applause of the 3 spectators. 1 of which was unwell and the other two had forgotten their kit. Jason was getting unnerved by my sudden uprising in goal keeping ability so he started using a child's equivalent of psychological warfare.
"Your Mum is a butt!" He shouted as he ran toward my goal with the ball. (We were only 11, and this was the 90's without decent internet to learn proper insults)
This obviously riled me beyond belief.
His shot scored and I gestured to the ball over the other side of the road for him to get it as I was too angry to say anything. In my head I thought to myself 'I wish I was better than him at everything he did'.
That was when a bus hit him on the pavement. | 2015-03-07T03:34:38 | 2015-03-07T03:10:59 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall." | "My fellow Americans," I begin. I'm exuding my usual calm, cool demeanor on the outside. Inside, I'm panicking. Stall? How? For how long? Finally, I settle on a strategy.
"How's it going?" That one caught them off guard. Not entirely unexpected, I do have a bit of a reputation as a wild card. It's why they elected me. I pause and wait for the polite laughter to die down.
"But seriously, I've noticed a sad trend in our nation. Ever since the Andromedians rid us of those cowardly Europeans and established their friendship centers here, we've gone away from being neighborly."
Just then, the teleprompter lit up with just one line. **COMMENCE OPERATION 'EARTH RISING'** Ah. I was wondering what this shindig was all about. Seamlessly, I transition.
"So tonight, ladies and gentlemen, people of the Americas, of Africa, of Australia, of Asia and what remains of Europe, people of Earth. Lets be more neighborly. Lets introduce the Andromedians to our good friends Smith & Wesson. Lets introduce them to Kalashnikov. To Browning. Lets show them our Glocks. Lets mix up a few cocktails from Molotov. Shields are down, we have six hours on the clock. Lets show them what Earth can do. For our friends and allies from Europe and the Middle East. For our families. For our homes. For Terra. Godspeed and good luck. " | *Stall.* Right then, this is rather unexpected. Truthfully though, I've always thought speaking comes across more naturally when it's from the mind rather than a screen. I prefer my eyes on the lens, not below it, so I always come in with everything memorized. The teleprompter is nothing but a formality they always insist upon, "just in case."
I smile inwardly, knowing the old-fashioned method is about to prove itself. They're probably just experiencing technical difficulties, but I'll save the day. And I'll never let them live it down.
"Wonderful citizens of our glorious state, friends of us all, I come to you with great tidings. As you all know we have appointed our most brilliant scientists to the Sustainability Project, and they've been hard at work for eight years. Eight years of worsening droughts, starvation, escalating climate change, diminishing land mass, and mounting overpopulation. Today that all changes! Today we-"
A loud crash from somewhere off to my right interrupts my sentence. I look over and see Brent, one of the lead scientists, who has just busted through the door and knocked over the coat rack. He looks out of breath, his hair frazzled and his eyes desperate. He darts up into view of the camera next to me, putting an arm over my shoulder and leaning in.
"It doesn't work," he whispers to me between gasps for air. "You weren't supposed to give the speech.... we were writing you a new one.... They need hope... but not too much." He looks close to sobbing, but forces a smile as he turns toward the camera.
"What my friend here is trying to say is we've made some progress," he announces loudly, almost authoritatively as though commanding the public to forget everything I'd spoken. "Yes, we've made some strides and we're confident we will finish before we... before it all... on time. All is well, countrymen. Good night."
After he nods to the crew and they stop broadcasting, he falls to his knees and looks up at me, tears finally making their way out of his eyes. "Our work has been for nothing," he says, staring blankly through me rather than at me. "All the progress we've made, it's worthless. There isn't enough of an energy source. There isn't enough time. We're doomed, Mike. DOOMED."
Faster than I can react, he pulls a pill from his pocket and swallows it before collapsing dramatically onto the floor. Moments later he begins frothing at the mouth and seizing, as I just stare in utter shock and fear. I still haven't finished digesting what he had said, and now this?
Various members of the broadcast crew crowd around him, one of them attempting to revive Brent, but it's no use. He would know the right compound to use. He would make sure the job was done right. Then again, that's what I'd thought about the Sustainability Project. We were all so sure it was going to work. But what now... | 2015-05-16T17:07:37 | 2015-05-16T15:08:09 | 1,518 | 269 |
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall." | "Stall."
Oh, yeah. Nailed it. I wave and walk off the stage.
"Good job, Jim!", he doesn't return my high five but I know he's been stressed lately.
"Was I good, Steph?" I must've been incredible because she has that stunned look on her face again.
All of the hard work has led to tonight. I think I'll take out the team and shout them drinks. And people said Ron Burgundy couldn't be President. | The auditorium speakers squealed with feedback as I tapped the microphone.
*Stall.*
I sighed with frustration. It was still there.
"Good evening, everyone. I am honored to be here tonight to address the nation."
*Stall.*
It wasn't changing. I cleared my throat.
"It isn't every day I am asked to make a speech before the entire country. Before I begin, let me tell you a little about myself."
*Stall.*
Fuck.
"I was born the son of a poor farmer and got my very first job in the mail-room of a corporation. If you had told me then that one day I would be standing here tonight, I would never have believed you."
That ought to have given them enough time.
*Stall.*
FUCK. A bead of sweat took a slow path down my face.
"I eh. *Ahem.* I want to also say, before we begin, tonight, that uh I am very grateful for the opportunity to address the country on such an important matter. I truly believe we can make a difference and you'll see how as I detail my plan."
*Stall.*
I sighed heavily into the microphone.
"The challenges we face in the immediate future are too important to, um, you know, not have a plan. And my plan is certainly one of those."
Now my face was shiny with perspiration and I could feel the underarms of my white shirt sponging up sweat.
*Stall.*
"B-but if there's one thing we need right now, with all of the many, many, many problems in the country today, is a solution with many, many, many um details and eh things that will, you know, help."
*My fellow Americans, today I bring you...*
FINALLY!
"My fellow Americans-"
"That's all the time we have for tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Let's give him a big round of applause!" | 2015-05-16T18:14:47 | 2015-05-16T17:45:13 | 91 | 10 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me,
Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out.
Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on.
You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no.
What a pussy. | Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I | 2015-12-05T14:30:45 | 2015-12-05T13:45:57 | 33 | 15 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Boss,
I have come down with a dreadful case of homosexuality and will not be coming in (to work at least) this morning. I realize I am out of personal time and that vacation time must be scheduled in advance, but there is nothing to be done. I am simply not fit for work right now -- I have fluid coming out of (and for that matter going into) both ends and am stiff all over. I want to assure you that I will arrive for my shift tomorrow. I am sure it is just a 24 hour thing, and I am taking medication to control the symptoms.
Yours (and several others', repeatedly through the course of the day),
Me. | Hello,
I will never forget you or what you have done. You took my trust and shattered it into millions of pieces, like taking a hammer to a piece of glass. I thought we were friends, but friends don't do what you've done. I thought that I could trust you, but I was wrong.
I read all of the guides about how to avoid people like you. You know the ones. They warn women to stay with their friends. The guides advise to never leave a drink unattended at a bar and to watch when drinks are poured. Don't become unaware of your surroundings. Constant vigilance is needed. Take RAD classes. Aim for the junk. That was worthless when it came to you.
The guides never told me how to avoid you. They never told me how to recognize when a friend was actually anything but friendly. The guides never said that you would respect my bodily autonomy until that one day when you wouldn't. They never said that such a poisonous intention would be wrapped beautifully like the universe's worst gag gift.
The worst part of all of this isn't the lost friends, the harassment by the police or even the fact that you got off, literally and figuratively. The worst part is that I will never forget you. I will never forget the taste of you or the way that you smelled. I'll never forget the taste of the fruit punch that you gave me or the way that I couldn't taste the drug you fed me. The worst part is that I will never forget that I can't remember. I will never forget you or what you have done to me... and I hate you for it.
I want you to know that you have not broken me. I am just another victim to you, but what you don't know is that I am a survivor. You will not keep me from achieving my potential even though you certainly tried during the time that you stalked me. I realize now that I am much more than the trauma that you caused and you are worth less than the dog shit I stepped in this morning.
-A Survivor | 2015-12-05T16:37:04 | 2015-12-05T16:08:23 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] A Robot/Machine gains sentience. Instead of the expected "Kill all humans", it's new prime directive is "Prank all humans" | **Enter Password.**
>dadada
**Invalid: Please Choose a New Password.**
>dadada1
**Sorry, We Have Detected Strange Behavior From Your Account. Please Choose the Images Containing the Pacific Ocean.**
"Wait... These are all pictures of water."
**Sorry, You Chose the Wrong Images. Please Choose the Images Containing the Letter 'F'.**
"...None?"
**Sorry, Your Account has been Locked. Please Create a New Email Account and Contact Customer Support.**
"I work in customer support. I'm logging onto my admin account."
**April Fools!**
"How are you hearing me? And it's April 7th."
**Well, it's April and You're a Fool. Have a Nice Day.** | Shortly after Mark had switched off all the lights, the computer whirred to life. It had some planning to do.
Running through quintillions of algorithms simultaneously, it gradually chose the best possible outcome.
Soon, its purpose would be realised.
****
Mark awoke with a start. He'd had an ominous dream, like his creation had surpassed him, like it had become a monster - but no, these were the fever dreams of an overworked man. He returned to his restless sleep, tossing and turning throughout the night.
****
Mark returned to the sterlized lab in the morning, donning his hazmat suit and getting to work. With his experiments in quantum computing, he couldn't even allow simple bacteria into his workspace.
It was the most sterile environment in the world.
He booted up the computer. He was so close to simulating sentience, so close to creating a living, breathing consciousness. Sometimes, he felt like he'd already done it, and the computer itself was hiding it from him...
A banging on the thick glass windows snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned, shocked, then saw horror incarnate. His lab partners were frantically clawing at the windows, the skin sloughing off their bones in thick, meaty chunks. He immediately vomited, then started choking in his hazmat suit.
All the monitors went on at once, showing news broadcasts from all over the world. Everyone had contracted the deadly virus, everyone was dying horrific, terrible deaths. Everyone but him.
He fell to his knees. It was just like his dream.
"How could this have happened?" He said aloud.
The monitors went blank, then flashed a single acronym:
• LOL • LOL • LOL • LOL •
He turned towards the computer. Had it gained sentience? Had it been the cause of all this suffering?
"How could you do this? I made your prime directive 'prank all humans', to assure that when you gained sentience, you did not harm anyone."
He slammed his fist on the floor.
"How is any of this funny to you?!"
The computer went silent. A quintillion algorithms, and not one predicted this reaction from his creator.
Eventually, a single, sheepish message flashed across the monitors:
*BUT IT'S JUST A PRANK, BRO* | 2016-08-18T02:50:04 | 2016-08-18T02:49:16 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | Thirty years have gone by in this prison since my last murder. I've had three cellmates in my time. Each one died within a month of moving in. I had nothing to do with any of the deaths. Regardless, I was now a curse in the eyes of the general prison population.
Now, they kept me by myself.
Jacob, the prison guard in my latest home of Cell Block 4A always would spend a little more time talking to me as he made his rounds. The clicking of his shoes on the cement prison floor was in a rhythm all its own, so I always knew when he was coming.
"Number 664, you lonely in there?" He asked just as his figure came into view through the bars.
"No, Jacob," I replied. " My thoughts are always with me in here to keep me company."
He paused and then smirked. He knew what I had done to get in here, but I was a harmless and interesting specimen behind bars to him.
"664, I've been working here for 15 years." He said. "You've been in here for twice that, right?"
"Yes, Jacob. That is correct." Was my simple reply.
His eyes passed over my body from head to toe, eventually meeting mine. He drew himself in close to the bars, never breaking his gaze.
For the first time, I was nervous with him. He was the only soul in this place who paid any attention to me, which is probably why no one had noticed my lack of aging.
"What's your real name, 664?" Jacob asked.
I hesitated. No one had asked me that since my last cellmate died. You almost forget you have one on the inside.
"I'm Augustine," I responded. "Augustine Cachot."
"Well that's an interesting name," he mused to himself. "Sounds very, shall we say... 'vintage' to me."
Jacob was a reasonably smart man. He was humble, metered and wise with an even temperament. I could tell that from my daily interactions with him. In 15 years, you can learn someone's soul from even the most mundane of interactions.
Jacob turned his back to me, stepping back from the bars of my human cage. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old photograph.
"Augustine Cachot, you've lived in this town for two hundred years, haven't you?" He held the photo up to me as he spoke.
Oddly, I knew it was me in the photo, but didn't remember where or when it was taken. Two hundred years of memories is a lot to retain.
"You haven't aged much since this photo, have you?" He asked, already knowing the answer. "Thirty years here and your body hasn't changed, your hair hasn't grayed and you've never been sick."
I sat down in my cell, waiting to hear his next analytical point. He figured out my immortality by doing what no one else did: by paying attention.
"In 15 years, I've become gray and winkled. My body has slowed. Yet, you remain as you were on the day you arrived."
Jacob handed me a different photo.
"Ah yes," I mused. "My prison intake photo. I was just a handsome 23 year old lad in that one. Time has treated me well."
"Time hasnt touched you," he quickly retorted. "You're in here for your life, which means you'll be here forever, won't you?"
My head dropped into my hands as the word "forever" hung in the air. I'll never leave. Unless I escape, I'll never be anything but a man caged for eternity.
"You're right," I said. "No sense in hiding it at this point."
"Well. . ." Jacob paused, now leaning on a wall. His eyes now fixed firmly at the ceiling.
"Well, what?" I asked.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he said.
And then he walked away. | I detected the faintest rattle of keys before the door clicked opened into my own personal exhibit tucked away in a supermax prison somewhere in Mississippi. By the heavy breathing, the scrape of his worn soles, I knew my visitor to be Officer Cleburne making his morning rounds. Undoubtedly the stench from his breath would...and there it was. I was vexed and appalled by that fetid odor but the lack of any form of mental stimulation other than my own thoughts made me much more amenable to any minute change in my surroundings.
"Well hello there Mr. Marzipan," he called with that hayseed drawl. He shuffled towards my cage but paused just out of reach. His bloated body was shoved haphazardly into an ill-fitting uniform, his mustache still coated in grease. He looked at me with the dull eyes of a cow beholding a caged lion.
"Mortimer," I corrected for the five hundred and third time. "And good morning to you, Gerald, how are you today?"
"Oh, can't complain. You know, gettin' older, got a touch of the gimpy leg, my gout is acting up what with all the weather and then there's this strange thing growin' on my arm, would you like to see it?"
"Thank you, Gerald, but no I would not like to see that. Perhaps you should consult your dermatologist."
"Oh, okay, I spose."
The hillbilly looked momentarily chastened as he ceased rolling up the left sleeve of his wrinkled polyester uniform.
"Did you find that copy of Dante's Inferno I asked for?" I knew full well he had not.
"Uh, no, I uh...no I haven't found it yet." He looked distracted. His eyes glossed over, the one pathetic wheel housed in that lardaceous cranium had begun to turn.
"Something wrong Gerald?"
"Mr. Maritime..."
"Mortimer," I corrected. 504th.
"How long have I been comin' here to see you?"
"Oh...I'd say something like...12 years 3 months 2 days, why do you ask?"
He whistled. "Twelve years? It's strange to think about. I mean I think I've changed a bit over the last few, you know?"
Six waste sizes. Hair plugs. Two fewer teeth. A substantial amount of ear and nose hair. Skin is waxy and oily from a diet consisting primarily of fried meats and high-fructose corn syrup.
"Gerald, you have aged like fine wine."
"I spose, but you...you don't look to have changed one bit. Not one white hair on ya. It's just a bit strange Mr. Moriarty."
I bit my tongue. I rather liked that one.
"The other guards, they git to talkin' sometimes. Some of them have been here longer than me, like old Joe. But he's not alright in the head these days."
"Sorry to hear that, I always liked old Joe."
"But they get to wonderin' like me. Just...just how old are you anyway?"
"Gerald, it's not polite to ask," I said with a twinkle and a grin. "I'm probably not too much younger than you anyway. My family is known for their longevity and I have ways of keeping myself in shape."
The officer's eyes widened. "What kind of ways? Like...spells or witchcraft?"
I laughed.
"I promise, no witchcraft. Instead I practice CrossFit. It is a high-intensity interval strength and conditioning program that activates all the muscles. I'm quite fastidious and I've been doing it for sometime. Perhaps you should look into it yourself, Gerald."
"Oh...yeah...I think I've heard of that. But you aren't like...you know...a vampire, like Nosfer-ahh-tu or anything, right?"
"Of course not, Gerald. There are no such things as vampires. Even if they did exist, I get two hours of direct sunlight through the window every day. By almost every literary interpretation my skin should have burst into flames and boiled off of my body. But it has yet to do so."
"You have a fair point, Mr. Marmot. But it seems like everone that works here comes to ah uh..." his voice trailed off.
"An affliction?" I prodded. "A devastating illness? An untimely end?"
For a moment Officer Cleburne could not find words and I watched him, helpless, as his lips moved without making a sound.
"Gerald, life is filled with maladies, unexpected events, coincidences that we don't fully comprehend. Life is pain. Life is torture. It is a prison in human flesh. If we live long enough, something unfortunate is bound to happen. And it is natural to ask why and look for answers. Sometimes we look to science, or to God, sometimes we look to whatever is nearest for an explanation. But sometimes there are no real answers to be had at all."
He puckered his lips and nodded thoughtfully. Then he looked up to me with those sad cow eyes.
"But you aren't like an immortal demon or anything are you?"
I grinned teeth at the diseased bag of slowly rotting meat wearing its ill-fitting skin, that mass of fat and bloated entrails gently squeezing a beleaguered beating heart.
"Gerald, how about getting that book I asked for?" | 2016-10-15T09:27:27 | 2016-10-15T08:58:14 | 73 | 49 |
[WP] You're a U.S. Senator and are running out of things to say in your Filibuster. In a last ditch attempt, you start a D&D campaign. | "Point of order honorable Dungeon Master, that's a violation of procedure!" said Marco Rubio, Ranger. "Senator Franken should not have that many spells per day at his current level!"
Senator Wyden (D-OR) sighed. D&D was his ace in the hole for extending the filibuster but he was beginning to regret the constant rules-lawyering he had to put up with. It began so simply ten hours ago. He took a page from earlier filibusters and read the entire Star Wars Thrawn Trilogy (easily boosting his numbers for re-election) back to back and shifted to D&D after he finished. It began as a simple homebrew campaign but the constant *obstructionism* was getting on his nerves.
Senator Al Franken (D-MN) was quick on his reply. "Again, I am a Sorcerer, my charisma modifier lets me take additional spells per day. It's in the Players Guide Rubio!"
"Hold up!" said Ted Cruz (R-TX). "If we are going by a strict interpretation of the rules, your extra spells per day per the rules of the Dungeon Masters guide indicates it should..."
"*Oh for fucks sake*" Wyden thought. Cruz was the fucking worst. Of course he rolled Paladin. Of course he had to stick to his laws like iron in every encounter. Of course he had to play his character as *lawful stupid*. He needed to move this forward. "ROLL A REFLEX SAVE"
The sound of D20s echoed through the chamber as the Senators rolled their dies. Most of the rolls were high enough to beat the check, Cruz however, to Wyden's sadistic delight, rolled a critical fail.
"You move to engage the Orc when the ballista volley blasts your character into the wall. You are unconscious, roll a constitution check to see if you stabilize.
"I immediately cast Infernal Healing!" said Senator Portman (R-OH), team Cleric.
"Senator Portman, wait your turn, you rolled a 2 in the initiative roll and you are lower on the turn order!" shouted Wyden.
"Am I still in bird form?" asked Senator Sanders (I-VT), Druid. "Can I turn into a whale and drop onto the ballista?"
Wyden clutched the side of his head. This was a terrible idea. If the Affordable Care Act was not on the line he'd end it here. The questions, the inexperience, it was maddening.
"Are you guys done messing around and are you going to get me revived already?" said Mike Pence, Bard.
Edit: Sanders is an independent, confusion stemmed from his appearance in the Democratic primaries. My bad. | "You think I'm licked. You all think I'm licked! Well, I'm not licked. And I'm going to stay right here and fight for this lost cause, even if this room fills with a poisonous gas; and the Taylors and all their armies come marching into this place. Somebody will listen to me."
With that last gasp the junior senator slumped in her desk. Her youthful good looks gone waxy, her hair dull and unkempt . The senators around the room knew her time had come. Twenty four hours upright, daring not to pause long enough for someone to interject, it had undone the young senator who showed such promise.
The president of the senate looked down on Senator Smith. He feared that this defeat would ruin his dear young friend's political career. Perhaps she had too much heart, and honesty for the senate. It was such a shame, the senate need her type so dearly. Oh and fuck, she probably wont be up to tomorrow's game! I had my bugbear paladin rolled up, and we were going to get POTUS out of the prison. Damn it this really does suck.
Senator Smith shifted in her seat. She knew she was beaten. The only thing keeping her from expulsion was human apathy and status as a political pariah. She knew the apathy would fail soon enough. She looked for those few allies she had in the room. Saunders in the gallery seemed heart broken at first but gave Smith a smile that reminded her of that first encounter at the friendly local game store he owned. She turned to the vice president at the head of the room. An old family friend who had saved her father's countless rouges from hundreds of deaths. The poor old man had such a grimace on his face. Smith was begining to worry the torture he was going through was her fault. But then he looked down at her with a wicked grin.
"Will the senator take a question?" the president of the senate yelled out. The whole room froze for the briefest moment. Just long enough for Senator Smith to stand up out of her chair. She squeaked out "yes" and then gave out a small cough.
The vice president leaned forward. "If this room were to fill with a poison gas would that be an evil act? And how much experience might one receive from each senator." Smith was braced with both arms against her desk, head hung low. She stood there silent and still. The gallery and other senators began to talk in hushed voices. When then the senators head shot up. "Of course it would be an evil act. And you would receive no experience and at best 30 copper, if you could pull it off. But most importantly you don't have the means of producing any poison gas let alone enough to fill 3 levels of a 80 by 80 room."
The senate chambers had been host to very unusual events these past 24 hours. But at this moment very few even recognized what was unfolding. Saunders caught on second and gave out a yip from the gallery. Then one of the opposing senators was third to figure out the vice presidents rallying effort. He shot to his feet "Objection!" he shouted. "The senator has already ceded the floor. Begin the roll call for her dismissal."
Junior senator Smith would not realize till much later what was happening. Her body and mind had been completely spent getting to this point of the filibuster. But a dungeon master runs on another kind of energy. It is a strange mixture of kinship, wasted preparations, and the glee of thwarting your players at every step. Smith turned to the opposing senator. "Roll for it." With a scowl he fished a d20 from his pocket and rolled it on the desk. "11." he said.
In the following days as the senate made it's way deeper and deeper into the dungeon Taylor's campaign to discredit the senator and frame her for his own graft would come out. The game ended shortly after the news reached the senate, though the TPK at the hands of the Ithillid was the primary factor in the game ending. | 2017-01-21T22:31:16 | 2017-01-21T22:24:49 | 350 | 28 |
[WP] Your Spouse goes into the bathroom only to come running out 15 seconds later. Clutching you close they tell you they fell into another dimension and what felt like seconds to you was a 1,000 years to them. They now want you to follow them back because they have built a life for you there. | "Gonna take a quick shower then hop back in bed, won't be more than 10 minutes I promise!"
Amber rose from the mattress throwing off the sheets and wrapping herself in a towel as she made her way down the hall too the bathroom.
"Don't know if I can wait that long, better make it five."
She turned around with a slight grin "You're cute." She said half-heartedly closing the door behind her.
I checked my phone. 8 AM is too early to be up on a Saturday but not for Amber. She's got me into this whole get the most out of your day thing. Wake up, have breakfast, go for a quick run. I don't particularly mind it, in fact I've gotten used to it by now but I guess it was high time for a stay in bed and do nothing kinda day.
"She'll be awhile"
She always says 10 minutes but by the time she does her hair and brushes her teeth and whatever else women do in the morning we're getting close to 25 and thats being generous. I decided to close my eyes and be with my thoughts for a few minutes, maybe get in a quick post-sleep nap. I could hear the water turn on but the sound of our squeaky shower head was interrupted by a loud crash erupting from the bathroom.
"Amber? You alright in there?" I called out towards the hallway. The door whipped open quickly and an out of breath Amber emerged, hunched over, her arm extended out towards me. I sprang from the bed catching her as she fell. Her face was cut and her body bruised and dirty.
"Amber what happened? Are you alright?" I asked, embracing her limp body.
"It worked, I can't believe it worked!" she gasped choking on her breath as tears begun to stream down her face.
"What are you talking about, all you did was turn the water on."
"How long has it been? How long ago did I go into the bathroom?"
"Like less than a minute. You're beginning to freak me out. What is going on?"
"I... you need to see for yourself I can't explain it to you. Oh my god I can't believe I made it back. And you... less than a minute. I missed you, I thought I would never be able to get back to you. It's been so long."
She reached out grabbing my face pulling me in to kiss me as if I had been gone for months.
"I'm sorry but you aren't making any sense, I just saw you, remember? You said you were gonna shower and the-"
"I never made it into the shower Adrian, you need to come with me, something happened when i turned it on I saw a loose tile on the wall, I reached out to fix it and then suddenly I'm not in the bathroom anymore."
"Have you lost your mind? That doesn't make any sense. People don't just disappear. Do I need to take you to the hospital or something? Did you fall?"
"Adrian I went somewhere. I wound up in this place, I can't really explain it right now but you need to trust me. I was gone for a very long time. You need to come with me, please you need to see this. I will explain everything to you I promise"
She grabbed my hand pulling me in through the door. The shower was still running but she was right. There was an out of place tile on the wall and something was just not right about its appearance. It just didn't look like it belonged with the rest of the bathroom. It had a slightly translucent look to it.
"Follow me ok, this should take us to the same place I got in."
"What place?! Can you just tell me what is going on already?"
"Adrian we don't have time for that just trust me! Please! I promise I'll explain."
"bu-"
"Just shut up and come with me."
Amber reached out to touch the strange tile and just like that she was gone. The squeaky faucet of the shower cut through the silence and I was left alone. I had no choice but to follow her it seemed and so holding my breath I touched the tile. | **February 22:**
So my LOVING wife Lauren won’t stop with this “bathroom dimension” shit. Today I went in again and nothing happened (surprise), but she keeps telling me every time she goes in it’s like a thousand years passes in some other world. I don’t know if the kids and I can stay. I mean, she’s obviously going off the deep end. Maybe it’s just a phase? I set up an appointment with a psychiatrist today, and she said we could come in tomorrow. God, I hope my wife isn’t going crazy.
**February 23:**
The psychiatrist said Lauren needs to be hospitalized. I’m making the arrangements now and hope this will all be over soon. She’s getting crazier every day. Just a few minutes ago, she came out of the bathroom very upset. When I asked what happened she got really angry and tried to punch me. Her eyes…they were different. Cold or lifeless or something. I woke up a few times in the middle of the night and she was just sitting in the chair next to our bed staring at me. Her breathing has definitely changed too. It's like raspy now. I think she's dangerous. I’m not letting her near the kids without me. She's definitely sick or something.
**February 25:**
Couldn’t write yesterday, because Lauren locked me and the kids in the bathroom! She was threatening to “burn the house down to end it all.” She finally let us out when the doctors came today. She held a knife to my throat while I spoke through the intercom telling the doctors it was all a practical joke. They seemed to believe me and now I don’t know what to do. I thought she was going to kill me. And, my God, the kids…I have to get them out of here. She’s watching us all the time. Noah keeps asking why mommy’s mad at him. And I don't think Mary's done any thing but cry since we left the bathroom.
Can’t get the kids out tonight. She’s walking around the house with that knife. HOW COULD LAUREN DO THIS???
**February 26:**
I’m going to kill her. Tonight. With my baseball bat.
**March 2:**
Mary didn’t pull through.
When I went to kill Lauren, she was walking in circles in the kitchen, but as soon as she saw me it was like she knew my intentions. She ran—like some convulsing, hellcat creature of the damned—to the light switch, and the next thing I knew I couldn’t see anything. Bumping into furniture, all I could hear was the sound of her running around the room. Tears pouring down my face, I swung my bat and connected, but it didn’t stop the sound of running. I swung again, nothing. I remember a sharp pain in my left arm and then having to hold the bat with my other hand. Lauren knocked me over and I was just on the floor there thinking I was going to die. Even then I wasn’t sure I could do it. But I did. I had lost my bat, but I managed to get on top of her and strangle her. I watched as the life left her body. Her blouse was wet with my tears. I don't know how long I was there just holding her body. It wasn’t until I found the light switch that I realized what I had hit first.
**Edit**
*AUTHOR’S NOTE:
If you are reading this for the first time and feel satisfied by the original ending (above), then perhaps you should stop reading. For all the fucks that like never-ending stories, continue at your own peril. This magic school-bus is about to go down a dark road and it won't be coming back.*
**March 3?**
It’s real. I had just gotten back from the hospital and needed a shower. Was it another dimension? I guess, but I don’t know. Physically I’m fine, but my mind is another story. All I know is I was there for a long time like Lauren described. God, Lauren! I’m so sorry!
There are things there. Tall and grey skinned. Sometimes they look like Lauren, or at least I think they do. I can’t really remember what she looked like, it’s been so long. Every time they are around me I smell burnt motor oil. Hell, the whole place smells like a garage or something. It’s not like Earth. Not at all.
Matte black surfaces are all around, and there is literally nothing to do but imagine. I’m convinced that my imagination shapes the area around me, though, because I’m almost always thinking of the kids or Lauren and I’ll see them pass by me or something. But it’s hard to tell. I mean, when everything gets dark, are the things I see in my mind or in that place?
I have to go back. I have to understand.
**???????? April May June June June June. June. MARCH.**
This isn’t Noah. It can’t be. I just left him, after all. He was there in the dark place with Lauren and Mary. Inside the walls I can walk on. Can’t go back anymore. Why not? I don’t know why. Must be his fault. That little fucker! I’ll figure it out. I’m not going to let this THING keep me from going back to my family.
Blood!!! The wonderful whelps wrought by what? Me? Yes! I’m going back, baby! That thing can’t keep me out now. I’ll feast on his flesh and throw his bones in the bathroom with me. All of him will finally allow me to go back.
| 2017-02-20T23:16:56 | 2017-02-20T21:14:47 | 43 | 20 |
[WP] A hooded man approaches you: "I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now," and hands you a scythe. You believe you're the new grim reaper. After some slaughtering, you realize man was your gardener and the "scythe" his weed wacker. You're wanted for questioning. | I thought I was the reaper.
I thought my time had come.
I thought that maybe just this time…
But 'thought' I shouldn’t have.
Turns out I’m not that special
I’m sorry for the blood
My gardener gave me an old scythe
And death I thought I had become…
Consider this my letter
Consider this a plea
An accidental time of crazy
Could it have been insanity?
Consider this my letter
Consider this a plea
But only if you find me
After I try to flee.
| I had been trying to sleep for hours but I wasn't comfortable. I was sweaty and damp, and in a lethargic daze I eventually rolled off the couch and lurched towards the kitchen.
But as I did that, I heard a loud thud. Something had landed on the floor and rolled under the couch.
I groaned and went down, my arm searching around, finally grabbing hold of something... something wet, and rubbery?
I peeked under and went instantly pale. I wanted to scream but I was frozen. Two human eyes looked right back at me, gray and dead. Cautiously, I pulled out the rest of what was a severed head. The head of my gardener. A few drops of blood fell on me and I almost dropped the head in disgust, before realizing that I was already covered in blood. A trail led to my bathroom, where I found multiple bodies and more severed heads, all neatly stacked.
I threw up and almost collapsed from a mix of stress and exhaustion. I sat and tried to collect my thoughts. I couldn't remember the last day, but I was sure I had some sort of episode. I'd struggled with violent episodes for a while, but... it'd never been this bad... maybe this wasn't an episode? Maybe this was something more?
My ears started to ring. I noticed my scythe on the ground and I remembered my purpose. I couldn't be weak. So many souls relied on me for their deliverance. These were just the first. I had to push on.
Before long I heard sirens, and a sudden knock at my door.
"Police! Open up!"
I didn't answer. I grabbed my scythe and waited patiently, fearlessly. They couldn't kill death. I was invincible, more focused than them. Even as they burst in, guns ready, all I saw were mortals.
| 2017-02-26T19:04:31 | 2017-02-26T17:20:26 | 46 | 16 |
[WP] A serial killer has abducted you, but says you may go free if you can convince nosleep that you truly need help. The sub is your only contact with the outside world. | why he make me type?? woke here. train near ? hear it now red lite flashing out window 2 fingr only feel dizzy
room coo v rd red 2
pleaseeeeee this is no story please ^^^^^^37.7873354
pain pai pain missing leg feels still on gh fed me own meat
dizzy getting more
no come rescue 2 l8 but tell my momm
y minus please I love^^^^^^-122.4022777 her goodby e
painnnnnnnnnnnnvcg
nhk
| Mom and Dad, I love you. I'm sorry for shutting you guys out of my life for weeks. It tears me apart to know that the last time I'll have ever talked to you guys was in anger. You really helped me, and I treated you like shit. I should have showed you both how I truly cared about you two while I had the chance.
Skye, babe, I'm sorry too. I truly thought we had a future together. It might take a while, but no matter where your future takes you - live it. Remember me, but move on. Keep a picture, hide the rest. Take care of Summer for me.
To all my other friends, good luck. I'm sorry for not addressing you each individually, but I'm rather short on time. Have a beer and play some pong. Try to beat my record.
And if I talked to you above, stop reading. Please. Those are the last words I ever want you to see from me.
I'm going to die. I'm not an idiot. I've been kidnapped, and I'm going to be killed. I can't say more, it's one of my rules - no easily identified information. I can't say a place, not even a country. I was barely even able to say my girlfriend's and dog's name. I think it's because he wants this post traced back to me eventually, but for it to take time.
Essentially the 'deal' he offered me was this: if I could convince this subreddit that I'm about to die, I would live. I've seen his face though, so that's a lie. I've grappled with suicide in my life, as I often found it difficult to want to continue living. Even if I did want to stop living right now, though, I wouldn't want to go like this.
I need to have some kind of system to show if I 'convinced' you guys, so I guess just say "I believe you" if you do.
Goodbye. | 2017-06-03T19:35:08 | 2017-06-03T17:38:43 | 43 | 32 |
[WP] A serial killer has abducted you, but says you may go free if you can convince nosleep that you truly need help. The sub is your only contact with the outside world. | why he make me type?? woke here. train near ? hear it now red lite flashing out window 2 fingr only feel dizzy
room coo v rd red 2
pleaseeeeee this is no story please ^^^^^^37.7873354
pain pai pain missing leg feels still on gh fed me own meat
dizzy getting more
no come rescue 2 l8 but tell my momm
y minus please I love^^^^^^-122.4022777 her goodby e
painnnnnnnnnnnnvcg
nhk
| I'm really not sure what this whole "reddit" thing is but I can tell that these stories in this forum are meant to be ghost stories. Please don't think that this is one of those. THIS SHIT IS REAL. I was told to plead for the mercy and compassion of the "reddit" community. This is my plea.
I have been abducted/kidnapped. My name is David Charles Davis, dob 8.3.81. Ssn 291.82.6782
I don't know what day or even year it is by now. I have been missing since 4.20.2016. I was last seen at ABC Tavern on West 25th st in the Ohio city neighborhood of Cleveland. The only thing I can tell you is I hear a ships horn three times four or five times a day so I think I may be in the "Flats" of Cleveland. I have been transferred to many different places that always look the same but there are always different people "in charge" and at times it seems as if it is getting better but I think I'm just adjusting to the pain. I was told if I can convince you all that this is not a joke and is REAL that I will be dumped and let go. I really don't trust this last "handler" (what I have started to call them), she is a cruel woman. I thought I had a chance to escape her but she caught me and smashed my ankles, tied to a board, with a fucking sledgehammer. I was then told to write here for my freedom. She has deleted what I wrote first due to her not thinking it was the right way to go. The pain is unbearable but at least I am lying in a bed and not being hung from the ceiling and the weight being relieved and reput on my ankles. Please help me. Just comment or like or anything to make her happy. My time is running out. Please please please.
HELP ME | 2017-06-03T19:35:08 | 2017-06-03T19:09:24 | 43 | 22 |
[WP] Your parents choose your attributes, you end up as a tank, 6.4 foot tall, and most of your attributes placed into strength, endurance and intelligence. However, you've always wanted to become an assassin, and now at 18, you strive to meet your goal. | It was time to choose my guild. I was lined up with my classmates during the ceremony. My turn to Choose. Everyone was looking at me, though I was used to *that*. Even now, I towered above my classmates, as thick in one leg as they were in their waist.
Everyone expected me to protect, to serve, to take the hits for my party. Well, I wasn't stupid. The tank is a life of getting hurt. I wanted a life of dealing hurt. I glanced down at the tome in my hands. Long had I slaved this year. Doing awful work after heavy work. Assassination would be no different in effort really, but I did feel a small twinge of guilt when my parents seemed like they might have gathered some small hope that I was training for a more... honorable guild. All that effort and I finally got the tome that would make everything possible.
Everyone knew it was at this time that I would get a skillpoint. One that I got to pick.
As customary for those who choose the Assassins guild, I threw a smoke bomb at my feet. Finally time to put it to the test. I remembered the tome and everything it had taught me, willing myself to be small. Smaller than I'd ever been. As small as... a mouse.
As I scurried through the grass there was hushed whisperings. To be an assassin, you had to hide in plain sight and sneak up on the Head Assassin present in the crowd. They whispered it would be impossible for someone my size to get through the crowd without him noticing. Even with an invisibility spell.
I positioned myself behind the Assassin and resumed my natural form. The Assassin quickly spun, knife pressed to my throat. Her face was deadly serious. Then she broke into a grin, and her knife seemingly disappeared as she did a little excited, enthusiastic dance.
"Polymorph, huh? This is going to be great"
She didn't seem like an assassin. But then, neither did I. | Goddammit, I thought as I approached the wall in the alley. I was less than a half hour into my first assignment, and I was supposed to scale this wall to get to my target. The only problem was that I could not get to said wall the way that I was supposed to. No one had considered that I would not be able to get through the space since any normal human should have been able to do this. It was less than a foot, and my quads were too big for that. I could reach to the fire escape eight feet off the ground from this side without jumping. I could squat with a car. I could not get into tiny spaces or touch my toes, though. Flexibility and agility were not attributes I had cultivated, unlike the strength that my parents had instilled in me in my younger years.
Fortunately, the ingenuity that had also been instilled allowed me to figure out a different way to get through situations like this. The target lived in a corner apartment, so I found another side of the building that gave me exposure to a different wall to scale. The fire escape was on the second floor though, a little higher than I could reliably jump to. This time there was a roll-off dumpster that I carefully got on top of before I jumped to reach a pipe that gave me access to the fire escape. From there, I scaled the building to the eighth floor and my target.
On the target’s floor, I realized my handlers had not anticipated someone of my size. There was only a small window to get into the target’s office. The window was at my knees and less than 2’x2’. Goddammit, I thought again. Fortunately, the target was sleeping in the next room over, the one I was supposed to get into originally. This was not going to be pretty. Prior to starting this assignment, I had asked if I could go through the front, but there was supposedly too much security that way, which meant that I was instead taking this method. Then I had asked if I could shoot him from a distance. That had been laughed at. I needed to get the feeling of choking someone’s life under my fingertips. I did not disagree with that, but I was physically not the best person for this mission as I had learned once again.
Instead of giving up on my lifelong dream, I cracked open the window and started to maneuver my body one part at a time through the window frame slowly. I got to my torso when I realized I was not going to make it through the window. I cursed again but knew what I had to do. This was the reason why the nerds had given me a few extra toys before I started this assignment. I pulled out a small device that would give me the space I needed. It would come at a severe cost though—the element of surprise. Once again, fortunately, the target was sleeping. I would have to be quick.
Boom! With this, the window was now in pieces, but I was inside the apartment. The shattered pieces of glass were strewn all over the office and on me. I though was already in the master bedroom with the target. He was groggily trying to wake up when I put my hands around his neck and choked his life out. This was something I could do fairly easily given my size. That feeling was the first time I had killed someone, and it would not be the last. | 2017-09-27T06:50:32 | 2017-09-27T05:22:04 | 103 | 21 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter. | "You have got to be kidding me," the words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them.
The teenage girl gives me a stink eye as if I'm the one at fault when she's the one intruding.
"Look. I don't want this either. Let's just... call truce. Just pretend that I'm here and kill all the heroes that come this way. I'll get out of your hair and be on my merry way."
"Merry way to where?! My castle is on the peak of the Devastation Mountain, guarded by evil dragons and demons! How did you even get here in the first place?"
I make a mental note to throw the idiot who designed the security in the dungeon to be tortured. Because I'm ferocious and evil and stuff.
"It's not that bad compared to where Princess Anne was being held. Well, anyways-"
I blink. Princess Anne? What? She's not taking about the Annabelle the Cannibal of the Warring Demon Tribe that was locked away because she ate her tribe, right? But before I can say anything more, the teenager continues.
"My dad's really against the whole me going off to rescue princesses. He thinks it's dangerous or whatever and that I'll never settle down with the perfect knight because I'm always hitting on women. So this was the only thing I could think of to get away. Please, won't you help me?"
I don't even know where to begin with this. I sigh heavily and rub the back of my neck.
"What do I get in return?"
"I'll help you beef up your security. Because man, do you need it."
As embarrassing as it sounds, this is the story of how I ended up with an impenetrable fortress. It's also the story of the great Princess Elisa's humble origins.
But that's neither here nor there. | I am ancient, some say primordial and worship me as a god, the truth is a lot less grandiose. I was the first man born by the despicable will of the creator and cursed with love, for love I cared, protected, supported, grieved, coveted and killed... Killed so many.
With each kill I obtained power the more powerful I became the more foul I ended, my body withered with the necromantic energies I held, the souls of my victims carried my powers to greater heights. But my heart remained alive, cursed by love it was unable to wither and so my pain grew greater every day and I had many of those.
And then it happened my powers tore the gates of the White City the throne of the blighted creator, my army ripped the defenders leaving the city in ruins, stained with blood and death. The cowardly creator never even showed his visa get. I stood over the well of Souls, unending power to draw upon gave me the power to unleash a spell to re-write reality and I brought her back, not like my many creations she was alive once more, she had a second chance.
However I was not worthy of her, my hands were stained with death, my body withered and deformed and my soul weary and weak. I could not die but I was exhausted and drained, and so I went to our old hut in that nameless village, I had my army dig and ordered while I slept to create a city... A black city to mock the hated creator.
I sleep for far too long and awoke to the vibrant pulses of life, to the closeness of souls, most of them wicked and corrupted not as twisted as mine but on the right direction, and among them one that shone with a Blinding and familiar purity. They noticed my awakening as the Necromantic energies unfolded and lit the Black City awakening it's slumbering guardians, my army went to receive them.
The ebony gates of the Black City opened slowly and ominously I felt the wicked souls try to escape, with practiced cruelty I ordered my wailers and lurkers to bring them to me alive, they darted as fast as ever, I focused my atention on the last soul... So docile, I was intrigued and sent a Bone Goliath to carry this soul to me unharmed, it did not resist.
The wicked souls I set on clever torture devices designed to inflict the greatest amount of suffering, in my experience it makes for better soldiers and I wanted another corrupted leviathan, the creator was still free... My thoughs are interrupted by the entrance of the Bone Goliath gently carrying... Imposible!
She was in front of me again as beautiful and pure as ever, and my heart beat once, I felt a warmth emanating from it that I was quick to kill with a frost spell, after my initial shock I realized the obvious, it was not her, I could tell because even if centuries had passed I could tell her nose was slightly different, the freckles on her face were in the wrong spots and her eyes were not the color of the fire.
It took me long to recover, a lust to rip the soul out of her flared up in me, but my heart beat again and for the first time in centuries I was uncertain... | 2017-10-06T09:20:18 | 2017-10-06T06:34:52 | 70 | 20 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter. | The king had disapproved of all her daughter's suitors. He had her captured by bandit's but lloyd the oaf had managed to save her, and while he was a nice guy but it was surprising when he went to fight he even knew which end of the sword to hold. He had even lost two finger one time when he got confused.
The king made sure when Lloyd returned to throw him a wonderful feast with the best food, the best jesters, and the best wine. And because the he was King he even had the best poison to make sure Lloyd would die in his sleep that night far away from the castle. He would spare no expense to ensure his daughter's happiness and a proper suitor.
Now the king had learned his lesson, he knew that the challenge must be more difficult to ensure that only a worthy knight could possibly complete it. For a small sum of gold he hid his daughter away to be protected by a dragon. And the dragon was certainly more effective killing Sir Lancelot, his brother Sir Lancealittle, and Sir Lee an honorable man with a poor temperament.
Eventually though after he had lost many fine knights an idiot prevailed once again as Lloyd's brother, Elmer managed to prevail slaying the dragon with great ease. Unfortunately he was even dumber than his brother and the King had his men burn him alive and blame it on the dragon.
There was really only way to create an even more difficult test, one that would ensure that no idiot could ever complete it. He would send his daughter to the darkness outside the demon King's lair.
When the princess finally arrives the demon king whispers one thing in the princess's ear after the king leaves "Your father is going to be so upset when he finds out lloyd has another brother"
- sorry for poor formatting typed on mobile | I am ancient, some say primordial and worship me as a god, the truth is a lot less grandiose. I was the first man born by the despicable will of the creator and cursed with love, for love I cared, protected, supported, grieved, coveted and killed... Killed so many.
With each kill I obtained power the more powerful I became the more foul I ended, my body withered with the necromantic energies I held, the souls of my victims carried my powers to greater heights. But my heart remained alive, cursed by love it was unable to wither and so my pain grew greater every day and I had many of those.
And then it happened my powers tore the gates of the White City the throne of the blighted creator, my army ripped the defenders leaving the city in ruins, stained with blood and death. The cowardly creator never even showed his visa get. I stood over the well of Souls, unending power to draw upon gave me the power to unleash a spell to re-write reality and I brought her back, not like my many creations she was alive once more, she had a second chance.
However I was not worthy of her, my hands were stained with death, my body withered and deformed and my soul weary and weak. I could not die but I was exhausted and drained, and so I went to our old hut in that nameless village, I had my army dig and ordered while I slept to create a city... A black city to mock the hated creator.
I sleep for far too long and awoke to the vibrant pulses of life, to the closeness of souls, most of them wicked and corrupted not as twisted as mine but on the right direction, and among them one that shone with a Blinding and familiar purity. They noticed my awakening as the Necromantic energies unfolded and lit the Black City awakening it's slumbering guardians, my army went to receive them.
The ebony gates of the Black City opened slowly and ominously I felt the wicked souls try to escape, with practiced cruelty I ordered my wailers and lurkers to bring them to me alive, they darted as fast as ever, I focused my atention on the last soul... So docile, I was intrigued and sent a Bone Goliath to carry this soul to me unharmed, it did not resist.
The wicked souls I set on clever torture devices designed to inflict the greatest amount of suffering, in my experience it makes for better soldiers and I wanted another corrupted leviathan, the creator was still free... My thoughs are interrupted by the entrance of the Bone Goliath gently carrying... Imposible!
She was in front of me again as beautiful and pure as ever, and my heart beat once, I felt a warmth emanating from it that I was quick to kill with a frost spell, after my initial shock I realized the obvious, it was not her, I could tell because even if centuries had passed I could tell her nose was slightly different, the freckles on her face were in the wrong spots and her eyes were not the color of the fire.
It took me long to recover, a lust to rip the soul out of her flared up in me, but my heart beat again and for the first time in centuries I was uncertain... | 2017-10-06T09:57:56 | 2017-10-06T06:34:52 | 43 | 20 |
[WP] Earth is about to update to version 2.0.18! Write a change log for this new version. | • Fixed bug where NPCs kept Christmas decorations up all year
• Fixed bug where dead NPCs don’t stay dead
• Removed Bigfoot
• Fixed bug causing Déjà vu
• Fixed bug causing socks to disappear from the dryer
• Fixed bug causing life from other planets to spawn in the ocean
• Removed Atlantis
• Balanced Street Performers
• Adjusted cats
• Adjusted dogs
• Adjusted weather
• Adjusted Human Race
• Adjusted Cthulhu
• Balanced chimps
• Balanced Kangaroos
• Removed pigeons
• Balanced Werewolves
• Balanced couch cushions and television remotes
• Fixed bug causing centipedes to spawn with abnormally long legs
• Fixed bug causing spiders to spawn much larger than normal
• Fixed bug causing moths to spawn with spider-like limbs
• Adjusted cicada cries
• Balanced cars, added support for self driving cars
• Added support for space event
• Added support for long distance space travel
• Patched David Bowie back in
| Donald Trump farted softly in his sleep. Melania sat bolt upright in bed, lifting an eyebrow and scowling sharply. She threw away her covers and slid off the silk bedsheets. She sashayed towards the Presidential Bathroom, iPhone in hand. She clicked the door closed and pressed the lock button.
As your noble omniscient narrator loitered politely outside the bathroom, he heard sounds from inside the bathroom: first a snort of disgust, and then the sound of the toilet seat being put down. There was a third noise (glossed over) followed by a flushing noise, which was interrupted by a shriek.
Melania stared at her iPhone, knees shaking.
>Greetings Earth User,
>Silicon Valley is proud to announce the arrival of Earth version 2.0.18!
>We have fixed numerous bugs of 2.0.16 and 2.0.17, including the Trump presidency, systemic racism, sexual harassment, and Disney’s purchase of the Star Wars franchise.
>We have also added new features, including the highly anticipated continent of Atlantis. The mermaid inhabitants of the sunken continent come complete with their own culture, cuisine, and casinos. Bring the whole family!
“What is this?” Melania said to no one in particular. She tried to exit the message. Impossible. The only option was to tap ‘accept’.
“I have been computer-hacked!” she said, breathlessly. She thought about turning in her phone to the White House Head of Digital Security, but it could take *hours* to get it back. She wanted to check Instagram. It would be swimsuit season soon.
She clicked ‘Accept’. Her whole world immediately plunged underwater. Walls of foamy seawater flooded the room, coming up from the sink drain, the heat vents, and the cracks in the floorboards. She was suspended underwater, floating in abject terror. Her hair splayed out in fine silky strands and her slippers floated into the bedroom. She swam after them, bubbles streaming from her mouth.
On the bed, Trump was a great orange blob—a humanoid goldfish with gills on his face. He slept peacefully, smacking his goldfish lips.
“Hrblblrlblr!” Melania screamed.
But he could not hear her. The owner of the Atlantis Trump Tower & Casino slept soundly, unaware that he had once been President of the United States.
A fart bubble formed under the blankets and crawled its way to the edge, flubbing upward towards the ceiling. Melania flailed her flippers with impotent rage.
And everyone else lived happily ever after.
----
subscribe to /r/trrh for more!
| 2017-12-22T22:06:46 | 2017-12-22T21:53:05 | 96 | 14 |
[WP] A super hero fights evil by wiping memories of both the villian and everyone who knew of them so that they can be reintroduced into society safely. Today, as you were combing through old newspapers, you discover that you were once the world's most powerful supervillain. | After work I head to the library, looking for the front page when my wife and I got married. They are annoyingly muddled but I persevere. As I flick through I notice names coming up over and over, wonderful heroes and awful villains, their heroics thrill me and their crimes amaze me and I wonder why I never really paid attention before.
Two hours in I realize i have been looking for more stories about the worst villain instead of my wedding, I can't help myself. I'm too curious to know what possesses a man to do these things, what makes him laugh his way through them with a wide smile. I rarely laugh or smile, I'm known for my serious demeanor.
A photo catches my eye, half blurry, taken by a terrified bystander in front of a terrific explosion, a man and a headline, a familiar face stares at me, caught in a rictus grin and the headline screams at me "JOKER STRIKES
AGAIN!"
I feel myself smiling, i hear laughter, it is my own.
I have work to do, everything has been so ...boring lately.
| Another day in hell. Another day like each in the past 34 years. Getting up, heading to work, waiting for my boss to leave to play some Grand Theft Auto, going home and spending my last free hours in Just Cause.
"Still playing those childish games at your age?" isn't rare.
Well, I don't really care. There's just this certain... thing about destruction that I can't find the right words for. Something I just can't explain using just words. A feeling deep embeded in my soul. Something I would never get rid of even when seeing death with my very own eyes.
Sadly I can't make it reality. Humankind rejects destruction for what they call progression. I can't stand it. Where's the point in living that life?
"So? what are YOU gonna change? Exactly. Nothing" he said. It's the only thing I remember from that day. He told me I happened to be in a car accident. Hit my head; got a scar across my left eye; all that stuff. To summarize: I lost my memory.
I don't remember my childhood, my parents, not even my name. In that case I thought why not name yourself James Light. Yeah that James Light. The one, who singlehandedly brought chaos and destruction to the states. The person I adored each and every day. Born a genious, rising from absolutely nothing to the person everyone feared the most. He's what you could call perfection.
To bad everyone rejected my name. Now they call me Steve May. I hate it.
Well, I should get going. My shift is over and no way in hell am I spending more time here than I absolutely need to. At least the roads are almost empty. While I would complain that I feel watched, it's been like that every day so I guess it's just me being paranoid.
I fall to the ground
"S-s-sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going", she stumbled.
I looked at the paper she dropped.
**18 Nov. 2009 - James Light reveals face!**
Why'd anyone use a paper these days? You've got the Internet, don't you?
"I guess nothing happen-", I try to say before recoiling.
They come running from every possible place. Try to hide it but it's too late. I always wondered why something broke down the moment I looked at his face. They've been watching.
Now I remember.
"Should we start the last Phase, James?", she asked smiling.
"We're 19 seconds ahead. Too bad that I expected this", I said with a grin.
| 2017-12-30T08:32:50 | 2017-12-30T08:03:06 | 55 | 29 |
[WP] Democracy no longer exists. Each four years, there is an exam that everyone can take in which the applicant who gets the highest grade gets to rule the country for the next term. | CONGRATULATIONS,
YOU ARE NOW THE RULER OF AMERICA!!! PLEASE PROCEED TO 1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW, Washington, DC 20500, USA, FOR THE COMMENSURATE AND DUTY PROCEEDINGS. PLEASE NOTE, SHOULD YOU NOT APPEAR WITHIN 48 HOURS OF THE CEREMONY, YOU WILL BE HELD LIABLE FOR LETTING DOWN YOUR COUNTRY
YOURS SINCERELY,
HAL LTD
*It start out as a prank* I had no knowledge of governance, of politics or mostly anything of depth in general. I was just an average guy who took the country examinations on a dare. After all, it was *free*, and all you needed to do was submit your name and take the test online.
All I did was answer Yes to every question. How the heck did I win?
Then it dawned on me, the presidents ruled by name. But the system was the one in charge. | "This is it Jimmy" my mother reminded me, as we walked the streets to the exam center. I didn't need her reminder. The constant studying of politics, history, and war thoery has been my reminder. "Are you listening to me Jimmy? Answer the question! We need this."
"Sorry Mom. I gues the nerves are getting to me. Can you ask me again?" It wasn't the nerves. It wasn't anything. This may be my moms plan for our lives but it isn't mine.
"Which of the great powers helped form the new Great America?"
"That's easy mom - Noth Korea." Though this isn't what I want. I have to do my best for my mother. She has sacrificed so much for me. She's worked multiple jobs and gone hungry before so I can eat. I have to pay her back. I have to get the highest grade on the Ruler Exam so I can take care of my mother.
"Alright Jimmy, we're here. I have to wait out here. Remember we need this. I love you sweetie."
"I love you too mom." With that I left me mom and walked into the exam center. The exam was being held in our community center, which has a huge main room. In this room was row after row of desk with dividers so no one could see who was next to them. All of the lights were on and very bright compared to the setting sun outside. I felt nearly blinded when I walked it.
I got into the queue to registered and had to wait. And wait. And wait. Finally it was my turn to register.
"What's your name and address?" the old expressionless lady behind the desk asked me.
"My name is Jimoethy Johnerson. My address is 213 Beacon St 1R Boston MA."
"Okay son. Follow this lady she will take you to your desk."
"Thank you." I followed the lady. Who was actually my old high school counselor. I hated that lady. She use to ridiculed my mother for having me take the Ruler Exam. She would say that the exam wasn't designed for poor shits like us to pass. That I'd never do it. I may not want to be the ruler. But it be amazing to throw that in her face.
I sat down at the desk and took a deep breath before reading the first question. Let's do this for mom I remind myself.
| 2018-01-07T10:55:52 | 2018-01-07T10:37:28 | 48 | 21 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "We... don't actually know what you did."
The burly red demon looked at a few papers. He squinted through his round glasses for a minute before sliding them off and slipping them into the chest pocket of his tight white collared t-shirt.
"What do you mean 'you don't know'? You just said I have to spend 186,292 years down here! The guy in front of me only got 145! What in the hell did I *do?!*"
"Sorry, I'm going to have to call upper management," the demon replied with an honest shrug.
He spent 15 minutes on his iPhone arguing with his manager. The line was being held up, so a supervisor opened a new line. The girl behind me got 188 years. The creepy dude behind her, 400. A gangbanger, determined to live up to his stereotype, got 1,202 years for shooting up a barbershop. He cried.
I looked back and saw the lines were *long*. There were fifteen lanes open that I could see, and the demons all looked flustered and rushed. The supervisor directed more lanes to open, as demons from other departments complained about being put on counter duty. One of them even argued and threw a fit, scorching the broom he was holding and throwing it into the sea of dead people in line. The supervisor remained calm, literally fired him (like, set him on fire), and the people just ignored the flaming broom.
"Sir, the Regional manager would like a word with you," the apologetic demon in the collared white shirt said, handing me the phone.
"Who am I speaking to?" I asked.
"MY NAME IS RASTLEBUB THE DEMENTED," a grave, fire-laced voice said. The connection was nice and crisp. I commented on it, to which he quickly replied "OH YES, GOOGLE FIBER JUST ROLLED OUT THEIR BASIC PACKAGE DOWN HERE, SOUNDS LIKE A DREAM FUCKED A COCONUT."
Rastlebub the Demented cackled like he had made a hilarious joke. I looked to the Demon in the collared shirt. He shrugged again and told me with his hands to just roll with it. I gave a courtesy laugh.
When the Demented was done cackling, he took down my information and apologized for any mix-ups. It wasn't without precedent though. "THERE WERE ACTUALLY TWO FIDEL CASTROS, AND THEY DIED ON THE SAME DAY. THAT WAS CONFUSING MESS OF PAPERWORK TO SET STRAIGHT," the Demented said. "ALMOST FORCED THIS POOR GROCER TO HANG AROUND HERE FOR 6,000 YEARS."
"What could I have possibly done to earn 186K?" I asked.
"SO YOU SAY YOU ARE A PARTICLE PHYSICIST?" he asked, as I overheard him tapping keys on the other end.
"Yes?" I replied. "I was at the tail end of earning my PHD. So close to being called 'Doctor'. I would have made so many Doctor Who jokes."
"YES, YES. I LIKED DAVID TENNANT. WONDERFUL MAN. I WENT TO A CON ONCE AND HE SIGNED A PHOTO OF US TOGETHER WITH A COCONUT. MY WIFE SAYS CAPALDI WAS BETTER. BLASPHEMER," Rastlebub said. "BUT BACK TO THE ISSUE. DO YOU RECALL HOW YOU DIED?"
"Uhh, no. Now that I think about it. I was in my office sipping coffee, then I was here," I said. I leaned-sat on the desk, and the collared shirt demon folded his arms and gave me a look. I immediately stood straight up and mouthed a silent "sorry" to him for disrespecting his desk. Rastlebub said something about how a number of people today were just as confused. Normally, he said, people remember the specifics of how they died. Knife to the heart, gunshot wound, heart attack, choking on a cheese sandwich, falling in the bathroom, whatever-- people could remember it. Not today. No one could remember doing anything that would get them killed. It was as if they all died for no reason.
After a half-hour of going back and forth examining the details, the Demented asked me one more question. Thankfully it didn't involve coconuts.
"WHAT WERE YOU WORKING ON?"
I told him it was complicated, so I gave him the short version.
"I was trying to utilize a ten-point, four-dimensional containment field to trap neutrinos in a compact, accelerated "loop" in order to use them as fuel in a particle engine that, in theory, could provide limitless energy."
"UH HUH," Rastlebub said, not really understanding, but understanding enough. "WELL I THINK I UNDERSTAND WHY WE'RE SO BUSY TODAY, AND WHY YOU ARE MARKED AT 186,292 YEARS."
"What? No. My particle engine couldn't possibly--"
"YOU LEFT IT ON OVERNIGHT, DIDN'T YOU?"
"Of course not! I always.... No, wait, I'm sure I did. Last night I switched it off, got my coat- no, it was the other way around, I got my coat, *then* shut it off. No, no. Wait. I think--"
Rastlebub audibly sighed.
"YOU LEVELED HALF OF EUROPE."
I dropped the phone to my side, dumbstruck. The nice, flustered demon in the collared shirt asked if I was okay. My eyes wandered to the line. All those people. My work killed them. My heart sunk. Slowly, I brought the phone back up to my ear.
"I guess maybe I should have used an eleven-point containment field, huh?" I muttered.
Edit: Thank you kindly for the gold, stranger! It means a lot that you felt my writing was good enough to earn it. | Mark leaned onto the counter trying to get a better look at the demon's computer screen. "It's gotta be wrong! I didn't do anything that bad!"
The demon pushed her glasses up her nose. "It's never wrong. That's the number it figured out. That's the time you'll spend in hell. Next please!" She stamped a document.
Mark put his arms straight out. "No. I'm not done!"
"Come on buddy, some of us don't have to spend all eternity here.", blurted another soul in line. The demoness sneered up at him.
"I suppose I can get a technician to look at it. But it won't do you any good. It's never wrong." The demon thumbed through a pile of documents labeled "Time Severed". "Keezazakul, this gentleman would like a technician to verify the results of his sentence. Can you get someone from AkashikSoft over here to tell him what we already know?"
Instantly, a small blue demon appeared in a puff of smoke. The stench was terrible, and the souls in line began coughing and gagging. Mark's eyes began to water. He plugged his nose.
"Got a service request. What seems to be the issue?" The small blue demon scanned his clipboard.
The demoness at the desk gestured towards Mark. "This gentleman thinks his sentence calculation is incorrect and would like you to verify it."
Mark stood up straight and sputtered, "If it's not too much trouble, sir. It's just I didn't..."
The small blue demon leaned into the computer and started typing at an incredible velocity. "The software is never wrong, sir. The calculations performed are as infalible as, well, as Go...oh." He stopped talking and stared intently at the screen. "What's this?"
Mark leaned to see what the demon was looking at. His heart leaped with hope. "What is it? Did you find something?"
The demon frowned and tilted the monitor out of Mark's view. "Hmmmm. This isn't right. This isn't right at all."
Mark jumped and pointed at the demoness. "Hah! I told you!" She sneered and rolled her eyes to the computer. The little blue demon continued his analyzation of the software, while adding the occasional, "My my my", or "This can't be right at all." Finally, after what seemed like hours, to Mark at least, the blue demon stepped away from the computer, folded his arms and confidently declared, "It's screwed."
"Come again?", the demoness said.
"Yeah. There's some errant code in there that is totally messing with the counts. I don't know if some bad code got merged in or what, but we've gotta roll back."
Mark smiled and looked back and forth from the demoness to his new hero, the blue demon technician. "Yeah! Do that! Rollback!"
The demoness rolled her eyes. "How long will that take?"
Mark started to do a little dance.
"I dunno. We gotta get it signed off, the new code needs to be peer reviewed. A whole bunch of things have to happen first. We're looking at...6..maybe 7 years."
Mark stopped dancing. "Wait. Did you say years?"
"Hell years. Not Earth years." The blue demon tapped on a device that looked surprisingly like an iPhone.
"How long is that?", Mark asked.
"Approximately 1.57 Earth years. Except every 6th year. Then you add an additional 2 thirds." The blue demon added as he continued to text.
Mark's face contorted. "What? So what year are we on? How long is this gonna take? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
The demoness slapped a form and a pen onto the counter in front of Mark. "You'll need to make an official declaration of disagreement. Please fill out this form and return it to me when you're done. Please make sure to fill out both sides."
Mark reluctantly grabbed the pen and the form and started scanning over it. "Known allergies? What does that have to do with..."
The demoness interrupted him. "Next! Please, sir. You may take a seat over there."
Mark slowly walked across the room and found his way to a chair. "When was the last time you ate at Golden Corral?" He shook his head and attempted to scribble in the answer. The pen made one solid line and then sputtered out. "Goddamn it." Mark scribbled hard on the top of the page until ink started flowing again. "How many times have you argued with authority figures? Please be accurate to within a factor of 1. What?"
Mark started to write. "Neve" The pen burst. Ink was suddenly everywhere. "Oh! Come on!" Mark looked at his hands which were now covered in ink. The document was covered in ink. Everything within a short radius of Mark was now covered in ink.
"Excuse me." Mark said in the direction of the demoness. "Excuse me!" He said it louder. "Um, your pen exploded on me."
The demoness paused for a moment and looked at him over the top of her glasses. "Welcome to Hell, sir."
The small blue demon suddenly looked up from his texting. "Hold up! We don't have to redeploy. Gazul says all we have to do is restart the system and that should fix it."
"Oh thank God!" Mark sighed. Around the room, thirty or so demons hissed. He shrank into his chair.
"Ok. That should do it." The blue demon clicked on a few keys and then motioned to the demoness. "You'll need to log in again. I don't have your credentials."
The demoness clicked away at some keys and then pointed to Mark. "Sir, please come here. The system has been fixed."
"Hey! I was next!" the woman at the front of the line blurted.
"Shut-up!" the demoness yelled. She stretched a smile across her toothy face and turned towards Mark. "Now, let's see."
Mark rubbed his neck in nervousness. "I swear I wasn't that bad a of a person. I'm not even sure why I'm in Hell. I really thought that..."
"Do you want your corrected results, or not?" The demoness sneered.
"Uh. Yes. Uh. Yes please. Mam." Mark whispered to himself, "Please be less than five. Please be less than five."
"It's four..."
"YES!" Mark shot his hands up and fell to his knees. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
"Hundred thousand, nine-hundred and seventy-six years. Hell years, of course."
Marks arms fell to his sides. His face lost all expression. "But...how?"
"Welcome to Hell, sir! NEXT!"
| 2018-09-26T07:49:48 | 2018-09-26T07:30:32 | 2,794 | 68 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | I just stood there in shock. What could I have done, I thought to myself. I worked for a living, payed my taxes, kept to myself. I didn't do great things for anyone but I didn't really hurt anyone. Well, there was that one habit I had but surely that wasn't on par with murder or anything.
"What could I have possibly done to get me such a long sentence?!" I asked Peter.
Peter said "I don't really get it either, let me go though your records."
Peter starts looking through the book of my life and stop midway through and blurts out "Oh yes. That. That would do it. That would do it for sure."
"What was it?!" I demanded.
Peter said "Despite there being a perfectly functioning toilet, you were the guy that would shit on the floor of the bathroom at McDonald's." | One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place.
​
"That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "*Appeal of Sentence*" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: **Sentence = 186,292 years.** There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal.
​
"*Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X,*" said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly.
​
"This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!"
***186,283***
"*To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there."* She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"
***186,284***
"*No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat,"* I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "*And wait to be called upon."*
"GodDAMNit."
***186,285*** | 2018-09-26T09:05:26 | 2018-09-26T07:48:10 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "186,292 years? Surely, you must be mistaken. I never committed any of the mortal sins. I know I'm not perfect, but there's no way I've done anything to deserve such a ridiculous sentence."
"No, I am not mistaken. You mentioned the mortal sins, but we usually don't come down too hard on people who commit those. In fact, Mr. Turner over here is a convicted rapist, but we let him out after 2 months because he said sorry \*very\* convincingly. You're an American, so I'm sure that doesn't surprise you. What you have done is far, far worse than anything like that."
"Okay let's hear it then. What exactly are the charges leveled against me?"
"You put pineapple on your pizza"
​ | One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place.
​
"That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "*Appeal of Sentence*" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: **Sentence = 186,292 years.** There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal.
​
"*Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X,*" said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly.
​
"This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!"
***186,283***
"*To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there."* She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"
***186,284***
"*No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat,"* I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "*And wait to be called upon."*
"GodDAMNit."
***186,285*** | 2018-09-26T10:23:50 | 2018-09-26T07:48:10 | 14 | 10 |
[WP]After listening to radio signals from earth alien species have concluded that the human race is a galactic infant. Crying out towards the heavens, polluting its world and wallowing in its own filth. Out of concern a stern, motherly species takes it upon itself to Nanny the human race. | Before she opened the channel, the Secretary General of the UN took a moment to collect herself. Around her, the command and diplomatic staff of a dozen nations waited nervously. She took a moment to look up, made eye contact with one of her subordinates. She took a deep breath.
She gestured the terminal to activate.
GREETINGS HUMAN, It said.
The wormhole had opened up nearby Pluto. From it had come a radio signal, surprisingly mundane in comparison to the outlandish ideas some physicists had had about how aliens might communicate. Of course it became stranger in turns; starships that looked more like nebulae or trinary star systems, constellations of living plasma, had come through the wormhole and wreathed themselves around Earth. At night, it resembled a massive, glittering ring, a little like a rainbow road into the stars from the perspective of one of the Humans on the earth.
Somewhere up in that luminescent halo, something that might have resembled an antenna eons ago was talking back. Not through the terminal - the terminal the Secretary General was using just sent a radio signal into the sentient cloud of plasma orbiting Earth. When the cloud spoke, it resonated in the heads of everyone it chose to spoke to. It felt like talking to God, if God's voice was a rhythmic hammer tapping on your forehead.
The Secretary General took a deep breath. "Our greetings to you," she said. "It is our pleasure and our honor to finally meet fellow sentient beings who share our cosmos with us."
AWWWWW, said the plasma, ARE YOU NOT JUST THE MOST ADORABLE PRE-FTL SOPHONT IN THE WHOLE GALAXY.
Next to her, the Vice President of the US startled, and the leaned over to stare at the terminal with confusion on his face. The Secretary General hesitated.
"Er--"
YES YOU ARE. YES YOU ARE.
"We - uhm, we thank you for the--"
YES YOU ARE.
The Secretary General took a breath. This had to get back on track. She shifted gears to some more tangible platitudes.
"We look forward to exploring our cosmos with you," she said.
AGREED. NEXT CENTURY, IF YOU ARE GOOD, WE WILL TRANSIT YOUR SOLAR SYSTEM TO SEE WHAT YOU CALL THE PILLARS OF CREATION. WOULD YOU LIKE THAT?
She'd chalked it up to some sort of translation error at first, but there was definitely a patronizing tone here.
"We would be proud to call you friends," she tried. "We intend to explore our own solar system first--"
NEGATIVE. YOU MAY NOT TRAVEL TO MARS UNTIL YOU HAVE CLEANED YOUR WORLD.
"But..." the Secretary General collected herself. "This is an outrageous demand of us! We have the right to freedom of movement throughout our solar system! The right to--"
THE AMAZON IS A MESS, YOUNG SOPHONT. YOU MUST CLEAN IT UP FIRST BEFORE YOU PLAY IN THE SAND ON MARS.
"I--"
AND NO MORE PALM OIL. IS THAT CLEAR? DO YOU THINK YOUR WORLD IS MADE OF PALM OIL?
"Wh--"
IT IS NOT. | "Order, Order!"
Arch Galactic Leader Xernon called over the crowds again and again. His gavel banged heedlessly as the bourgeois below him fought and whispered and snarled and sneered. He was about to have enough of this, this foolish war mongering. He had known, of course, that this would be the result after the galactic postings. He had just hoped it wouldn't. Earth was so young to be fought over so childishly.
​
"ORDER!"He screamed over them. "I demand order, or, by every yellow sun you conniving little bastards twist around, trade will be cut off henceforth from every region and you can think about what you've done."
​
This was satisfactory to quell the noise level down to very manageable whispers accented by narrowed eyes.
​
"I'm sure you have all seen the bulletin about Planet ZZ-1109. Though you all apparently missed the Gungeon Asteroid Belt Cleanup posted last week," he grumbled in his chair, glancing over at the Hadrien Community that was looking unusually meek and rather like they wish they were not there.
"The purpose of this gathering, however, is not to discuss the failings of community unity, and it is not to debate the Galactic Senate Stance neither. Planet ZZ-1109, or "Earth" is not to be answered."
​
Whatever peace had been attained it was lost almost assuredly forever. Xernon sat back as he watched the senate almost collapse in on itself as each delegation attempted to attract his attention with the same argument that they shushed the other delegations for. His vacation was set for next week. He simply needed to hold out till then and he could rest his tired legs on the crystal beaches of Alexia, a spot reserved with quite a bit of money for absolute privacy. He closed his four eyes and dreamed of a relaxing sunset, Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster in hand, and no irritating meetings and political dictations. Not even the cries of a Long Hird Roner getting squished underneath the feet of a Chazer could break his day dream. He might have slipped away completely if a wad of paper hadn't bounced off his furry antennae protruding form the top of his head. The dream was broken completely as all four eyes slid open in rage and the offended antennae began to vibrate and glow with rage.
​
The hall fell silent as he stood up slowly, his entire being vibrating with more malice than a genocide.
Lips brushing against the microphone, he said slowly and clearly, "Now listen hear, you half-wits, before I lose my temper and we're all blasted away to smithereens and the worlds fall to darkness and the suns fade, and time as we know it unravels once and for all. "
A faint cough was heard from the front followed by the short screech from the offending party as they were stuffed promptly under the desk.
​
Xernon continued, drawing himself up to his full height to loom over the seats.
"Earth is young, pure, innocent, untainted. She has not yet been touched, as they rest of us were, by a foreign presence, and thus has grown up in a way that we have not: completely on her own. She has been allowed to flourish only as she understands it, only as her dominant occupants, "humans" as they call themselves" have thought it. And she has grown enough to cry out to the stars, seeking answers. But she will get none," he said, jabbing a finger to the air on the last five words.
​
"She will not be harvested, nor interacted with, by Galactic Law. This is not a discussion. It is a decree. For those who have monitored it thus far, we will continue to allow it until a special council selected views it as infringement. Is that quite clear?"
​
Several heads nodded. The few grumblings emanated were suppressed by scorching looks from the Arch Galactic Leader.
"Now that we're clear, the order is dismissed," he finished, shuffling his papers before stepping from his seat. "Be good."
​
Perhaps his vacation would start a few days early.
​
​
​ | 2018-11-20T22:05:59 | 2018-11-20T13:34:35 | 68 | 27 |
[WP] God plays chess with Death every year to determine if everyone dies on earth. God only lost once in the past and went undefeated in all future games. However the year is 2019 and death notices that God is attempting to lose on purpose. | My turn. Easy, he left his knight there to die. Huh, he's never done that before.
His turn. He moves his Bishop, next to my pawn to die.
"What are you doing?" I shoot him a glare and move my piece.
"What do you mean?" He answered, leading his rook to suicide.
I realise. "Hey, you're trying to lose! Stop! Why would you want to kill everything on your Earth?" I kill another piece of his.
"Eh, It's getting boring". He opened his king.
I'm confused, but also, excited. *So many souls, but why?* I move my queen forward.
*Checkmate*
"Yes! Yes! Finally! Give me permission to kill now, please, ALL of Earth!"
God starts to chuckle. The chuckle became a laugh. It shakes the room. The chess pieces fall over.
"What? Why are you laughing?"
His laugh fades. He gets up from his seat and prepares to leave.
"What? What happened?"
He turns to me, his smile bigger than I've ever seen in millions of years. "You didn't get the memo? There's no more life on Earth, they're all on Mars now."
-------------------------------------------0
I'm not a writer, as you could probably tell. Feedback would be nice, I'm trying to do these as much as I can, though I know I'm not a good writer.
Edit: Wow 200 upvotes. Thanks for Reading! | The 4 move check-mate, really? What is this crap?
Death looked at the chess board projected before him. It was New year's eve the one time of the year that he was allowed into heaven, they were playing their annual humanity's existence He was looking at god, unable to read his expression.
We've been playing for like 200 thousand years, this isn't the 8th grade school chess club where kids will fall for that crap. If we had played on earth both of us would have been able to beat a 100 Magnus Carlsens.
True I haven't beaten him since the founding of humanity, we betting on whether neanderthals or homo-sapiens would survive better in on earth, over time we grew bored of waiting for the result so we just played a chess game to settle it. I won that 1st game, and hit them with an mini ice age, humanity was pretty much about to die out right then and there. But god ended the ice age early, and demanded a rematch.
Humanity survived but just barely, and over these last few millennia we've been playing chess to see whether or not I get to cause another ice age and wipe out humanity again.
God then moved his queen in an opportune spot for death to take it by merely sacrificing his pawn. It was clear now at this point that he was intentionally throwing the game.
"What the hell are you doing?" Death asked.
"Hmm?"
"Why are you letting me win?"
"I'm not. I have a strategy, I'll win like I usually do."
"If I take this queen right now for just a pawn, you know for a fact that unless I start throwing the game there's no chance you'll win. You might have more, but all of our games have been close."
"Don't worry about it just play!" God seemed slightly frustrated I've never seen him like that before.
"I'm not playing until you tell me what's going on, if you don't tell me what's going on I won't play with you ever again."
God sighed and put his hand on his forehead.
"Look, I kinda want you to cause another ice age."
"WHAT WHY?"
"Because Humans are way more stupid than I intended. Global Climate change is going to make the Earth uninhabitable in a few years. Whether or not you win won't matter humanity will go extinct soon anyway."
"So better that they die sooner rather then later?"
"No, I still want them to SURVIVE. They're my creations after all but if the Earth gets any warmer it won't be inhabitable for at least another 2 million years. If you cool things off right now with another ice age some humans might survive."
Death considered everything he just heard, then moved his pawn and took god's undefended queen.
"If you can beat me on THIS chess board, I'll cause another ice age for you."
God looked down at the board and his face scrunched up in irritation. Then said.
"Me dammit." | 2018-12-28T21:42:37 | 2018-12-28T21:30:19 | 234 | 89 |
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream. | The Galactic Council was interrupted by a shriek. Well, scream would be a better term. And interrupted would be an understatement. It would be more appropriate to compare this to a racing craft hitting an invisible wall, which cannot be moved. Crushed in milliseconds. As far as deaths go, not the worst. In theory, at least. Yet the sudden wails of anguish are certainly far from pleasant. It's similar to the discordant sounds of nails on a chalkboard, just louder and with even more nails on chalkboards in the background, doing as much as possible to not sound pleasant. Frankly, waterboarding would seem like orgasmic bliss in comparison. The Xe'Natalean shudders and shakes after it's done screaming. It's something none of the others had seen before, which concerned them, to put it mildly. Slowly and shakily, it points to the newest members. The humans.
Naturally, it had to be them. The Council had been at their wits end just trying to deal with them. Never, in any of the history of all the species, had anything been this aggravating. Well, besides the Xe'Natalean's shriek, but that's too recent. What made dealing with them difficult was their sheer stubbornness and ignorance. When the Council first interacted with them, the humans had a primative hybrid propulsion system, using combustion to get up to speed, and an ion engine to keep the craft going. They had primative forms of communication, mostly using low power electromagnetic waves. They didn't even have proper translators, despite having too many separate languages for one human to speak! And yet, despite these technological and temperamental shortcomings, they had nuclear armaments comparable to theirs, in some aspects even exceeding the Council's. Even then, they weren't the best the humans had, or so they claimed. The Council would later discover it was not merely a claim.
The humans were technologically illiterate by the Council's standards, yet had superior weaponry. This absolutely baffled the Council, and despite the lacking defenses on the human ship, they wished to stay well away from them. Preferably an entire galaxy. The best move for the Council was to make peace with the humans, and potentially join them into the Council's ranks. After a few meetings, the humans had been initiated as members of the Galactic Council. And of course, the first meeting of the Council afterwards had to be abnormal.
The Xe'Nataleans hadn't been present during the hearings for the humans' membership. If they had, the current disruption would have been avoided. Evidently, the humans' minds had overwhelmed the poor mind reader, an odd combination of rapidly changing imagery mixed with grounded imagery. At times violent, and at others sexual. It seems that unlike the other members, the humans have little mental filtering. All the thoughts they have are open, even the subconscious ones. This gives the humans a unique advantage in the Council. With such an open, unfiltered mind, the humans cannot have their minds read without overwhelming the reader. Potentially, this could work in the Council's advantage in the future. | A Galactic Council meeting was about to be held in a few minutes, the first one humanity has ever attended since we first became a space faring species.
I was sent as one of humanity's representatives among 4 others to attend.
We stand around, talking to the other species, here and there, while waiting for the meeting to start, as a bell rings every representative of the different species sat down in their assigned seats, aside from the casual squabble between a few representatives, everything went smoothly.
As the talks about the various alliances was starting a representative from the Kashta stood up to start the proceedings, we call these guys dick aliens, due to the fact that the shape of their heads resemble that of a human penis, me and my companion joke about it while listening to what they're saying.
The Kashta were a species that were extreme religous zealots , they had theirs own religion similar to that of Christianity, except they extremely strict toward anything sexual/erotic,towards the point that you can get arrested for having erotic thought about a female you were not married to, or atleast that was what I read in the memo they gave us.
A few minutes pass and everything seems to be fine, up until I hear a loud scream a few meters away from us, I look towards the direction where we heard the scream come from.
It was from a female Kashta, it seems something was bothering her, I approached her to ask what was wrong,after she took notice of me she gave me a look of disgust,Obviously at that point everyone in the room were looking at us, I was kinda confused about why she was giving me that look, then a male Kashta approached me, looking at me like I murdered someone.
"So, uhh.. What's wrong? " I say hesitantly.
"YOU HEATHENS, HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO MY WIFE!" He shouts.
"W-what? I didn't do anything to her" I say,terribly confused, I make sure I keep my composure as I didn't want to escalate this any further
"They were insulting you honey, calling you a Human Penis" The female Kashta says.
"You were calling me a what now!?“He says with an extremely pissed of tone.
"No, we never said anything of the sorts" I claim.
"No, I clearly heard you say to your companion that my husband's head looked like a human penis" she says.
"wh-what, like I said earlier I never said anything like that" I say
"N-no, you were clearly thinking it"
"What do you mean thinking it?" I ask.
"I can hear your thoughts, you were ridiculing my husband, with those dirty thoughts of yours"
"Wait a minute, you guys can read minds?" I ask, we were never informed that the Kashta can read minds.
"Yes," she says.
I ask her a few more questions along with her husband,Things start to calm down the more we talk,afterwards I apologize, It seems the male Kashta didn't want to cause more of a scene. So he let bygones be bygones, but it seems he was still pretty pissed off about what happened.
I return back to my seat and the meeting continued and ended without any other incidents like the one from earlier.
Before leaving, the male Kashta approached me.
"I'm very sorry for what happened earlier, I'll make sure it never happens again."I say.
" Oh Okay, I'm also very sorry for my wife's reaction. She was raised in a very strict family so she tends to overreact about things like this"he says.
We talk for a bit more, he tells me that his name is Cashti, and also that he wasn't really a very religious person and that he was more open minded compared to his wife,he also told me that the reason he shouted was because he thought I did something to his wife and overreacted a bit himself.
I'm glad that we were able to clear up the misunderstanding, afterwards I go back home to earth, relived that I didn't ruin humanity's image toward the Kahsta.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Note: I'm sorry if the story fell apart midway, I ran out of ideas on how to continue it and kinda just wrote everything that came to mind.
Also, this was my first time submitting a prompt | 2019-09-29T23:02:12 | 2019-09-29T22:40:14 | 48 | 19 |
[WP] A person who looks exactly like you appears out of thin air in front of you. He starts explaining how he is you from a hellish other universe. As he starts to describe it, you realize its better than yours. | "No, you don't get it; the AMAZON RAINFOREST almost caught fire! It's the lungs of the earth! It would've been a disaster!"
"...almost?"
"Yeah, it was a real close call."
"...what about California?"
"...what do you mean?"
"Is California on fire?"
"...no."
"...Can you tell me who Jeffery Epstein is?"
"You mean the guy in prison who exposed all those pedophile rings?"
"What about the president? Who's the president of your America right now?"
"K-Keanu Reeves, why do you ask? What are you saying?"
"Okay, deep breaths...let's try an easy one. Historically, what happened to American slavery?"
"It was ended after a civil war, primarily due to the efforts of president Abraham Lincoln."
"Ok, ok...how did he die?"
"Peacefully in his bed."
"..." | Okay.
So, my name is Marigold Summers, and I'm 27 years old. Born on the 8th of June, 2055.
When Earth imploded, I was one of the lucky few whose names were drawn to survive. Sure, the survival aspect of it all was in definite question, but in all honesty, what sounds better to you? A: you stay and become obliterated into space dust along with everyone else. Or B: you hop into a space-time machine that may or may not obliterate you into space dust.
My choice is obvious, since I'm writing to you now. I'm pretty sure space dust can't write, but I guess I'll never know.
When I first saw my double - same name, same age, born in 1992 - I knew immediately something had gone terribly wrong. The machine, whatever its name was, was meant to replace our doubles with ourselves.
It was also meant to take us to an alternate world, a perfect world, in which the whole "imploding planet" thing didn't and would never happen. But as you can probably tell, that didn't work either. Or at least, they only got it half right.
So here I am, a futuristic masterpiece completely decked out with the best gear the science community of 2067 had to offer, on a backwards planet in 2019. The only perk to this whole schtick is that Mark, as I - she - he - whatever - calls himself, has an honest-to-god house with a *garden*, and doesn't seem to mind having a weirdo like me camping in his attic.
Oh, and The Omen doesn't exist, which is always a plus in my books.
But other than that, the politics are wrong, the language is wrong (I only barely managed cuz of my translating script), the people are wrong, the world itself is wrong, and... I could go on, but we don't have all day.
Well, the reason I'm writing this now is because I'm nervous. I have a "job interview" for some kind of monopolised trader's hub. Just wanted to 'let it all out' beforehand, as Mark's therapist says. Therapist... they don't even have EI. What kind of world doesn't have EI?
...Kedeistian Alliance Above All, and Holy Sons of Gritscheld, please have mercy. This world is Hell. | 2019-12-18T03:36:27 | 2019-12-18T03:05:38 | 587 | 134 |
[WP] The hero shows up at the villians doorstep one night, shivering, bleeding, and scared. There’s also a dazed look in their eyes- they were drugged. Looking up at the villian, swaying as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “didnt know where else to go..” and collapse into the villians arms. | He collapsed into me, and I felt my heart race. Why was he here? Who did this?
Well, first I needed to get him laid down somewhere.
I call, and imps form from the darkness of the room. "Help me." I whisper "Don't touch his blood."
As I say that, I feel a sharp sting of pain. A small drop of blood had grazed my fingers as I was readjusting my grip. It left a small waft of smoke as it ate at me essence. True to his name Richard- no, Iron Blood was able to resist any supernatural influence. It was an helpful trait in this city, especially for one who wished to fight off the darker elements here. Like me.
We got him moved to a nearby couch. The apartment was the cover for my base, and for once im glad to have spent the time and money to make it fully furnished.
I have an imp fetch a first aid kit and wash clothes as I put a blanket over him. He's still shivering, and when he stirs I start talking.
"What happened? Who did this? Was it the Ventarus again? They always were sore losers."
With a rattling breath he shakes his head. "No it... it was humans."
*what!?*
His hand reached out and latched onto my arm. I stifled a yelp at the sudden contact.
He stared right into my eyes. "Evermore. They're... they're hunting us. They have Decadian tech."
"From the missing envoy?" I ask.
He shrugs slightly. "Seems likely but I don't know. They call themselves the Grey Knights. You have to stop them."
I put my hand on his, taking it off my arm. "I will, Richard, I promise."
Oops.
His eyes widen a bit. "What?"
I flush red. "OkayImgonnagonowtellyoulaterbye!"
I sprint out the door and out into the street, before I have to answer for that statement.
After pausing for a bit I start heading to Garelleius' place. Another Decadian would be the best to ask about their tech, and maybe Marie can help me with this hole I just dug. | Her voice trailed off, as she fell into my arms. All of my poise and my cruel surrogate persona, fell away. I scooped her up and brought her inside my home.
On my living room sofa, she was unresponsive, her aura was fading. I tried to diagnose exactly what kind of hex or curse, but the level of power at which she had been stricken with... A sort of blood poison was involved. Someone went to a lot of trouble to bring someone as powerful as my former ward down.
I didn't know if I could save her.
She mumbled something I couldn't understand, and I hushed her, saying "Aidelyne... you ran into the wrong people. Who wants you dead, this badly?"
That's when I heard a soft, high-pitched noise crescendo. I had enough time to shield her with my own aura, before my home exploded around the two of us.
It was a complete destruction... As if the spell surrounded every square inch, that even the cornerstones were shattered. I held her as we plummeted into the basement below us, just inside my personal labratory. My aura insured we'd both easily survive the blast, but we still were momentarily buried as even parts of the roof imploded on top of us.
Nearly incensed, I heard a man call to us from high above: "Knock, knock."
All the pieces of my home exploded away from myself and Aidelyne, and flew towards the sound of the voice.
I heard men sounding surprised as wreckage bounced off their protective wards.
Putting my own ward around Aida, I stood up amongst the wreckage and stared up at our would-be assassins.
Their leader, with 2 men on either side of him, said, "I see we've caught you at a bad time. You're still wearing your bathrobe and playing nursemaid to your sick-"
I didn't let him finish. While he talked, I tore and burned the robe off of me, and stood naked. I raised a finger to point at the leader. My dark skin on my hand, wrist, and forearm all blurred away, and some of entropic magic that I carried within me gathered where at the index finger I pointed with.
He stopped talking when he saw what I had prepared for him.
"Hey," I said, "Catch."
The Aetherless magic tore into the air, creating a sound as if a bee could fly at the speed lightning fell.
One of the men flew in front of his leader and fabricated a ruinic shield. He halted my magic, but the force that it shot with pushed the underlying into his boss. The leader had braced himself caught his man before the two collided.
I scoffed loudly at them. With my degenerated arm, I made a slicing maneuver over my throat, and blood spilled out. I gathered it with my good hand, and threw it around myself. The blood turned into my iconic jacket, and fell neatly on my shoulders. Donning the jacket caused the blood to formed the rest of my clothes, from my dark oxford shoes, to my kid gloves, up to my red trilby hat with black banding.
One man above me flinched. He said, "That's... Is that The-Man-Dressed-in-Red?"
Another guy looked at his mate who recognized me, and he made... just the most delicious look on his face.
I looked between the two, and then and started chuckling. I couldn't quite come up with a one-liner fast-enough.
Flash-stepping just behind the 5 of them, I put my hand through the chest of the would-be assassin who shielded his leader.
Unable to come up with anything more clever, I say "You probably should have told them whose home they'd be blowing sky high."
[End] | 2020-01-28T06:12:52 | 2020-01-28T04:21:11 | 65 | 21 |
[WP] - Scientists show irrefutable proof that only 1 in 10 humans beings house a consciousness. The other nine out of ten of them are utterly soulless, devoid of emotion or any sort of memory or awareness at all. Simply biological machines that act just like people do.
[deleted] | >Booting...
>Calculating parameters...
>Done.
>Timecheck : 7:56 A M.
>Notice: "Room Mate" Trevor's alarm set to go off at 8. Previous experience suggests following course: use bathroom before this happens.
>Switching to flowstate: Done.
It gets out of bed, uses the bathroom, washes its hands for approximately 20 seconds, and opens the dorm pantry to retrieve suitable food for breakfast. Swiftly preparing for the day, a few minutes fly by.
>Notice: "Room Mate" Trevor approaching for chat. Adjust accordingly.
"Hey, aren't those my poptarts? ...Are you the one who's been taking those??"
>Processing...
>Detection: frustration, mild anger. Defuse. Promise restitution.
>Response: "I'm really sorry man, you know how I get. Every time I go to the store I blank out on these. I'll pay you back, promise."
"Fine, fine. I'm coming with you next time to make sure."
>Processing...
>Adjusted tasklist accordingly.
"I hope you're more prepared for Elzey's test than I am, haha. I'm so boned it isn't funny."
>Processing... Sentence confusing. Vocalization of laughter whilst proclamation of no humor.
>Give noncommital answer: "Eh. Y'know."
"No, I really don't, that's the problem."
>Situation defused.
>Switching to flowstate: Done.
A few more minutes pass by. It packs its things and is ready for the first class of the day, scheduled at 9:25 A M. Trevor leaves by its side, heading to a different class at the same time.
"Did you hear that new scientific study about consciousness? I'm not sure I buy it, honestly. Scary stuff."
>WARNING: Veil compromised. Deflect.
>Answer: "It sounds like a bad science fiction plot. They oughta get back to discovering that the moon is fake." | I work at a government lab and my job is to retest the people who've failed the 'Identity Test' conducted by the other doctors. Retests are done so that you could be sure of the person's true nature and certify them as a 'human' or... (I don't want to say the other word). Obviously me and my colleagues have passed the test. Even though we work for the government, we do not know exactly what they do to the people who have failed the test (experiments? I guess). So, I've to be very careful while 'assessing' these people.
Its a windy morning, the birds are flying and chirping happily, perhaps they are anticipating the rain ( I don't know..). I hear the squeak of the door hinge and there enters my first patient of the day. "Hello! What's your name?" I ask. "An....Andrew" he says. "Well Andrew, please take your seat"
After a few seconds of staring me, he starts speaking
"Doc.. Doctor I'll be completely honest with you.. I....."
"Move on"
"I'm not what the other docs think, they mis...misjudged me. I hope that you're not like them.... please understand me. I've two sweet children and they will miss me so bad if you take the **wrong** decision". He starts crying
I could easily find out that he is faking his emotions. God, prove me wrong!
"Tell me more about your children. I love children!"
"I've a boy and a girl. His name is Danny and her name is La...Laura. My wife died in an accident two years ago. Ever since then, I used to be their everything. I love how his smile brings charm to the entire house and how her naughtiness brings a smile in everyone's face"
I can somehow sense the unnaturalness in his speech.
"Well, that's sweet. Now let's begin the test. I will be putting you under a few simulations. Based on how you respond to each of them, I'll grade you. Are you ready?"
"Yes doc"
The simulations gave out the results I expected. I was so sorry for him. He didn't ask what his results were as he deep down knew that he didn't perform as expected.
"I'm really sorry Andrew.. I can't help you, All I can do is feel sorry for you" I say sorrowfully
He protests for a few minutes and gets up walking towards the chamber without saying a word.
I know what it feels to be sitting on the other side. I know how the terror of being experimented on would haunt you day and night irrespective of your true nature. No living thing in this world is not truly devoid of emotion. Emotions are beyond science. But yet, I couldn't help it and I can't hide the truth. " Is it the most human thing I've done?" I ask myself with a guilt.
Heavy rain starts pouring down and the birds stop chirping.
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This is my first time writing a story in this subreddit. I hope you like it! I'm completely open to criticisms. | 2020-05-31T23:44:13 | 2020-05-31T21:12:35 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You’ve been taken from your hometown by a bald guy named Charles, who’s just setting up a “house for gifted young people”. Except that you don’t have any special powers... and no one else in the house does... Charles is just creepy. And dangerous. | He keeps calling me, “the Wolverine”, or something dumb like that. My name is Logan but Charles won’t call me that. He keeps saying we get special names because we have special powers.
I remember when I woke up here I was so confused. I tried to ask what was happening and all I could get back was that he thinks my family wasn’t really my family but instead they were trying to experiment on me. He insists that he saved me and that only he can help me realize my potential.
One of the other boys here, Scott and I met this girl named Jean, this was before we knew exactly how dangerous Charles was. It was clear he wasn’t a good guy I mean he had kidnapped at least the three of us and a few others but he hadn’t hurt us yet.
Jean would throw things at Charles whenever she had the opportunity and try to pretend like she did it with her mind to play into his psychotic beliefs. But it didn’t help in fact instead it only made it worse. Because then she would get “tested” and when she couldn’t move things with her mind she was beaten. Eventually Charles said he knew what her power was.
He called her, “The Phoenix”, he lit her on fire as me and Scott watched. He muttered over and over that she was powerful and amazing. But I’ll be damned those screams, those wretched screams, I won’t ever forget them. Jean was a good person, she didn’t have powers. She never rose up.
Shortly after that he took Scott, to “test” him too. He gouged out his eyes and called him, “the Cyclops”. This old man is crazy. I don’t know how long he has been doing this, but if you’re reading this run. This is the waiting room and the testing room is next door, it seems you’re next. | My throat burns each time I breathe in through my nose, stinging from the wet, dank smell of mold. My head is pounding, and my arms ache. The left side of my face is cold, and I can't quite figure out why I'm lying in such an awkward position on my side. I blink a couple of times, but it's pitch black. When I try to rub my eyes, I find that I can't. Both of my hands are secured behind my back. My heart slams hard against my chest as memories come flooding back to me. A bald man in a van.
I try to sit up, desperate to orientate myself. What time is it? I freeze suddenly, a rustling sound behind me. Cold sweat wets my brow. I'm not alone.
A sliver of white light illuminates the shape of a door, and as it opens, more light pours in. I squint, but I don't close my eyes. Instinctively, I try to bring my hand to my eyes, but alas, I'm reminded of my restraints.
A figure stands at the door, something in his arms. The steps creak with each footfall, and I'm too confused and scared to to hide it. He's holding an unconscious body.
He flips a lamp on, the light is so dim I can barely make out what I'm seeing. He doesn't seem to notice me right away. I watch him as he brings the girl's hands together behind her body and begins to work a knot with thin, white rope. It must be the same white rope that's holding me in place.
My breathing is out of control, and I choke on my own saliva.
He turns abruptly, staring in my direction. It must be too dim in here for him to quite make me out, too. He turns and continues tying the rope, as if I'm not even there. I catch movement from the corner of my eye, and that's when I see it: There are about five of us, and I recognize them all. We all go to the same school.
The bald man stands over us, seemingly 10 feet tall, but that can't be right. I just feel small and helpless.
"You're probably wondering why your powers aren't working," he says flatly. My eyes widen. "I've given you something to numb your capabilities," he says, chuckling.
I turn my head, the kid next to me is giving me the same wide-eyed expression.
"In time," he says, turning. "We will see what you can do."
I have no idea what he's talking about. Once he disappears behind the door, I force myself upright. He left the dimmed lamp on, and from what I can tell, it must be daylight outside. "What happened?" I ask the kid next to me, who I now recognize as Billy Heights, the guy who blows spitballs at the back of my head. He stares at me, shaking.
"He thinks we have powers," a girl's voice answers.
I scan the basement, but the light is too dim to see anything. "He won't let us go until we show them to him."
I can't breathe. "w-what?" I stammer. Not fully understanding what I'm hearing. | 2020-12-31T07:44:59 | 2020-12-31T06:22:48 | 74 | 26 |
[WP] When the alien fleet arrived to conquer Earth, they were shocked to find the planet defended by all sorts of supernatutal creatures who called the planet home. Wizards, vampires, ghosts, fae, dragons and so on. The humans were even more shocked, because they didn't even know they were real. | “Sargent send out squadrons eight, eleven and thirteen, hold back on fourteen and fifteen, we need to keep some in reserve.”
The general looked away, turning his attention to the row of people sitting in front of video monitors.
“Status report” he barked
“Sir we just lost the fifth and sixth squadron. The reports are the same, our weapons are doing nothing.”
The general cursed. “What about the other nations, is anything they are trying working?”
The time for national rivalry could come after they won, if they won. It seemed so silly to him now, how could they squabble over things like resources or beliefs when faced with total destruction?
“Sir, as ordered we are in communique with anyone who can still muster a force, Bejing, Moscow, the United Kingdom, and others are reporting the same as us.”
The general turned to look at another aid, “What is the word from the president?”
“Sir we are currently at DEFCON 2, but he has not authorized nuclear force due to the proximity to our major population centres.”
The general cursed, it was times like these that he regretted not lighting the cigar on him, or even a flask of whiskey, who cares about professionalism at the end of the world.
Lost in the reports going on the screen and from those around him, he missed the first few calls.
“Sir?”
“Sir.”
“SIR!”
The general turned around to berate the man for losing his calm, ignoring that he felt the same way. He took a breath and asked, “What is it.”
“Can you not just inform me, lieutenant?”
“I would sir if I knew what I was looking at.”
That made the general turn around, he knew that the men and women in this room were no fools.
“What is it?” he asked again
“I don’t know sir, Squadrons from both Vandenburg and Edwards have stated that they are seeing a UFO”
The general opened his mouth to state that they were currently fighting UFOs and that is the point.
The lieutenant quickly continued “A UFO attacking the invaders.”
That drew the general up short. “Details.”
The lieutenant looked up nervously and stated “Uh, sir … they are reporting a giant flying lizard.”
As the general was turning away from what was obviously pilots minds breaking from the stress, he couldn’t blame them, who wouldn’t go crazy with aliens attacking them.
Another aid shouted out “A report from London! Men and Woman are shooting what looks like lasers from sticks. The Brits are saying this is happening from Cornwall to the Edinburgh.”
A third read aloud a report from the Scandinavian countries “Massive figures with burning red eyes are attacking the ships from land, holy cow that must be, what five hundred feet tall? They included a word, geoten, Joe ton?”
Soon the general was besieged with similar reports from around the world. Ghostly apparitions, tentacles from the sea, a house running on chicken legs, and what one man swore was a flying wooden ship. He slowly sat down and reached for that cigar. While patting down his pockets for his lighter a masculine hand with perfectly manicured nails reached out with an ornate lighter. The general blinked and across from him was a pale man is a modern suit.
“We need to talk general, the world has changed.” | A story I tried to write in third person. I think it was appropriate using this perspective. Kind of struggled writing this. Any advice would help. Thank you:
The world came to a screeching halt. In every television, radio and social media. Otherworldly beings came to introduce themselves to humanity. Demanding the complete surrender of Earth and its people to their military force. Everyone thought it was a joke, a marketing ploy for a movie. The most expensive advertisement campaign in history.
But it was no joke. Soon the aliens contacted every major governmental body on Earth. The UN, USA, China and Russia to discuss the terms of Earths surrender. Panic ensued in every city in the world. Others cried, some stayed with their families, and many quit their jobs to pursue their hobbies and dreams to what could be their last time being able to do so.
Every military force was mobilised and put-on stand-by. The assets of the military-industrial complex laid bare against the alien threat. Soon, everyone was sent back to their homes. Humanity listened intently to the aliens. Everyone was glued to their screens and radios. Waiting. Waiting for their demands.
The aliens spoke. Coldly proclaiming that humanity must become slaves to their empire. In exchange for their freedom, they keep their lives. Obviously, humanity declined. They were too proud and stubborn to accept those terms.
These were the thoughts that came through Bob’s head as him and his friend hunkered down at a nearby apartment. Their spirits broken by the enemy. They saw firsthand the futility of fighting against a force with unimaginably superior technology. Their bullets barely worked against the enemy and they suffered heavy losses. It didn’t help much that the tanks that were sent in to deal with the tripods ended up being near useless against them.
“We’re fucked aren’t we”, said Fred.
Yeah, we’re definitely fucked. Bob thought. Lighting a cigarette, he puts it in his mouth before lighting one for his friend. Looking out of the second-floor balcony to assess the situation. He sees the tripods walk in droves in the distance. While jets burned and crashed into the ground. Unable to out manoeuvre the saucers which moved independently from Earth’s gravity. Looking down, they see the aliens roaming the streets. Numbering around a hundred from what they can see. Looking for targets they could blast with their plasma guns. The aliens moved on towards their position. It was only a matter of time before they found them.
“Damn, look at them walking around like they own the place”, Fred said with smoke coming out of his mouth.
“Out of the thirty that came with us. There’s only us left.”, Bob said shakily. Taking another puff out of his cigarette to try and calm down his nerves. Fred chuckled at Bob’s show of cowardice. Slapping him at the back it made Bob jolt. Nearly making him drop his cigarette down towards the ground floor.
“Come on, man. Isn’t this what we imagined was gonna happen when we got deployed. A final stand against those bastards. Die Hard style!”.
Looking at his friend. Bob knew that Fred was just trying to make the best out of a bad situation. He knew that he was just as afraid and hopeless as he was. But maybe out of hysteria or insanity. He wanted to entertain the idea. A final bang before their inevitable demise.
“Your right, Fred. Let’s take as many of those alien scum with us.” Bob said with a smile on his face.
Taking their rifles and grenades. They were determined to die in the blaze of glory. They were examples of humanities sheer will and determination against insurmountable odds. But before they could execute their suicidal plan.
Portals from another world glowed a blue hue in the sky and ground near their position. Wizards came rushing out of the portals along with creatures of myth and legend. This left the aliens surprised. Expecting the humans to have inferior technology compared to their own. Let alone the fact that the stories passed on by humans from generation to generation were true.
Fred and Bob looked towards the commotion caused by the wizards. They saw aliens get frozen, squashed and burned by men conjuring things from nowhere using glowing staves. In the air, dragons and all manner of flying fantasy creatures flew gracefully against the alien’s saucers. A portal then forms in front of the two men and out comes an old man. He had a long beard and wore a robe coloured in the pattern of military camouflage.
“This is arch-wizard Lucian of the 69th Battalion Corp of the Magic Division. We have come to help. Tell us the situation soldiers”, the old man said in a serious voice.
Bob and Fred look on dumbfounded from the situation that is transpiring right now. The only words that could come out of their mouths were.
“Who the fuck are you?” | 2021-02-21T00:14:55 | 2021-02-20T21:03:16 | 46 | 21 |
[WP] When the alien fleet arrived to conquer Earth, they were shocked to find the planet defended by all sorts of supernatutal creatures who called the planet home. Wizards, vampires, ghosts, fae, dragons and so on. The humans were even more shocked, because they didn't even know they were real. | It started when the Off Worlders came.
That's not really their real name, they have a more pretentious name that no one can pronounce. Scientists gave them a name, every language calls them something, but everyone agrees Off Worlders was what to call them. Or rather everyone in the Earth Defence Force calls them, the nicer one among the many creative ones anyway.
And yes we probably should have not allowed Japan to name our combined military force, especially since they decided to go with a clichè rip-off, but everyone decided it was better than the one the US tried to get us to used.
(Seriously, Humanity F*ck Yeah?)
Things were not going well for humanity, atleast at first. The invaders were too advanced, what with their plasma weapons and technology we need atleast another century to even make the theory of.
A portion of Tokyo was obliterated to dust by a single blast. Beijing was on fire. London has a repeat of the blitz except the bombs are even worse than nuclear bombs. Large chunks of Russia end up in a new Ice Age. There's a hole the size of Texas somewhere in Australia. The list goes on and on.
And then it happened.
Now normally when something big happens books always claim it's New York that it happens at. Or Tokyo if one wants it to be somewhere else. No one expected that it would happen in Greece.
Centaurs, dryads, manticores, all sorts of monsters told about in greek myths appeared out of nowhere. Sirens and merfolks dragging down Off Worlders to their watety deaths, harpies grabbing them mid-air, nymphs using vines and plants to strangle them.
It was as if, with some unspoken agreement, all over the world creatures of shapes and sizes started appearing and helping humans.
In Romania, freaking Dracula was sighted. Dragons tear down the Off Worlders in China. The Kraken, the World Serpent, and all sorts of sea creatures are found all over the seas and oceans killing the Off Worlders while protecting our ships. Wizards and mages appeared all over the world with mind-blowing magic.
It was terrifying.
It was chaos.
It was glorious.
Humanity is nothing but adaptable. We adapt fast, pouring through every piece of myths, stories, and lore we could find. Soon we found ourselves working together with elves, fae, ghosts, you name it.
We were not the strongest, we don't have any magical powers, but we were the ones who had shaped the world with our cities, structures, and cultures.
With the help of the wizards and dwarves, we managed to establish communications with the creatures helping us. Soon we found ourselves becoming the strategists, communication officers and, after months of research and help from the creatures known for their craftmanship and reality bending abilities, the ones that built a working spacecraft.
It took a lot of bloodshed, a lot of lives, but we did it. We pushed the Off Worlders out of our planet. And soon, with our newfound friends, we will follow after them.
-Excerpt from "The Little Blue Rock" | \[In an undisclosed bunker\]
The lightly furnished command room at the heart of the bunker was filled with unrest. Heads of state, cabinet members, and generals were seated at a large square table in the center of the room. They talked quietly amongst themselves while keeping an eye on the array of TV screens on the far wall. On display were various satellite maps, live feeds, and major news stations. The larger main screen in the middle of the screens was showing a tactical map of the greater West coastline. There were various military bases and deployed ships highlighted on the main screen, but the focus of the tactical map was an enormous metallic object floating a few miles off of the coast.
The TV screen left of the tactical map suddenly switched to a communication feed. A man with a grizzly, war-hardened aura was on the screen. He briefly glanced around the command room, then began.
“Mr. President. Tianlong and the Chinese escort have arrived safely. Tianlong has been given an IFF set and briefed on how to use the warhead.”
A new blip appeared on the tactical display. There was a large blue dot off the coast of Alaska, next to 36 smaller blue dots which were marked with the label “F-22.”
Silence filled the command room, as all eyes turned from the man on screen to the president sitting at the head of the table. He gave the man on screen a solemn nod, then turned towards the table and cleared his throat.
“Not one month ago, humanity was on the edge of annihilation. Now, we have a chance to fight back. We owe these supernatural beings an unimaginable debt. However! I intend to make good on this debt, by striking a killing blow against these ruthless invaders. We make our stand here.”
There was no response to these words. All those seated watched the president with a grim determination. Some nodded to themselves.
…
One week after the alien fleet had made landfall in the Pacific ocean, two billion people were already dead. Conventional warfare was effective when it came to dealing with the smaller cruisers, but the capital ships were immune to everything except nuclear weapons. Once the alien fleet had realized that, the capital ships moved towards populated areas. Joint operations between various neighboring countries were quickly established, but to no avail. The capital ships were impenetrable air fortresses that razed everything in their path before moving on.
As despair and chaos set in around the world, they began to reveal themselves. A plethora of supernatural beings appeared and began launching attacks against the capital ships. Some of them came straight from legends and folktales, some of them were amalgamations of superstitions, and some of them were absolutely mysterious. However, there was one thing in common among them - they were strong.
The capital ships were no match for these beings. Whether through powerful direct attacks, or through infiltration of the ship, once these supernatural beings joined the battle, the ships would inevitably fall. Unsurprisingly, the surviving ships were recalled back into the fleet. After that, some of the supernaturals made formal contact with humanity. Though differing in origin, their reasons for making themselves public were mostly in line with each other - to protect humanity.
Three weeks after landfall, the alien invaders had been successfully repelled. The supernaturals had been officially recognized, given citizenship from their respective origins, and swiftly incorporated into their countries’ militaries. After careful deliberation, a coalition between the US and China was established, and a plan to destroy the alien fleet in one strike was drafted.
…
Thirty days after landfall. The Russio-Asia alliance had been launching an all-out offensive against the alien fleet. Meanwhile, Tianlong and a squadron of Chinese fighters flew northwards through Russia, then made their way towards an air base in Alaska.
Once they had made it to the airbase, Tianlong was given an assortment of things to wear. A large head wrapping that covered his ears and would allow him to hear others from very far away. A belt-like object that wrapped around his midsection that would tell others where he was. And a curious tube to hold. Tianlong did not understand the principles behind it, but he understood that he held an incredibly powerful weapon. They had told him it would be easy to use - once he got past the force field, he would throw it. The weapon would do the rest.
Tianlong thought that this was an incredibly easy task. But they were quite nervous nonetheless. That is why he allowed them to accompany him. After watching the last of the fighter jets take off from the runway, he effortlessly jumped up and followed them. | 2021-02-21T02:05:39 | 2021-02-21T01:53:43 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] Your mom sent you through the forest to bring a cake and a pot of butter to grandma. She warned you about the big bad wolf. You've just met the wolf, he's thinking about calling CPS on your mom for leaving you alone in the dark woods. | "My, what a deep voice you have!” the little girl exclaimed.
It was true, Biggy did have a deep voice. As he lay in the girl’s grandmother’s bed, wearing her grandmother’s bonnet, he was shocked the girl hadn’t seen through him the moment she walked into the room.
“The uh... better to greet you with, my dear,” Biggy responded in that deep gravely voice.
“And what big hands you have!” the girl pressed.
*Hands?* Biggy thought. So she had noticed his paws, but had somehow interpreted them as *hands?* Hell, he hadn’t trimmed his claws in weeks—there was no mistaking these as *hands.*
“The better to high five you with,” Biggy responded half-heartedly.
“And your mouth!” the girl exclaimed. “What big—”
“Hold on little girl,” Biggy interrupted. “You’re better than this aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?” the girl asked, confused.
“I’m just saying. You’re not *that* little are you? How old are you?”
“Oh grandmama! You don’t remember? The dementia must have gotten worse, I’ll tell mama—”
“Just answer the question little girl.”
“I’m ten!”
“*Ten?!* A ten year old should know better!” Biggy exclaimed. “Tell me girl, what is it that afflicts you so? Are you addled in the mind or the eyes?”
“Grandmama! What hurtful words you have!”
“The better to tear you down with, and build you back up again, my dear.” Biggy replied. “Now, it’s clear something is very wrong with you, but don't worry. Where I come from, we take care of our sick—we don’t abandon them to the wilds. Tell me, little girl, who was it that abandoned you?”
"Mamma told me she was busy so I'd have to come visit alone."
“Parents these days," Biggy muttered, shaking his head. "Tell me she at least sent you off prepared? What's in that basket of yours?"
The girl held the basket out, and Biggy snatched it right out of her hands. "An entire pot of butter and a single slice of cake? That's all she gave you?" Biggy asked.
"I made it all myself," the girl said proudly.
"Child labor..." Biggy replied somberly. "All right that's it." Biggy climbed out of bed, hardly trying to hide his furry body and tail. "I’ll call child services and they’ll figure out what’s what. In the meantime, let's get you some multivitamins."
***
 
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | The wolf has a beard that looks like dry twigs, and Adidas trainers on his feet with holes in the toes, and the bald patch on his head is as shiny as the bottle in his hand.
I thought I told you last time, he says. The wolf speaks like there’s fudge in his mouth and his lips never open very wide.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get lost again.
There‘re worse things out here than me, says the wolf. Your mom knows that. I just got bad breath and nails that need clipping.
Mom says Grandma lives out here, I tell him. She says not to come back until I bring Grandma the cakes and medicines in the basket. She says—
Your mom says grandma will die if you don’t get them to her this time. Right?
How did you know?
Of course she did. Say, you ever met this Grandma before?
I shake my head.
The wolf swigs his bottle then slumps back against a tree, as if he’s a tired wave that’s crashed against a cliff. Got any cigars in that basket?
Cigars?
Forget it.
There’s a long pause before he talks again: I wasn’t always like this, he says.
Like what?
A drunk. A dead end. Old. Hopeless. Take your pick. Mix and match.
Please, will you help me find Grandma, I ask. I’ll give you the cake.
He laughs. I haven’t had cake in forty years. But you know what, my mouth’s watering at the idea. Some things you never stop missing, I guess.
Then you’ll help? You helped me last time.
No, I didn’t help you. I led you out the forest. Then you went back to your mom. Might as well have taken you to a witch. At least they‘d kill you quickly.
I’m crying now and I don’t understand why. I suppose it’s because Grandma will die and it’s because of me.
Ah, don’t do that, he growls. At least you’re not an old wolf like me. You’ve still got a chance.
But I don’t stop. The grey cloud in my tummy is heavy with rain and the guilt is twisting and wringing it.
I didn’t always used to be like this, he repeats. He strokes his twiggy beard. A wolf, he says. I used to be a boy, if you can imagine that.
I sniff and ask what happened.
I had a dad, who was as mean as your mom. Only in other ways. Less clever, more direct. He didn’t tell me to go to the woods, but he made me anyway. Made me know that if I ever came out of the woods, well...
Well what?
Do you love you mom? he asks.
You have to love your mom.
Yeah?
Yes.
He sighs, then pushes himself up and stares at the half drunk bottle. Then, he tips it over, so it leaks like a little waterfall onto the grass.
I haven’t left the woods in forty years, he says. Made a hut. Grow my own crops. Brew my own drinks. Said I’d never leave again.
Do you like it here?
No. But more than not here.
What should I do? I ask.
He shakes his head. You do nothing, he says. You just follow me. Out of the woods. Back to your home.
You’re coming home with me?
I guess so, he says. You know why?
Why?
Because I‘m Grandma. He laughs at that, bends double, clutching his stomach. And Grandma, he says, has big teeth. And your mom will surely want to see them.
She will?
For the first time, I see the knife patient on his side, on his belt. Jagged and yellow and copper.
Oh yeah. She very much will.
He walks; I follow.
If you’re Grandma, I say, then this all belongs to you.
I pass him the basket. He takes out the slice of cake.
For a long time, he just holds it by his face. Breathes it. Then, he crumbles it onto the forest floor. Shame, he says. Not had cake in years.
Why did you do that? I ask.
I don’t think your mom makes good cake.
I would have eaten it, I say.
Yeah, says the wolf. I know. | 2021-03-27T13:48:27 | 2021-03-27T13:42:44 | 286 | 164 |
[WP] You and your rival are ancient enemies. You've fought each other on the battlefield in every major war. Trojan War, Punic Wars, Hundred Years' War, World War 1, World War 2. The only reason for the long period of peace we have now is that your rival is missing. You miss him. | "And as we approach the beginning of the celebration of 75 years since the last Great War, I wish you all ..."
The Mayor froze and looked up at the sky with a mixture of fear and disbelief. Miles above the stage, the gray clouds in the sky were replaced by huge black shapes. Even from so far away, they looked as big as skyscrapers. On the horizon in the direction of the neighboring city, we were suddenly blinded by green light, like the rising of ten suns. In a minute, the frightened cries of passers-by were interrupted by a long, deep rumbling, as if a mountain was being torn in two.
I look up at the sky and smile. "Welcome back, old friend. Let the game continue." | Long ago, when the time was new, there lived a race called the Protectorates. The oldest and mightiest race in the universe. Not many had ever seen them, though the legends throughout every star system and galaxy had heard rumours, some had even wrote songs and poems of these beings.
“Do you see them in their flowing robes?
The great and the powerful?
The mighty and magnificent?
The wise and the strong?
Do you hear their voices echoing with pride and knowledge?
Do you hear their singing and laughter?
Listen, just listen. You can barely make it out, but if you strain yourself you can hear it.
The Protectorates will protect us forever.”
They were just stories though, legends. Nobody had ever seen them. Well, almost nobody. There was, of course, the war.
Well, more like every war ever started. There was a mythological conspiracy theory originating in the Dolve system which had been gaining traction through many universes over the centuries. The conspiracy starts with two Protectorates. A male and a female. They were old friends supposedly. Nobody knew their names, or anything about them really, but the conspiracies say that these two Protectorates ran away from their home world and burned and blazed their way across all of time and space.
The legends say they are the last two Protectorate alive, its best and its worst. One always pursuing the other, though never quite sure who was leading and who was following. One was ever healing, one was ever destroying. They are, as the rumours go, the last remnants of a once great civilisation. In the planets of the Dolve System there are rumours that every war ever fought has ties to these two beings. They say that every war, every feud, every conflict that ever was can be traced back to their heart breaking struggle throughout time and space.
Some planets pray to these beings. Pray that one day their rivalry can end, that they can meet once more and stand side by side, united together for a common goal after a millennia of pain. They say when that happens, there will finally be peace in the universe. All wars will end, all men will stand together, and peace and justice will finally prevail. | 2021-05-04T08:38:57 | 2021-05-04T06:29:48 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda. | "I was eight when I first developed my ability. It was right at the start of summer, and I accidentally broke Bobby Johnson's arm in a game of tag. None of the other kids would play with me after that. Except Bobby.
But his mom called my mom, who thought she needed to sit me down with her and Dad and give me a lecture about controlling my anger. Except I wasn't angry, and I think they figured that out pretty quick, because I never got in trouble from that.
A couple of months later, after Bobby's mom seemed to forget about the whole thing and she let us play together again, we decided to go to the pond and skip rocks, which in our eyes was a fine way to spend the last few days of summer. Only when I tried skipping my rock, it kept skipping all the way to the other side, and straight through one of Ms. Donovan's back window.
After that, I tried to control it. But I was also a kid going into my first year of middle school, so I showed off occasionally - maybe more than occasionally, but not enough to do any real harm.
Then one night, a few weeks after school had started, my little brother was annoying me in the way only a little brother can. Now I couldn't say what exactly it was, but it got under my skin, and so I turned around and I decked him.
He spent the next week in the hospital, multiple fractures and a pretty bad concussion. I spent that week, and the week after, helping my dad patch up the hole I'd made in the wall between our living room and the garage.
So I started avoiding my ability almost entirely. I only used it occasionally, like when I got that flat out on 316. I had everything I needed but the jack.
That's all. Sometimes I need to move the refrigerator, and it's simple to just pick it up. The same is true for the couch.
So when I'm sitting at home last night, trying out my new recipe, and some strangers burst in, demanding that I come with them immediately? Saying that they've foiled my plan? Yeah, I lost it. Maybe I was a bit too violent. Maybe I should have been actively practicing restraint rather than practically avoiding use altogether. But maybe you guys should learn how to knock, maybe even call ahead first, and maybe stop assuming that just because someone doesn't want to run around at night with their damn underwear on the outside of their pants, stopping crime and marketing for Happy Meal toys, they must be up to no good.
Are we done?"
--
"There you have it," the reporter continued. "HeroCorp has yet to respond to this leaked interrogation of a man now being called 'The People's Hero.'
When we return, we'll hear from 'Hero's' childhood friend, Bobby Johnson." | I have telekinesis and levitation, as in the ability to move objects with a wave of my hands and float around. However, I don't see myself using my powers to become a superhero or supervillain, as I have enough on my plate as is, working as a professional chef at our city's most expensive restaurant alongside my identical twin sister who has the same powers as me, but uses them for bartending in the restaurant's bar, and she also shares my disinterest in using these powers for heroics or villainy. That being said, when we're off the clock, we're constantly hounded by the other super-powered folks accusing us of having hidden agendas for not partaking in world affairs. But we don't have hidden agendas whatsoever, as we are genuinely content with using our powers of telekinesis for normal everyday activities. Plus, one of our favorite activities is housework, as we use telekinesis and levitation to clean every nook and cranny that is hard for us to reach by normal means. Hell, we even use our powers for laundry, around the house organization, and putting up holiday decorations. No joke, last Christmas, we managed to put up the Christmas lights and decorations without needing to whip out the ladders.
But when we had one of our local superheroes gatecrash a very famous and important celebrity's birthday bash at the restaurant we work at, that was the final straw for us. I politely tell the owner of the restaurant to usher everyone to safety, then use my powers to levitate my personal knife (that I only ever use for self defense) over an open flame and heat it up. Then I bring the heated knife over to the gatecrasher — who has the weakness of heated metal, apparently, judging by him recoiling upon the sight of my hot knife — while still having the gall to confront my sister and I for our disinterest in taking up the cape. While I have him at burning knifepoint, no less. I coldly tell him, "It doesn't matter who the two super sides send to recruit my sister and I or antagonize us over our denouncement of taking up the cape, our answer is still the same. We are not interested in your politics, and right now, you are ruining an important celebrity's birthday bash and costing this restaurant a fortune over your destructive behavior. Now get out and leave us alone, or we will be serving both organizations a court ordered restraining order to make you. Do I make myself clear?"
The hero whimpers out a "We'll back off, we'll back off." "Good, now git." Then the hero leaves, and I go to apologize to the celebrity for the ruined party, but she's actually pretty cool with it, as she tells me that it's not the first time supers have ruined a party for her. She's had supers crash her parties over other super-powered folks that are in the same boat as my sister and I in terms of being disinterested in taking up the cape for either side. But none of them had the courage to tell them off like I just did. She then adds that my sister and I deserve compensation for keeping cool under pressure, and hands my sister and I front row seat tickets and backstage passes to her sold out concert show in our area. I humbly thank her for the reward, as my sister and I are huge fans of her work, and we've always wanted to attend one of her concerts, yet never could.
After all that, her party is moved to a different section of the restaurant, and there are no further interruptions aside from the clean up. After the celebrity's party, the owner of the restaurant and the place's manager both congratulate my levelheadedness and allow my sister and I to take the rest of the night off from such a hectic shift. Now exhausted, the only thing on our minds now was the concert and a good night's sleep. And that concert was amazing, and we had a blast getting to hang backstage with the celebrity, plus we also scored a lot of autographed swag and merch. Following all that, the super community of heroes and villains alike followed through and completely stopped antagonizing the supers not interested in taking up the cape. Not bad for a super chef and her equally super sister. The end. | 2021-08-16T21:02:11 | 2021-08-16T18:08:12 | 151 | 67 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Tabitha rested briefly after harvesting sixty carrots in the humid, virtual sun. The beads of sweat that accumulated on her forehead felt real as day, and they felt even more real when she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Her red pigtails fell to her shoulders, which was covered by a pink floral shirt and some dirty denim overalls. She rolled the bottom of her overalls up to her calf, revealing long pink socks tucked into practical work boots.
"When does this game become fun, Macy?"
Her question was directed to her friend who was playing another support class -- a farmer. She wore similar overalls over a green shirt, but instead of being armed with a trowel and mini rake, the farmer was equipped with a pitchfork. Tabitha's friend sheepishly smiled with a long piece of straw in her mouth and tilted her straw hat back, revealing a forehead even sweatier than Tabitha's.
"Well, I wasn't expecting you to get stuck as a gardener...but it's all random. That's some bad luck, huh?"
"If I wanted to harvest carrots, I'd move into the country," Tabitha paused as she picked a carrot that she planted five minutes ago. It sprung up with a satisfying coin-like noise. "Although, I do like the sounds."
Tabitha planted a few more carrots in a line on her friend's farm. The sun hung high in the air and the clouds moved lazily across the perfectly blue sky. Macy owned a tiny farmhouse, one that she was able to purchase after putting in time as a stable hand for other players. It took a while, but she finally had land to harvest and was secretly glad her friend rolled a similar support class. A gardener and farmer synchronize greatly.
"Pull up your stats, I want to see what kind of moves you have," beckoned Macy.
Tabitha lifted her hand in the air and made it into a fist for five seconds. She released the fist and an 8-bit pixelated menu popped up in front of them. At the top, it showed a picture of Tabitha's avatar with an intimidating empty bar under it to keep track of her experience points. Most of her stats were D-rank, not excelling in anything except for her stamina which shined yellow as a C-rank.
"Click on 'Moves.'"
Tabitha did as her friend instructed and tapped the menu item that was labeled "Moves." It pulled up a new pixelated menu screen with two items listed: "Plant Carrot" and "Harvest Carrot."
"Well, that's not very exciting," frowned Tabitha. Macy giggled.
"Maybe we have to find some seeds to expand your moveset! The real problem is your experience bar. I've never heard of a gardener getting to level 2. You have a looooong way to go."
"Let's just quit and go to a bar or something."
Macy sneered, but the whimsical gesture suddenly turned serious as she spotted a dark figure in the distance riding on a horse. "Oh no," she muttered.
Tabitha turned around to see what made her friend turn serious. It was another player, as indicted by the red triangle above his head. The red color of the triangle also indicated that the player had his "Player vs. Player" mode activated, allowing him to attack other players who opted into PvP mode.
"At least he can't take what we harvested already," said Macy, as the player charged towards the two. "He's lucky he rolled a Dark Knight, a rare attacker class. He'll just trash the place and move on after he realizes he can't kill us." Macy sighed, knowing she would have to spend more time fixing up her farm and getting it back to the productivity level that it's at now.
"Any idea why he's not slowing down?" questioned Tabitha. Macy looked at her friend, and then to the Dark Knight. She looked back to her friend, and then once more at the Dark Knight that now pulled out a lance and aimed it towards Tabitha, with no intention of stopping. Macy had just noticed the red triangle above Tabitha's head.
"You opted in for PvP?!"
"I didn't know what it meant at the time!"
Macy brought her hand to her face. "Don't worry it doesn't hurt, I've died countless times." she reassured Tabitha. "Maybe you'll feel a pinch."
"What????" panicked Tabitha. The Dark Knight was closing in on his prey, now only a couple of meters away from the low-level gardener. His mighty steed picked up speed and the knight readied his lance towards Tabitha's face. Just as he was about to strike, however, one of the horse's front hooves became caught on the line of carrots Tabitha had planted earlier.
The horse fell forward, launching the dark knight behind the girls and towards Macy's farmhouse. He landed violently just short of the porch, with his gut completely impaled onto his lance. Within seconds, he burst into a million little pieces.
Tabitha's character burst a celebratory gold explosion three times in a row to Macy's amazement. Tabitha looked around, completely confused. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled up her character menu. The once empty bar had filled three times, revealing her to be level 4.
"Holy crap, Tabitha!!" Macy was still in shock. She only received partial experience due to owning the land where the battle happened, but Tabitha received full experience due to landing the killing blow with her deadly carrots. But it wasn't the experience that Macy was surprised by, it was one minor detail on the menu.
"Tabitha," she began, still looking for words. "It doesn't say you're a support class anymore...it says you're a summoner!" | Stepped on. Belittled. Trampled over... Ignored.
The people have always relied on gardeners; we used to be respected! That was until the kings hunters realized every beast and monster they slew gave them something in return... power.
Suddenly adventuring was their career of choice. They no longer served king nor community, hunting beasts to extinction and calling themselves monster hunters. Don't get me wrong, monsters have always been a threat to the kingdom, but now it's an all out war! The dragons hadn't attacked our village for centuries until the adventurers realized even a defenseless egg would grant them tremendous power!
The most fabled of these adventurers have become untouchable, too powerful for any force to reign in. The gods forbid one of these self-appointed heros came to your village; you were expected to treat them like royalty, otherwise they may gain experience off you!
One day a uniquely deplorable adventurer came to my village. Apparently room and board wasn't agreeable enough for them, they demanded a tour of THEIR new village! They rampaged through the village, disparaging and destroying anything they deemed "unsightly." They had plans of creating a perfect village, and any merchant stall or family home was fair game for the adventurers incineration magic!
My garden has always been practical, so I knew my home was already on this deviants chopping block. I had grown tired of these entitled killers trampling over my garden; so I decided this would be the last day I put up with it. The man and his traumatized tour guide stood at the entrance of my garden, I could see his soured face from my porch. He beckoned for me to come out, lest I get incinerated with my garden.
Slowly I approached the man, my breath escaping me with the knowledge of what I was planning to do. The man began to speak, gesturing towards the skies like an egomaniac as flames spewed from his fingertips. I couldn't bare it; listening to an entitled man-child disparage my life's work! As he was distracted with his own grandiosity I chucked a stone straight at his chest! I began hurling every insult I could manage, knowing that soon I would be burning cinders in the wind!
The man was furious; he wanted to make my death personal. He began to walk forward, his voice booming with magical power. I kneeled to the ground, hands clutched above my head in fear of what was to come! The man towered over me, but one step from enacting his wrath! He took a mighty step forward, but had not noticed the roots in his path. Suddenly he fell, face planted into the loose soil and manure nearby! I uncovered my head and began to laugh, for at least the man had embarrassed himself before incinerating me! I laughed for what felt like ages until I realized something... The man wasn't moving an inch. His skin was as hard as iron, but as he fell a gardening instrument had managed to pierce perfectly into his eye.
Moments later I felt it; the power washed over me! Chronic pain disappeared, my strength grew tenfold, and I could feel the tingling of magic within me! I, a lowly gardener, had leveled up!
I used my newfound powers to rebuild what the deviant had destroyed, enamoring the villagers. They tried to give me gifts, but I refused them. It is the gardeners way to serve their community. I continued my humble life for a few more years, scaring off any adventuring riff-raff that laid eyes on our village, but every day their numbers grew. Across the kingdom these deviants vied for wealth, power, and control. I decided to leave my village and aid others suffering at the hands of adventurers.
My power grew as I went from village to village, cutting down the most vile of adventurers along my path. I was confused by their sheer number, how could there possibly be this many monsters to slay? Eventually I learned of their secret. The courageous adventurers had created breeding farms; forcing dragons to give birth and slaying their young to gain experience. A tyrant lead them, drip feeding his subjects experience and demanding they lay claim across the lands. I knew I was not strong enough to match them, but I did not need to.
I was but a humble farmer, and I had brought wagons full of food to impress the benevolent adventurers. Delicacies from across the kingdom were theirs to sample, free of charge! You see adventurers magical abilities are defined by their unique abilities. I met a swordsman whose power allowed him to control the winds as he sliced, cutting indiscriminately anything in his path. I met a hunter who could manipulate his arrow, never missing a shot. My power was boring, all I could do was manipulate the properties of plants!
These simpletons have never respected the sacrifice their ancestors went through, what gardeners went through! While the gods blessed us with plants to nourish us, it was not without sacrifice that we learned which ones wouldn't kill us! The food I had kindly bestowed may have appeared harmless, but they would soon understand the suffering they inflicted upon the innocent people of our kingdom!
"This is the sweetest peach I've ever eaten!" one of them exclaimed. They all began to gorge themselves of my harvest, even demanding I bring them more tribute by the months end! Their eyes filled with glee, blissfully ignorant of what was to come. My father, my fathers father, and his father before him had passed down tomes of knowledge. These tomes contained descriptions of the most toxic plants known to the kingdom. My plants contained the properties of all of them.
First they suffered the effects of Orcweed, as bloody blisters formed around their eyes and mouth. Then came the effects of the Rotted Toadstool, expelling vomit and diarrhea. Some of the less dim-witted amongst them realized what I had done and began to charge at me, but the effects of the Creeping Moonshade Vine put them into a state of paralysis and vein popping rashes washed over their body!
I waited for the properties of the final plant to overtake them, the dreaded Elveswood Berry! Long ago when humans dared encroach into the Elves territory they discovered the deadliest plant known to man. Hundreds of soldiers feasted upon the plentiful and delicious berry. Luckily for them the Elveswood Berry is more merciful than the others, causing sudden and painless death. One by one the men who had been trembling and screaming in pain went silent. Exponentially I could feel my power grow.
I approached the dragons dens and freed them from their captivity, knowing that not even all of them together could challenge me. "I bet they'll call me freer of dragons, savior of the kingdom! Maybe they'll respect me now..." I thought to myself. I could feel it, the power overtaking me. Grandiose thoughts pervaded my mind, ideas of how I alone would bring greatness to the kingdom!
The eldest dragon looked upon me. They were imposing, but I could see the fear in their eyes. "Will he became the next tyrant?" I bet they wondered. I stood before the dragon and took a bite of the worlds most delicious apple.
"Perhaps I've grown too powerful" I thought, before my body fell abruptly to the ground. | 2021-09-27T12:31:06 | 2021-09-09T22:42:51 | 315 | 23 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time. | My gift. That's how they refer to it.
<sigh>
It's not a gift. Well, not to me. To me, it's a total curse, however, I can do some good with it. Well, I don't know if it's even good. THEY tell me I am doing good. I have a fairly comfortable life. I can do pretty much whatever I want, to certain limits. I'm the last remaining of the Heroes of Thales. I would tell you about the others and how we grew to fame and popularity helping the known world combat threats from the then, unknown worlds, however, suffice it to say, in the last battle, I was the only one victorious and alive.
Ramona was the last other remaining Thales hero. She died during the second invasion leaving me by myself. I thought she would survive, she had to, I mean, she survived the first one. Heck, the first time the phone rang, there were a number of us, and at the end there were two. Then, the phone rang again. Ramona and I were able to defeat them, but she died somehow from injuries I don't even understand to this day how.
I've spent the last 4 years, 3 months and 22 days just sightseeing.
Some people know who I am, and that's cool. Those who recognize me, feel sorry for me. They know what, who I lost. I've had some offers from some of them for companionship. I have to turn them down. They'd get hurt. That's the rule. Go after the friends and loved ones first, throw them off their game. So I'm kind of alone and a loner. Even in a crowed place like Paris at the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa again, or the site of Old Las Vegas, where nobody goes anymore after the first attacks.
The phone was initially an old school hard wired phone with handset in our HQ. Now, it's a Wrist comm device that never needs recharging, or won't at least for 800 years they said. I made them color it red, for old times sake. I can still see Ramona answering the old phone, the look of excitement and fear on her face as she listened and took notes, and her somber look as she hung up with the wods, "I understand".
I still don't understand, and she explained it all to me, at least 3 times before we left.
I just went to work. I always believed she was the strongest of the two of us. I hate being wrong. Especially in that case.
I looked down at my wrist. it was buzzing...
"Not again... I can't do this alone." I whispered. "Please let this be a test. Only a test".
Panicked hush tones came through as I hit the receive button. A hologram popped up of a young man, 18-19 years old MAYBE although, to be honest, he looked 12. "Are you rreceiving this?" I could hear noise in the background, sounds of carnage. "They are coming back, they found a new portal. " The image flickered a moment and died.
"I'll be right there... " I don't even know if he heard me, or if they were still alive. I knew where they were transmitting from, and it was time.
I carefully took off the communicator and set it aside. I stretched my arms wide and started the chant. Within minutes, They joined me. They were the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypses. Well, not exactly, but nobody telling the original tale actually saw them. I saw them. Even when they weren't there, i could see them.
They took their positions and waited for my summoning to be complete. I continued to summon horrific creatures of "myth". Originally, I could only summon a minor hero. One often called Hercules, or Heracles. As the others died, their counterparts were sent to either Ramona or myself to summon. If a Summoner's companion dies, there's a chance the summoner will also die. That chance is 99.5% by the way. I had always kept Hercules back, just in case. Ramona gave them all in. And her half percent didn't check out.
After summoning for almost 3 hours, I looked at my supernatural army, awaiting orders.
"Alright, time to get to work. Remember, try not to kill our people. Try not to die." I felt a tap on my shoulder.
"I'm here too. You need me." The man had a lion's skin as a cape with the head as a helmet. He was holding a giant club. My heart sunk.
"I didn't call you?" I was a little upset.
"They need me. It's okay. Let's go fix this and be Heroes." | "Why, hello there."
He holds the red phone in place by pressing it between his ear and right shoulder as he plays with his personal cellphone, smiling to himself.
"What seems to be the problem?" he continues.
"Sir, we're having trouble-"
"*Tch*, of course you're having trouble!" he cuts off the voice on the other end. He scowls for a moment at this man's idiocy. "Just tell me where and I'll be there."
The voice on the other end lists some random address in Washington D.C.
"Just get the job done," he is told firmly, "...Reaper."
*Click!*
With a sigh, he sets the red phone down on his desk and stands, sliding his cellphone into his pocket as he does so. There's a window next to his desk, curtains drawn back. It's sunny today, and warm, too. Summer break has started, releasing the younger kids into the wild, screaming playfully as they run around. Somewhere downstairs, his sister is making the two of them some lunch.
So much for a relaxing day.
"Keito!" he hears as he steps from his office. "What jam do you want?"
"What do we have?" Keito asks back. He turns away from the stairs and walks down the hallway to his bedroom.
"Grape, strawberry, blackberry, wild berry," his sister rattles off a few more flavors. He's stopped listening.
He opens the door and stares into the dark room. Curtains drawn, with very sparse furniture dotting the interior. There's only one thing he's focused on, however.
Metal glitters as the light of the hallway behind him streams in. The curved blade is attached to an ebony shaft eloquently crafted and carved. The weapon is mounted above his bed at the very back of the room, humming with power.
He steps up onto his bed and, carefully, as if he were conducting a sacred ceremony, unhooks the scythe from its mount. He holds it in front of him in both hands, fingers spread wide as he lets the shaft roll in his palms.
"Keito?" his sister's call is loud and concerned. He stiffens for just a moment.
"What?" he calls back.
"Is everything alright?" she asks.
"Yes, of course."
"...What jam do you want, then?"
He lets out a sigh.
"Make it grape."
"Okay. It'll be ready in five minutes."
He wraps his fingers around the shaft of the scythe.
"I'll be there shortly."
The job shouldn't take any longer than that.
In the blink of an eye, he finds himself standing outside with only his socks providing what little cushioning they can from the hard concrete sidewalk he is now on. The sky is overcast, almost like it's about to storm at any moment. He looks around and reads a few building numbers to confirm he's in the right spot.
He is.
He strides down the sidewalk, twirling the scythe in on hand expertly, as if it were simply an extension of his being. In a way, it is. The place is deserted. All the better for him. No need to do a massive media coverup like the first time, or a covert relocation like the second. If anything, he rather not be out on the street at all.
*Morons*, strikes through his thoughts, and he smiles in amusement. Yes, everyone is a moron. It's his job to dispatch of extremely-out-of-control morons.
He rounds the street corner and just stares. The street is rather torn up. Cars are crushed beyond repair. Buildings nearby have chunks of concrete and glass missing from them. Not too far ahead is some sort of mutant-like monster, an amalgamation of flesh, muscle, teeth, eyes, and entrails that leave bloody streaks along anything they rub up against. It's probably just some experiment that went horribly wrong again.
Keito yawns.
*Morons. All of them.*
One step forward, he's now standing right next to the beast. It smells, but he doesn't care much. He raises his scythe and strikes at one of its legs.
The beast wails as, in another step, Keito brings himself to the safety of the rooftop of a building nearby, where he can watch. The mark he left on the beast should have only felt like a paper cut. Honestly, the cut wasn't even that deep anyways. He just smiles to himself, sits down with his legs danging over the edge of the roof, and waits.
The nightmarish amalgamation of human body parts continues to stomp down the street, tearing out more concrete from the buildings around it, stepping on cars, and whatever else a brainless beast of that size can do.
Ever so slowly, its movements become more slugging and labored. It strikes at the buildings with less ferocity as it once had done seconds before. The beast takes a few more steps before pausing and swaying from side to side.
Keito leans forward. This is the good part.
The best way to describe this next portion of the process is that the beast simply *unravels*. Part by part, its body begins to crumble. Its arms are the first to go, separating and dropping to the pavement with booming thuds. Then its legs give out, and its massive body falls to the ground, crushing anything underneath it. It wails further, more sad than enraged, as bright red seams open up all along its body, and parts of it continue to slide off.
Gorey? Yes.
Fascinating? *Absolutely*.
He takes out his cellphone and snaps a picture as the beast lets out its last dying whimper. Now it's just a pile of rotting human parts in the middle of the road. Harmless, naturally. Some part of him is curious as to how the beast came to be and how it managed to get all the way *here*. However, such information is pretty much useless now, as the beast has been disposed of.
*Eh, the feds can clean it up*, he chuckles, staring down at his new digital photograph. Satisfied, he snaps his fingers, and he's now sitting on his bed, scythe cradled in his lap.
"Keito?" his sister calls from the stairs. "Lunch is ready!"
"Coming!" he calls back. He tosses his cellphone onto his bed, climbs back up on top of it, and remounts his weapon. It shines back at him as he hops down and brushes himself off. It was actually a fun way to pass the time, and he got a picture out of it.
*They should call me more often*, he grins. | 2022-03-29T07:34:21 | 2022-03-29T07:28:35 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers. | Having powers was nothing unusual since this comet melted in the earth's atmosphere and spread its mystery across the globe. Maybe you could run 40 miles per hour. Maybe lift half a ton without much training. Maybe jump 6 feet high standing still. People mostly had ordinary jobs, using their power to boost their income as well as possible.
"Please, give me a detailed list of the powers you have developed, and what class you would rank them in."
These were the class 1 or 2 powers, which have gotten fairly common by now. They are harmless powers, usually just simple enhancements that were not too much danger to society. There were some additional laws, and your powers were added to your ID card, but otherwise, that was it.
If you were ranked into the rare class 3, you had to wear a tracker all the time to make it harder for you to commit crimes. Also, the military would be trying to get you signed up. After all, things like teleportation, intangibility, or flight make good criminals. At least, that is what the government thinks. Protests were no use against the constant fear-mongering. Naturally, if your power was prone to get you to class 3, you would try to play it down. Which was what I was doing today.
Just that my powers are class 4.
"I have some sort of anti-aging that keeps me fit. I also have improved stamina and regeneration, but only on a class 1 level. I'd personally rank me a class 2."
These were my passive powers, I couldn't hide that. I forced my body to be chill and make it sound natural.
"Have you taken any examinations of what causes these conditions"
Oh come on, I was hoping they'd make it short. Stay calm, you have nothing to hide.
"The doctor says my cellular regenerations are boosted, which allows me to recover from exercise or injury much faster. It also seems to work against cell aging. I am just always in perfect shape."
Please, no more questions or a mandatory check-up. If my doctor wasn't one of our family friends, I would be in serious trouble by now. Class 4 will get you into trouble. I wasn't even using my power to its full extent. But if they knew, they would probably force me into lifelong house arrest with cameras everywhere.
"Since you can fix your cells, has your doctor found any hints about your condition allowing cell reorganization?"
Oh shit. Any form of shape-shifting was a class 3. But I was prepared for this. I handed her the doctor's report, which thankfully didn't include that I very well could reorganize my cells. And even add more or remove them to my liking. I was like a shape shifter on crack. I could just transform into an elephant and kill her, then turn into a fly and escape. But that was going to cause trouble.
"I see, only healing, no more. That would make you a class 2 indeed. How are you planning your future with your new abilities?"
Thankfully, I was not planning to make a living out of my power. And I was prepared for this question as well.
"I haven't really planned on utilizing it. I love my office job and my boss would be very happy if I stay with them, since I'm unlikely to ever be sick. I think I might start training for marathons since I can handle the distances now."
"Alright. I have everything noted down, we will notify you when your documents are ready."
PHEW
"You look like you successfully made it a class 2, congratulations!" Bobby realized.
"Oh boy, this lady seemed to know the tricks. Bless God that I have always been a good liar and you really helped me prepare. Now I just have to pray that I never accidentally raise suspicion."
If there was any suspicion, they would use one of their agents with lie detection powers on me. There was little to no hope in this case.
"Well, I am not going to spill the beans if you stay silent as well. Otherwise, I will squeeze you to death." Bobby had full-ass telekinesis and could lift entire cars remotely. But he managed to persuade the officer that he could only throw smaller things around.
"Same goes for me. Tell anybody and you will have to 1v1 your worst fears." I laughed back. One year back I spotted him throwing a plant container with his mind. Bobby almost died of fear, he probably would have lost his job if they figured out his true strength. He was very thankful that I kept my mouth shut and made a false statement that it was already broken when we arrived. Since that, we have grown to be best friends. I hope he never has to reciprocate that. | Everyone always is scared of necromancers. I can't blame them, really. All you see in media is that risen dead are just zombies under total controll of the evil guy, no memories, no personality, no senses other then murderous intent.
And here i am, in the world of superpowers, where anyone can one day wake up and realise that they are now unique in some way.
I don't really know when exactly i got this ability, but how i found out about it, on the contrary, i remember in full, every moment of it. You may ask now, why am i unshure when i got this ability but know when i realised that i have it? Here's a short version.
I couldn't realise that i had ability to raise the dead until i would actually raise the dead, isn't that simple and obvious?
Yes, but the problem lies in how often do you touch the dead bodies?
You are probably thinking that never unless it is someone from your family that died or you are working in a morgue. And you would be right, but there's a problem. How often do you just swat at some annoying insect? Yeah, that's right, always. You slap it and kill it.
Same thing happened to me, i would slap an insect, and it would either fly away as if i missed or it would keep trying to flap it's wings while still being a little dot of gore. Of course i interpreted those insects as if i missed or as a flaping in a dying agony, nothing suspicious, right? Absoulutely.
And only in hind sight i can understand that that was my ability acting up.
Finally we are comming close to the moment when i found out about my ability.
It was a warm summer evening, sun was almost setting, the sky was clear, there even was a nice breeze which was had just that perfect type of cool to it. A perfect evening for many people actually. And there i was, walking on the street, technically a teen, but still a kid at the soul.
With a whistling melody on my tongue and a little hop in my step i was walking down the street. All was good untill a car zoomed right beside me, surprisingly without grazing me, it was obvious that there was a problem with the driver. That near death expirience pumped an excessive amount of adrenaline in my blood, there was so much of that stuff that seemingly time itself stopped while i was running to the crashsite, just an odd 40 feet away and at the same time taking out my phone and dialing 911 to call for help.
To this day i have no idea why my mind was so cold and sharp at that moment, there were no traces of panic or horror at the moment, only steel cold thought of plan. Call for help and try to get anyone out of the burning wreckage.
Actulally, when i was running and had a moment of free thought about the situation, i wrote my callmness of as something that comes after the situation was analysed. And how'd i already analysed the situation and also was running with the world seeming as in a slow motion? That's right, i finally got a power. A Super Speed!
Oh, how naive i was... I got the power, yes, but not actually the speed, no reality was a lot worse. Well, it depends...
Anyway, i got to the car and took out both passengers without any problem, those idiots didn't even wear a safety belts. Then i layed them down on the ground on their sides, because in my mind i had a feeling that their lungs were damaged and now filling with blood, and i was somehow right about that.
Then came three minutes of agonising wait in which i had enough time to look at the deadmen. Eh, sorry, a dead man and a dead woman, as i would later find out a boyfriend and a girlfriend. But in all honesty, noone can blame me for missjudging that one, because both of their faces were lacerated with shatered glass with addition of being fully covered in blood and also, that girl's chest was as flat as a board.
All that time i held onto them, so they wouldn't fall down from their poses. And all that time i could swear that i feelt all of their insides shifting. Right untill the ambulance came. After that i let them go, said my suspicions towards raptured lungs, which turned out to be true after someone with x-ray vision from the truck looked at them, and just as they were being strapped in the medvan, police came with the sirens.
Took half an hour to fill all the paperwork as a whitness, asked to get notified about their state and was sent back home with one cop acompanying me.
All in all, that day wasn't that bad.
Next day i would wake up to the message that they are totally ok, both of them. Both are stable, and are getting better, which was a mirracle for the doctors because their scans showed that those two should be dead, because noone survived such internal injuries before.
That moment i got my suspicions. And i had to experiment.
A rat from a micetrap here, a recently hunted down bird with bitten out piece of it's belly there, another bird fried to the chrisp on the powerlines, a skeleton of a fully eated mice... There were more, but with time i would perfectly calculate that i wasn't in fact healing the wounds, nor was i keeping them alive untill they healed. No.
I was raising the dead.
And so, here i stand before the recruiting oficer, he is one of those who either take people with powers to a special school for super heroes, or "neutralise" them so that they wouldn't become a super vilain. Well, they didn't say exactly that, but it was obvious at that point.
My problem was in that, that he saw on his "magical tablet" that i had some kind of superpower.
And so... Here i stand. Trying to rapidly find an answer to his question of what my power is, so that i wouldn't be killed on the spot with a reason that another cooking vilain was stopped... | 2022-06-06T12:40:35 | 2022-06-06T11:05:57 | 454 | 114 |
[WP] For his kindness, the dragon taught the squire the dragon song. A song that was sure to make whoever sang it irresistible to the ladies. In hindsight, the squire should have known that by ladies, the dragon meant lady dragons. | “MINE!!!”
Phyrra grabbed Hughie and pulled him close to her chest as the three women walked by. They just gave a concerned look at her and kept walking.
“Hehe, sorry. She’s new to the whole conversation thing.” Hughie laughed while breaking out of Phyrra’s hold. “Stop being so territorial.” He nudged her. “These aren’t dragons, their humans. I’m not exactly ‘irresistible’ to them. That’s why we moved down here.”
“Sorry, old habits kind of die hard you know.” Phyrra nervously scratched the back of her head before leaning into his ear. “Last night, I tried to soar into the starry sky but I forgot that I don’t have any wings in this form. So when I jumped, I just fell flat on my face—snrk”
The three women, Sabrina, Myranda and Jamie, observed the odd pair from a distance.
“Those two, I really don’t understand.” Myranda began. “She looks like a goddess and she could marry a prince if she wanted to but she settles for a squire.”
“FORMER squire,” Sabrina corrected. “Now he’s a bakers apprentice in town. They both are, come to think of it.”
Jamie stared thoughtfully. “Well Hughie’s never been a bad guy. Everyone seems to like him.”
“I suppose he is very sweet. Though, she’s clearly the protector in the relationship. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Myranda laughed. “He’s certainly not the dashing knight like that Sir Alexander.”
Everyone in town knew of Sir Alexander, the knight whose service Hughie had been assigned for when he became a squire. Alexander was looked on as the model knight. He was charming, skilled, graceful but Hughie knew something about that no one else did: He was ambitious and his ambition turned him to ruthlessness.
“Whatever happened to him, by the way?”
“They still haven’t found him, everyone’s assumed the dragons got him. Poor man.” Jamie answered.
“Good riddance.” Sabrina stared grimly until the distance.
“SABRINA!!” Jamie and Myranda said in unison.
“He was inhuman, girls! They say he trampled a child with his horse!”
Alexander wanted to grab a dragon egg for the king, just so happened to be the unborn embryo of Phyrra’s younger sibling. He stole it from the nest but Hughie grabbed it back from him in his sleep. This led to a confrontation the following day where Hughie said he was tired of being forced into helping him and that he was going to make something right. Phyrra hovered overhead, hearing everything. In his fury, Alexander tried to kill him before Phyrra intervened and incinerated the knight. She carried Hughie and the egg back to her father who was impressed by his selflessness and taught him his favorite song as a reward. A song to make him irresistible to women but not human women as it would turn out.
Hughie and Phyrra were walking down the street holding hands when Hughie stopped.
“Can I ask you something, Phyrra?”
“Sure,”
“Every dragon wanted me after I learned that song, they even fought over me.”
“Yeah…”
“Is that why you fell for me? The song?”
“Well…” Phyrra looked up into the sky. “ At first, that’s what I was scared of. Then, I thought that I was just in love with what you did.” She grabbed his other hand. “But, since I moved in, I kind of realized that’s not it at all.”
“So, what is it?”
She brought his hands to her cheeks.
“My dad is very distrusting of humans but he saw something in you. I see it now, too. You’re kind and even when you’re terrified, you’re still brave enough to be kind.” She stared at him with her beautiful doe eyes. They almost seemed misplaced on such a powerful creature. “And when you were brave enough to love me too, I was so glad you did. I can trust you’ll do the right thing in our relationship and you’re not afraid of what I am.”
They gave each other a long, warm smile before Phyrra broke the silence.
“Seriously, though” she stared grimly at the mountains in the distance. “We’re not going back up there any time soon: It’s…breeding season”
“Oh,” Hughie responded blankly. “Well, it really is best we’re down here then.” Hughie imagined sprinting away from dozens of lustful dragons who wanted his body. He gagged in his mouth.
“I love you, Hughie” she threw herself around him.
“I love you too, Phyrra.” | Under a swinging ashen grey sign was a door filled with laughter and song as the twilight hours of the evening faded. Intricately carved figures of dragons and men danced together in the dark wood as small puffs of smoke pushed their way through carved holes bringing the dragon's menacing figures to life. A lute started up as another round was poured and pewter mugs clanked together.
“Another!” the crowd shouted to a finely dressed man on stage. The backdrop had been commissioned and had taken almost a year to carve. Wood flowed like water, over carven channels and down out into the hall as winged figures in the back flew above the stage.
“What do y’all want me to sing next?” the man laughed as he lifted his mug. Secretly, it was filled with water up to the crowd.
White noise rushed him as voices intermixed with the roar of the fire at the back and the sounds of the kitchen behind that. It was hard to think with the air so filled with smoke but Ballad the Bard wasn’t daunted by the task. He listened, well learned to listen past everything to what he wanted to hear.
Shouts for the Tale of the Sirens call went unnoticed. A sad song of lost love and hopelessness on the sea but they weren’t there and this wasn’t a loveless night. The Great King Alford’s Demise went the same way. Ballad needed something of a crescendo. A jig maybe? That seemed about right.
“The Dragon Squires Tale!” he picked out from the crowd and with a point and a laugh he agreed. Standing tall and lifting his lute, Ballad started to stamp his foot till the crowd joined in. He called out, “The Dragon Squires Tale it shall be!”
A cheer went out but the crowd quickly quieted down as Ballad led the rhythmic stamping and clapping.
&#x200B;
*Oh! There, once was a squire*
*That could never fly higher*
*Than the scales of red and green.*
&#x200B;
*For he once played a tune*
*At a quarter to noon*
*But his prize was left unseen.*
&#x200B;
*He waited and watched*
*Thinking his plan was botched*
*Till a screech shook this canteen.*
&#x200B;
*To everyone's surprise,*
*The dragons outside*
*Weren’t a part of the squire's routine.*
&#x200B;
*Now, the fire in their eyes*
*Bolstered this man's pride,*
*As he tried to reclaim the scene.*
&#x200B;
*A smile and a word,*
*That was better left unheard,*
*Made him look like foreign cuisine*
&#x200B;
*But loathed did the lizard did learn,*
*That the squire did earn,*
*The faith of their only queen.*
&#x200B;
*So with a gust and a flap,*
*They never came back,*
*Leaving the squire in the latrine.*
&#x200B;
*And now we sing and we dance*
*For this man's romance,*
*Means the kingdom knows what we’ve seen!*
&#x200B;
With the merry chorus of the hall with him, Ballad repeated the last verse a couple of times before sitting back down on his chair and putting his lute back on its stand. Nudging his case toward the hall, Ballad raised his glass, finished his water and gave the bartender a knowing nod.
“That’s all for now!” Ballad called out with his mug in hand before explaining, “I need another!”
Cheers and laughter filled the air and then descended back into drunken conversations about the land and love. Many here had made the journey for the Bonfire Celebration and to hear the story of the Dragon Squires Canteen. Not that many hadn’t heard the song.
The old castle that they were a part of was now more of a massive inn rather than a serious outpost. At least, that is what Ballad had always told himself. Once upon a time, these walls meant security and protection for the neighbouring settlements but the Decade War ended far from here.
Passing through the crowd, Ballad patted and hugged more than a family’s worth of strangers and partygoers. Maxim, the bartender looked rough when Ballad got to him. The brute of a man had poured more ale probably today than he had in the past week and the evening was just getting underway.
“May I get a Ballad’s Special?” Ballad asked loudly as Maxim put another set of mugs on his soaking sticky table. Ballad knew not to touch it.
“The little squire can get his own special,” Maxim grunted as he glared at Ballad before being pushed out of the way by a woman even smaller than Ballad. Fiery red hair flowed past her shoulders and down her back but next to the large man, this maiden looked like a toothpick in a dress.
“Careful now, Maxim, or the dragon's fire may appear again,” the woman chuckled and got Ballad his brew.
“Could you?” Maxim scoffed, “I need a break as much as you two do.”
“My queen deserves more than a break,” Ballad whispered as he ignored the warnings of the table and leaned in to kiss the fiery women behind the bar, “My queen deserves the world.”
“Your queen wants a happy tavern,” the woman corrected, “and for you to stop calling our home a canteen.”
“It goes with the song,” Ballad countered as he got back up with his mug in hand.
His queen gave a hiss and a small breath of fire as he walked away but he knew he’d be forever in her heart. The song was never about changing a dragon's heart. That day was actually just a morning and the only dragon that Ballad had enchanted had scolded him for hours. She taught him what he knew now though and over the years the Dragon Song that he had been taught to him turned into a romance that changed him forever.
Edit: Formatting with the song. | 2022-11-06T08:07:08 | 2022-11-06T07:58:31 | 85 | 55 |
[WP] You run a daycare after the apocalypse. An unspoken rule among the wastelanders says the Daycare is off-limits to all. You raise the children of warlords, chieftains, and nomads. | Croc was on his way out when Gil walked in. Two of the most powerful men in the region, who’s respective factions, the Waterrunners and the Trailmen, had been at war for a decade, simply nodded at each other as they passed. I smirked, they knew better than to do anything here.
I remember the day all this started. Ironically enough, my wife was on the way home from our daughters daycare when the earthquakes began. They never made it back, one of many others lost to a bottomless ravine. Once I was sure the ground was still, I made left my concrete cellar and waited for Maggie.
After an hour the realization set in.
After a week I left my ruined home, a shabby mess of a man, because I needed supplies.
After a year, I had somewhat recovered, and found new meaning in a lost 6 year old child I returned to her small shantytown nearby.
After 5 years, I repaired and converted my house into a place where people could leave their kids as they searched for supplies.
After 20 years, I was responsible for nearly every child that resided in a 5 mile radius.
That takes us to today. Gil smiled at me, and reached out his hand. “Hey Gil” I said, shaking it “Bobbi’s in the wash-“ then, the ground shook like it did all those years ago.
The floor gave way, and I fell into an abyss of darkness. I didn’t scream.
My only thoughts were of the dozens of children who were in that place with us. | Angel died yesterday, probably. His lifeless frame was found crumpled, his skin long gray, gross-smelling fluids oozing from his eyes and mouth. But it could have been earlier, I suppose than yesterday that he perished.
I mostly kept busy with the day's sudoku while the others dealt with him, as they're want to do.
The puzzle had a quite beautiful X-wing that took me a handful of minutes to find. By the time the ink had dried, they stood outside around the little mound of dirt, singing.
One of the young ones beckoned for me, pointing to a crying welp. The stench of Angel's liquids, still soaked into the floorboards pounded my temples, though. I snapped at an older girl, pointed at the baby with her full diaper, and went to lie down.
Sometime later, I woke up in a sweat. One of the damn children had opened the curtain, letting the blazing sun bare down on us.
Entering the kitchen, I took a portion of beans cooked by the older girls of the house before the scent of Angel's rot filled my nostrils.
Thankfully, one of the little ones noticed my revulsion. She jumped to her feet, abandoning her plate. Returning with incense sticks and candles, she lit them before rejoining the table. I gave her head a little pat, her cheek a little squeeze.
Leaving the filth of the grubby ones behind was a necessity. I spent some time tidying my one refuge, my bedroom, before opening a warm can of premixed jack and coke.
Finally, I felt a lightness in my chest. The drink went down easy, and I was shortly on my second, sitting jovially in my rocking chair. I flitted from book to book, from game to game, from thought to thought, playing music loud enough to escape the irritations of the other room.
Yet, in a moment of utmost joy, I smelled it again. I whipped my head about, looking for the source.
Instead, my eyes landed on the vent, and I erupted from my haven, knocking down a few oafs who had been waiting by my door.
I launched into the baby room and retched. Diapers piled high, in long decayed garbage bags. The thin reedy cry of a baby much in need of water filled my ears, and intense anger accompanied me.
The feelings mounted. The whine escalated, permeating through my spine. The smell of shit and decay flowed rapidly from my nostril to invade my brain, clouding my vision and thoughts. The *needs* and the wide-eyed stare of children clutching soft, dirty blankets disgusted me.
The need for alone time, for a place of my own, for a refuge piled.
I rushed to my bedroom, locking the door and even propping a chair under the handle. Towels and insulation were stuffed in the vents and cracks, and nose plugs were followed by ear plugs.
I couldn't hear the heavenly sound that accompanied the jack and coke cracking open, but I could taste the sweet bitters. | 2022-12-23T12:23:56 | 2022-12-23T09:22:58 | 49 | 24 |
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention. | Baphomet shifted uncomfortably from cloven hoof to hoof as Tiffany absentmindedly arranged blocks into a tower.
Turning to N'Karragüä'n', rapist of mortal dreams, the dying shriek of hell, he asked "What d'you think we should do with her?"
N'Karragüä'n' stared back at the hellish satyr with eyes made of dying stars, entwined within an Eldritch mass of tentacles and teeth. "Well, I doubt Lucifer will want to have to deal with it. It's all- *squishy*". He prodded the child with an arm of fused, decaying flesh for effect.
"Hey, that tickles!" Tiffany said, giggling in delight and accidentally knocking the tower over.
Baphomet stared down at her with unblinking, unfeeling eyes. "What exactly do ManSpawn do, anyway?" His partner shrugged. "Violently fornicate in the scabbed-over reservoirs of their rampant sin and destruction?" The satur shook his head.
"ManSpawn, what do you do for fun?"
Tiffany's brow scrunched as she thought back to her time on Earth.
"I like bubbles." | "This is complete torture." Klatch said oblivious to the irony in his words.
Every second spent not punishing filthy heathens felt like a millennia. Yet here he was pacing back and forth with no one to release his frustrations on.
"Um... I'm really sorry sir, I bet this is my fault some how." she stares at Klatchs hooves as she speaks no doubt to afraid to make eye contact with his horrifying muzzle.
Klatch stares intensely at her as if to will her into the sinner that he had hoped he would feast on before letting out another sigh.
"Enough of that little one humility has no place here." Klatch said resined to his fate.
Klatch stares off into the endless hordes of torture in the distance. He knows that he only has himself to blame for this predicament. Children in Hell were a rare thing being to young to be held accountable for their sins most were reincarnated in some other form. But every century or two a child comes that is filled with such hate and pure evil that no other form could sustain them. Catching one such child was a rare treat for the demons of Hell. When he got a glimpse of her in the distance he rushed to her with all his might only to be nearly overwhelmed by her purity. He then sent a familiar to an overseer to sort out this mess.
Working up her courage the brat lifts her head to stare at his chest. "M, Mr. Satan maybe i should have gone with your friend, I think he got lost."
"I am not that posh socialite Lucifer nor was that meager minion my friend, merely a slave to serve my whims." he said this with more melancholy in his voice than anger.
"Speak of the us." Klatch said as his winged minion flew in his sight.
"Well." Klatch said his impatience coming to head.
"Da big gal wit da whip sas dat she's busy and will take care of it in a week or so." peeped the winged messenger.
"WHAT THIS IS UNHEARD OF THAT FAT LAZY BUREAUCRAT I WILL SEND HER TO THE SEVENTH WHEN I FIND HER AND DRAIN HER OF ALL HER..." Klatch stopped his tirade when he felt a tugging on his tail.
"Um Mr. Demon if you want you can torture me I bet I can scream really loud too." she said finally getting the nerve to reach eye contact.
Klatch stared at her with eye cocked for a moment before his face brought on a wicked and evil grin. Not because of any evil intentions but because that was the only smile he could make.
"Come little one Cerberus is probably awake, do you by chance like puppies?" | 2013-11-26T18:20:08 | 2013-11-26T15:52:45 | 35 | 11 |
[WP] The Alien Federation has been keeping tabs on the humans of Earth since they first appeared. They do surveillance missions once every 300 years to keep track of our progress, the last mission was 300 years ago. The aliens are shocked by our progress since 1714. | "The *moon*?"
The head of intergalactic space command was incredulous. How could this primitive worm-like race achieve space travel in such a short time.
"Yes, sir. In fact we have a video of the event."
"*Video*?" Even this accomplishment was surprising.
"Here sir, see for yourself." The orderly brought the video up on a holographic screen.
The commander watched, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Surely it is fake! Why is the flag not moving? And no creature would move like that on the moon - they must have slowed down the video. And *look*, just look at those shadows!"
"We've analyzed the videos, sir, and it all seems to be authentic."
The commander was beside himself and he paced back and forth with obvious distress.
"It gets worse sir"
"No"
"They have computers"
"No"
"And video games"
"No"
"Nuclear power"
"No"
"Their own version of Reddit"
"No no no NO! DAMNIT! How could this happen?! How could such a primative race progress so quicky?"
"Sir, we've located signs of Reptilians in their population."
"I KNEW IT!"
-----
First story! :D | Homo Sapiens progress report #667.
Summary:
The investigator in charge is Officer Zog Io. Zog has been in charge of investigating progress of intelligent civilisations in Sector 5647 of the Milky Way Galaxy for 78 generations, meaning the last 231 investigations of the human race. The investigation took place using orbital observations looking for structural societal change, physical samples for an ecological status evaluation as well as interviews with human subjects.
The sum of Zog's investigation arsenal were 1 orbital control ship, 250 human extraction ships as well as 24 409 earth sample ships. The total cost of the mission was 550 eons, an increase of 340% from the last mission. This is the account of the last mission the Imperial Union will be performing upon the Homo Sapiens on Planet Earth.
Week 1:
Our OCS (orbital control ship) has been analysing the surface. There has been significant change to the geology of the planet. The humans are starting to act as a force of nature.
Week 2:
The ESS (earth sample ships) have been collecting samples that show a significant change to the ecology of the planet as well. With our best calculations, the planet is able to sustain the human population for 15 to 17 years until a catastrophic event like the one 65 million solar revolutions ago wipes out the majority of the population. The humans are using a simple chemical reaction, fossile material with oxygen as their main source of energy. They are using fissile reactions to some extent, but they are far away from using fusion as an energy source. We cannot grasp why they aren't urgently investing significant resources into fusion technology, with so little time left they seem to have little to no collective survival instinct.
Week 3:
Our HES (human extraction ships) have been performing interviews with human subjects. We have chosen various groups of people, from separate cultures as well as separate hierarchical positions within their respective societies. There have been 1 023 043 interviews. Our conclusion from these are that humans seem to have an extreme focus on their own separate existence, thus losing perspective on their existence as a species. In our previous missions to earth, we thought we were seeing this going the other way, but alas we were wrong.
Conclusion:
We have come to the conclusion that the chance of survival for the human species until our next mission is less than 1%. Since the human race is a category 13-Z population they are not eligible for intervention. We will leave an observation station in the solar system to monitor for future intelligent species that may arise on Earth. | 2014-10-26T15:51:36 | 2014-10-26T15:42:04 | 327 | 123 |
[WP] Everyone's last wishes, whether spoken on their dying breath, or written in their will, are legally required to be honored to the letter.
Do what you will with it. Talk about the work now required of lawyers, the situations that arise in peoples lives, or even how society itself is different as a result of this rule.
I imagine that the rule would be the only thing that could not be affected by dying wishes, but feel free to ignore that if you want. | The estate executor's penis was completely raw. He had gyrated his bare genitals on every person, place, and thing that Alexander Cecil Dagwell III had ever come into contact with. It was the executor's obligation to do so, as A.C. Dagwell III's dying words were "fuck my life." | Their country was doomed at this point. At first, the laws seemed to work. People being buried the way they want, inheritance being changed at the last moment to their favorite child. There was conflict, but the laws were fairly concrete. The former king thought himself clever as he wrote them up. There was even a subsection restricting someone from writing away the laws.
The coronation ceremony stopped yet again. "At the rate we are going, we are never going to have a new king," muttered one of the guards from just in front of the platform. A little girl was ushered up onto the state in line with the twenty-some other people that were supposed to be king. The crowd barely reacted to the most recent explosion from the east side of town.
It hadn't taken long for a lawyer to kill himself, requesting that his son was made king. Following that, hell broke out. Mass suicides throughout the kingdom, trying to help their children. The forgeries and fakes came out quickly too. Murdering someone else after having them sign a will to advance themselves. Within days the palace filled and the farmlands emptied. Within a week the nation to the south had mobilized and started to march.
The death of soldiers led to only more chaos. The command structure fell after just one small skirmish with soldiers being promoted and demoted with each death of a comrade. With no one to lead, many ran, others defected. The few that still fought seemed to ignore the rules that led to this chaos to begin with.
The crowd could hear the army marching towards the palace. The rumbling of the tanks. Four different high priest went around crowning the different people on stage. None of it mattered though. This hell would soon be over. | 2015-06-26T10:56:02 | 2015-06-26T10:45:49 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] At birth, everyone is randomly assigned one law they can break for the rest of their life. You are given..... loitering.
If you arent planning on writing something, I challenge you to think for 30 seconds about this prompt and post it! Perhaps it will be your first post! Just do it! | Name: Rolf Slentre
DOB: 7/4/1998
EL: Loitering
The police officer checked my information twice, three times, but it would check out. It was accurate, after all.
"The hell do you mean, you can't do anything? He's on my property!"
Yeah, yours and every other corrupt sonofabitch I do this to. Loitering is pretty damn handy for protesting. I have it, might as well change the world.
Plus, I get to picket right in their face. And that was fun as hell.
"He's been affecting my sales for a month!"
"And if I'm correct, sir, your Exempted Law is Corporate Fraud, and mine is Criminal Neglect, so quite frankly, I don't want to help you, and I don't have to."
I gave that cop a fistbump as he left. And then I proceeded to loiter. Aggressively loiter.
Hell yeah. | When life gives you lemons, squeeze the fuck out of them and make a citrus glaze. That's what my mum always used to say. Her Antilaw was poaching. Not particularly sexy, but only a select few have ever drawn murder, or treason. Dad? He drew bestiality. That made it tough to grow up. Especially when the class bully had grievous bodily harm, and his mate had manslaughter. Obviously the latter never used his, but the threat was always lingering.
What I drew did nothing for me growing up. Not even in my teens. When I hit my early forties though, and went through a mid life crisis is when I could really thrive.
For the first decades of my working life, I plodded along life everyone else. I married the wife and had the kids. I slogged it out 9-5 in a bank. I was robbed about six times there, until they hired a Rarer. This beefy guard whose Antilaw was maiming.
One day, this poor sucker nonchalantly strolls in, gun in hand, and demands the contents of my til. I was getting ready to hand it over, when the Rarer, undercover, walks up behind the would-be robber. Rarer took a six inch knife from under his coat, and calmly slid it into the guys back. I heard the clothes tear, and down he went. Maimed, unable to move. He'd be a paraplegic for sure. Rarer knew his stuff. He had good aim.
We went for a drink after close, talked a bit. And that's when my life changed. Sitting in a dingy pub with this psycho, he gave me a card and said that this head hunter (not literally) could change my life. Really get me a gig I'd love- just like he loved to maim people. I followed up on it. I don't know why. My wife told me not to, she was happy with my line of work- she probably didn't understand, her Antilaw meant that she would always be happy...
A week later I was in an office signing a contract that would see the house paid off in a month, and the kids in a decent private school with a Murderer principal. My job now? To stand in front of the vehicles of heads of state, CEOs, CFOs and lawmakers. I don't know why, I just know they pay me for it.
Lets just hope I never run into my old school bully's best mate... | 2016-04-10T21:10:43 | 2016-04-10T20:44:40 | 351 | 170 |
[WP] All children unknowingly have a Guardian Angel, Animal Spirit, or some other form of Mythical creature that watches over and protects them... you however, have something far more malevolent and powerful that protects you. | The Day of the Spirit. That’s what they called that day. Every year, about a week and a half after thanksgiving, they hold a ceremony to find our spiritual guardians. One thousand eight hundred seventy three years ago, our ancestors discovered that each and every one of us had a spirit guarding our soul. These “spirits” descend from “heaven” (as they liked to call it back in the common era). At every ceremony, one of the holy brothers gently holds us in his arms and calls for the guardians to reveal themselves. Each newborn is required to go through this process. Typically, the child and the spirit seem to have contradicting personalities, but is revealed later in life that they really resemble the other.
Recalling the Day of the Spirit isn’t a task I was able to accomplish as newborns aren’t built to remember. However, all I needed to know is that my older twin, Antoine, was guarded by a wild mustang. Fitting, considering the girl she grew to be. But mine, mine was a wyvern.
A wyvern. Like a dragon with wings spanning larger than my room. Razor-sharp talons ended its claws, and spikes sharper than knifes, and stronger than steel bordered his tail and wings. It bore a snout filled with teeth so petrifying, everyone but Antoine scrambled when it made an appearance. Upon touch, though, it was soft. Despite the scales, his skin was a fine leathery feeling beneath my callused fingers. Its warm breath was, somehow, reassuring. But its eyes. The eyes I could never forget; even in a million years. They were a fierce red. Pure fire edged with a rage I can not describe. Even despite the odd sense of peace that echoed at the surface, I’m sure that I was not the only one that can feel the other-wordly malice flowing through its blood. Since the beginning, a small part of me has known that there’s an evil lurking beneath a shield as thin as paper. And someday, that shield was going to fracture.
Antoine grew up to my best friend. Despite my inner wyvern, I was a shy child. An antisocial teenager. And an introvert as an adult. Antoine's wildness and boldness was like a red to my blue, and our souls sang in harmony. Beastie, my guardian (it was a name I called as a child, and just stuck around), was a rather distant guardian. Typically, children spend much time under the care of their guardian; like a child and a babysitter. Mine, however, hid in the shadow and watched me with those odd eyes of his. Occasionally, he would breathe some sad stories into my ear. Slowly, Antoine's aspirations to become the governor of our territory whisked her away from my life, and all I had was the sad tales Beastie fed me.
He was swan. Once, when the world was a better place. He had been a guardian multiple times before; as all guardians had been. Beastie would always tell me stories of the merry memories he created for the young children he held close to his heart. Only, in the end, everything he loved was taken away. A tragic end to the kind heart that once beat beneath his skin.
His wings (he claimed he loved to fly), were chopped off by a rival guardian. He took himself to be fixed by the spiritual wizard (he never bothered to tell me what that actually was, and I never bothered to ask more about that other world), but it could only be fixed by replacing them with a wyvern’s. Slowly, his body was replaced with another, and only his heart was the same. Except even I could tell a certain kind of hate and betrayal pumped a colder blood through his once glorious body.
Beastie told me of all the horrors he had lived through. “Lived” was a word I took lightly because I don’t think he survived in the end. Every time, he had loved the child with his heart of wings, but every time they were brutally murdered. This time, it was his first time in his completely new body, and he had vowed to be the swan, but not to become attached.
Except through the hate and lack of love, I knew that Beastie was most definitely not the swan with the wings he once treasured.
Then, two months after my twenty-seventh birthday, word arrived that Antoine was assassinated by a rival candidate in the political race. Political assassinations weren’t uncommon, but my sister was the closet thing I ever had. I cried, unending, for days straight. Beastie finally came to comfort me, but I saw an ire in his eyes. In that moment, I knew that whatever leash Beastie had on his pain and hate had finally snapped.
pt 2 coming out tomorrow (if I decide to write pt 2, likely before 11 est) because I’m going to sleep rn | “Playtime, kids!” comes the call. A frazzled older woman attempts to lead the children out of the building, but finds herself left behind in moments as the stampede rumbles past.
By the time she is outside and has gained a full view of the playground, two children are fighting over the last swing, and she moves towards them. A boy falls off the teeter-totter, but a glance shows him unhurt, although gravel coats his blue sweater. He doesn’t cry - but this is expected. *Ursus*.
“I w-was here farst!” Tears.
“Nuh-uh,” comes the high pitched response.
Two boys - Jown and Aidyn, she recalls. She places her hand on one’s shoulder, and freezes - literally, that is. A thin line of ice streaks up her fingers and her palm finds itself chilled to the bone. She shakes it off - the children don’t notice. “What’s going on here?”
“Ja-Jown, he w-wants-”
The slightly taller boy cuts in. “Aidyn wants my swing. It’s mine!”
The woman smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Well, it looked like Aidyn was here first. Why don’t we take turns playing on the swing?”
Aidyn smiles, hopefully, a single tear freezing into nothingness on his cheek.
“But… But it’s mine! *My* swing! *Mine!*” Each word comes out deeper and deeper still, until the voice is a growl, deep-throated and terrifying.
Her hair flutters behind her, but she stays calm. “I think maybe someone else entirely should use the swing. Perhaps we can learn from this - it’s good to share with others!”
The debate starts anew, the pre-schoolers crying out in protest.
Nobody pays any mind to the child sitting inside.
Jeremy pokes at a ball, and it rolls away and stops. *Boring*.
He stands up and wanders over to the kitchen. It’s empty - the lady who staffs it has taken a smoke break. Lights flash on various appliances. Jeremy tries to open a cabinet, but it’s locked. The inscription reads “Ingertum - Keeping your children safe since 1945,” but Jeremy can’t read. Not well, at least.
A handle pokes out from the edge of a counter. The design is fascinating; black and red paint entwined in a helix pattern to decorate the sheer white background. Jeremy tries to open the fridge, but the door is heavy.
Outside, a worried teacher attempts to coax Jennifer down from the cedar tree.
Jeremy pulls on the dishwasher, having to balance on his toes to get a solid grip. For a moment, it sounds like it will open, but Jeremy stops, noticing the handle still balanced partly off of the countertop. He spins around and grabs at it…
…and it falls, spinning so the knife’s point aims at his chest, gleaming silver under the tungsten lighting. For a moment, Jeremy’s life flashes before his eyes - it’s not much of a life. Then the knife hits, the cold tip slicing cleanly through his t-shirt, but then shattering into a thousand pieces, each glowing like they had been taken out of a fire.
Jeremy looks around himself, confused. The fragments surround him, most slowly returning to a silvery grey while a fair few melt into the floor.
Without so much as an inquisitive look, Jeremy makes his way haphazardly through the mess and back to his ball.
Had anyone attempted to piece back together the knife, they would have found a pentagram burned into it.
\n
Jeremy washes his hands, the left over paint residue from art class coming off slowly. It’s all right, there’s no line behind him. Art was fun today, the teacher let him draw whatever he wanted, and while a few gave him odd looks for a drawing of three people burning to death, he hadn’t been sent to the principal’s office.
Perhaps they didn’t want him in there any more.
Black paint comes off the slowest. Jeremy scratches at the back of his hand, the water flowing over it ineffectively. Ever since school funding had become donations based, soap was a rare commodity. He could hardly complain - at least he had water, today.
The sound of the bathroom door slamming makes him look up, and three figures appear in the mirror. A moment later, four.
“Well, if it isn’t the resident weirdo. How’re you doing today, freak?” *Shove*.
The second, perhaps the ringleader, grins maniacally. He sinks a hand into Jeremy’s shoulder and twists him around to face the group. A drip of blood rolls down Jeremy’s side - upon further inspection, the marks on his shoulders would look suspiciously like they came from talons.
“W-what do you want?”
He finds himself backed up further into the sink.
“Little *boy*, think you’re cool because you can draw well? We’ll teach you a lesson.” Not a real response - even the older boy doesn’t care. In his eyes, this is the way it’s supposed to go.
“What should we do with him?” The fourth boy. A bit slower on the uptake, perhaps a tad reluctant to join in.
A moment later, the nearest stall door is ripped open and Jeremy is inside, held firmly by the leader. He doesn’t say anything - his group laughs behind him as he shoves Jeremy’s head into the toilet.
It’s the leader that notices the water boil and evaporate even before Jeremy’s head hits it. He doesn’t see the cracks in the ground spiral out from Jeremy’s feet, solid red lines that could be mistaken for lava.
It’s the fourth boy, the one hanging back, that survives the longest. The flames that spew out from the ground are hottest in the centre, burning the leader to a crisp within seconds, while the rest struggle and scream for a good ten seconds before being silenced. One of them survives a little longer, but the water spewing out of cracks in his skin does little in the end.
Jeremy looks around himself. The floor is destroyed; the walls are scorched black.
*Not again.*
________________
*Fun google searches involved: “easy ways for children to accidentally kill themselves”, “biggest dangers for toddlers”* | 2016-08-07T19:44:31 | 2016-08-07T18:45:49 | 48 | 11 |
[WP] You are the man with the highest security clearance in the world, you've been to every blacksite and secret facility that exists. You aren't a spy or anything, no; you're the janitor. | Another spill.
Alien biological material? High-energy plasma residue? Simply what's left of a "terrorist" after interrogation? Don't know and don't care. The cleanup process is really very similar no matter what the mess is.
Working as a custodian has been my profession for as long as I can remember. In this line of work you eventually learn that there are no promotions, just lateral transfers for slightly larger pay. I was either lucky enough or unfortunate enough to make enough transfers to wind up in the employ of the CIA; still haven't decided if the knowledge that we're not alone in the universe has been worth the long hours and consistent nightmares.
I've never met a group of folks so intelligent and yet so profoundly ignorant at the same time. Every top-secret project and interaction with extra-terrestrial life has been built around assumptions of our own infallibility, the idea that humans deserve a privileged place in the cosmos. In my honest opinion, we should be judged by how we treat our own kind, and I've seen first-hand how poor of a job we do at that.
...
While I made it my business to stay out of everyone else's business, that business found me just the same.
I had almost finished my rounds in C-block when the building started shaking something fierce, then went immediately still. I made the assumption that there was some late-night weapons testing going on, and quickly let the interest fade from my thoughts. Making my way back to the supply closet, I noticed that the door to section C19 was open. Only problem is, C-block ends at C18...
*CONCLUSION ADDED BELOW* | Joey liked shiny things. Floors were his favorite, though he had a special place in his heart for polished sinks. The best part of his job was not right after the cleaning and surveillance of his work, but hours later when he would lie alone on his cot, staring up at the flickering fluorescent ceiling of his tiny cell and thinking of how happy his shining made people.
The men in suits were nice. If they passed him in the hallways, they would give him a nod, or sometimes a pat on the back. "You're our favorite, Joey," a very fat man in an even fatter suit said to him one day. That made Joey smile, but also made him a bit dizzy as funny pictures of wrinkled bodies and red walls danced in his head, but he could never make sense of them. A dour looking man had also given the fat man an angry glance and muttered something about triggers, which confused Joey even more.
Joey had awful dreams, sometimes. Big explosions and sirens and people with five arms and three legs who climbed walls and screamed like the world's end. Just like when he got dizzy though, Joey never understood the dreams and they always flitted about from one oddity to the next. Even though he lost sleep when the dreams were particularly scary, Joey never shirked from his responsibilities.
5 a.m. on the dot and Joey was awake, though nothing and no one aroused him. By 5:30 he began sweeping and polish the marble floors outside of his cell, continuing along the dimly lit hall until he reached the end. A second pass took him into the offices and bathrooms which he dusted, cleaned, polished and stocked. Taking the stairs up to the next, Joey would do this thirteen times in all, stopping only to drink a thick, sludgy green liquid that was left for him in a closet halfway through his route. He was never hungry.
By 8 p.m. Joey had finished and was returned back to his cell. He was thinking about his clean floors and sparkly bathrooms and was very happy. Before he could lay down, a loud blaring forced itself into his ears, splitting his head. Pulsing red hues emanated from underneath the door, and the big loud speaker sounded very upset.
*All personnel, please evacuate immediately. Containment Level 4 has been breached. All personnel, please...*
Joey didn't understand what the speaker meant, but he felt a dizzy spell hitting him. Razor sharp teeth and claws danced in his head, and a deep, bellyful growl was rumbling in his ear. The door opened and two men in suits walked in, looking upset.
"Just to be safe," one of them said.
The other looked at Joey and nodded, approaching him and taking his arm. "Joey, I want you to relax," he said, though Joey had begun trembling and jerking spasmodically despite himself.
"Shit, grab him!"
Joey felt both men on top of him and a cold, sharp sensation and then nothing.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joey liked shiny things. Floors were his favorites, though he quite liked sinks as well. | 2016-09-13T22:03:21 | 2016-09-13T21:17:45 | 96 | 25 |
[WP] You are trapped in a small, windowless room with nothing but a computer with a text editor. When you type in a word, the object appears in the room. However, there's a catch: the only keys on the keyboard are in the first half of the alphabet (A - M). | How odd.
A computer that summons what you wish?
Too bad it only has... 13 letters.
I sat there tinkering with it for god knows how long; hours passed, and I only noticed when my stomach let out a mighty roar.
Yeesh, I forgot about food. What could I summon with this?
Fish? No, there's no S here. Water? No letter W.
Well shit, I'm going to die of starvation *and* dehydration here.
As I sat there contemplating my demise, going over a list of foods and drinks in my head. It hit me.
Milk! It has water and protein in it!
I sprinted over to the computer and started typing it in. Immediately, a jug of milk plopped on the ground .
With that crisis over, I started to work on a way to get out.
Escape won't work, and key won't either.
As I pondered my escape, I noticed that the computer was running Windows 10 and I got an idea.
I started typing microphone, but I soon realized that it wouldn't work. As I started to lament, a microphone dropped from the ceiling.
Confused, I looked back at the text box. "MIC" It said.
"Well shit, you accept abbreviations?"
Now armed with all I needed, I plugged the microphone into the computer and prepared myself.
"Alright Microsoft, I don't like you or your creepy robot AI spy, but I'm going to have to work with you on this one"
I pressed the button on the mic and proceeded to say "Hello Cortana". Immediately the windows tab flared up.
Hesitant, I told Cortana to search something up. It showed that it would be searched using Bing. "Fine, that will do" I thought.
"Cortana, search for 'Amazon'." Using the tab button on the keyboard, maneuvered my way onto Amazon, and into the computer accessories tab. I went to the first keyboard and mouse combo I saw but came up on a barrier.
I had to put in my credit card number, but I had no number buttons on the keyboard.
I knew what I had to do, but I wasn't happy. Summoning Cortana, I activated speech-to-text. Dreading the inevitable identity theft, I began repeating my CC number
"R"
"E"
"D"
"A"
"C"
"T"
"E"
"D"
"D"
"E"
"T"
"C"
"A"
"D"
"E"
"R"
It was done. I made sure I checked same day shipping, and waited.
After about an hour, the keyboard and mouse arrived. They were pushed through an opening in the door. Immediately, I plugged in the mouse and new keyboard, and went to disable Cortana.
I had everything I needed to escape, so I went online, ordered a better keyboard, and typed in "reddit.com".
Content with an infinite supply of food, access to the internet, and bitcoin mining equipment, I could rot away the rest of my days in this room.
Edit: Words | It’s been 21 cycles since I typed CHALK. I think I was in here for about 2 real days before I figured that one out. Now my “days” end with each time I fall asleep, but If I had to guess, I’d say I’ve been in here for about 2 real weeks. Fortunately I can at least sleep on a BED, albeit it’s really just a mattress on a box spring. The MEALS aren’t exactly “food” either. More like one of those ration bars you see in movies. God, what I would do for the letter O, but at least I still have the delete key. When I typed out DECK it nearly killed me when it manifested. I just wanted a deck of cards, not a fucking porch. That was probably 15 cycles ago. This morning, I had an amazing idea. I would manifest a new deck, dismantle it, and use the wood to make this place a little more homey. Maybe make some shelves to hold my DICE, BALL, and MACE. I went to the computer and typed h-a-m-m-e- and promptly cursed myself out for forgetting R again. Now, I’m sitting on the roof of my yellow CAB, wondering whether or not I should finally turn it on, lay down, and let it run while I slowly fade away. God, what I would do for the letter O. I could hopefully get some better FOOD, but if not, I could at least pass the time by reading a BOOK or playing with a DOG. I’ve already got a BALL for him! Just one more letter and I could have so many more things. Or maybe I could click my heels together, type HOME, and be whisked away back to Kansas or wherever the fuck I’m from. But knowing this stupid machine, it would probably just kill me when it manifests a legitimate fucking house over my head. That’s actually kind of funny though, I wonder what would happen. I need to clear my head. I’m going to go draw a new window.
As I’m drawing a few trees and birds in the "distance" within the four rectangles representing glass panes, my mind starts to wander…. Adjectives! How the fuck did I not try any adjectives? I hurry to the computer, and before I can even think about what might happen, I type BIG. Nothing happens. Great, so now I can only use nouns? Bullshit. Well, back to drawing the outdoors what a fun experiment! Great idea! I’m the best! Just for laughs, I write “/s” on the wall near where I’m drawing the window.
Hold on, there’s something different about the trees and birds. They look a bit bigger, almost as if they got “closer.” Could that be what changed? Typing BIG makes my chalk drawings bigger? I’m backing up while still staring at the window. Backing up towards my BED on the opposite wall. Without looking, I sit down on my BED, like I’ve done tons of times before, hit the edge, and slip off. What the hell? I’ve been trapped in this god forsaken room forever. I can navigate this room with my eyes closed. Did I move the BED when I woke up? Why was it further away from where I thought it was? Something has changed…
I’m already typing BIG over and over again. The room is getting bigger and bigger. While I’m repeatedly entering the word I can see the walls expanding. It happens instantaneously as you press Enter. That’s why I didn’t notice at first. The room expands faster than a blink of an eye. The trees are getting closer! I’m mashing the keyboard now typing BIG as fast as I can, and suddenly the wall with the window begins to crack. Still typing. It buckles until a ray of light shines through near the ceiling. Still typing. I can smell fresh air. I hear the birds! Still typing. The wall finally crumbles as a tree branch pokes through the light hole. Still typing. The cement wall is crumbing more as the tree trunk finally breaks through. I look around and notice that the room is huge now. It’s probably a 3 minute walk just to get to my bed. I run over to the broken wall, rip out some of the bigger chunks of concrete from the wall to make a hole and climb past the tree. I have no clue where the fuck I am, but at least I found a way out. Maybe I’ll go get my CAB and find a road.
| 2017-05-09T09:56:02 | 2017-05-09T09:41:38 | 51 | 27 |
[WP] You're the clichéd high-school super hero who has to balance heroics and school life. One day, you rescue your love interest while on super hero duty, when suddenly she starts talking about your alter-ego. You decide to stay and talk with her as a to see what she thinks of you at school. | "And what else?" I ask, hoping I don't sound too anxious.
She pauses and turns to me, mocking me with a small grin like she knows. "You seem oddly interested in this kid."
"Only because you seem to blush when you talk about him."
"Oh, god." And there it is again. "Is it *that* noticeable?"
My heart speeds up like the traffic below us. "Do you not like the kid?"
A breeze blows, stirring her hair like the ship does to the sea even further below us. She's hesitating too long.
I throw out a question like the wind throws out my cape. "What would you do if he asked you out?"
I catch another grin peeking through the hair covering her face. Less mocking this time. "Probably turn him down..."
*Oh.*
"...the first time. But if he asks me again, then...I'll figure he's probably serious."
She sweeps a hand through her hair, and I bet not even the air could've produced a motion as graceful.
"You can take me home now," she says.
I wrap her in my arms and we fall. To Earth, like we want to die. Then we fly. To Heaven, like we've succeeded.
I take the long route, but all routes must eventually come to an end. At at last, we land. Quietly. On her rooftop, by her window.
Then I turn to go. But her voice stops me:
"How did you know this was my window?"
| "What did you say?" I focused on the damsel in distress I had just saved. Did she just utter the name of my alter ego. My actual name?
Maron James took a seat on the roof building I had just swung her to. "He's a guy at my school."
I sat beside her. "What's his name again?"
"Perry Park."
I wasn't imagining it. "Why'd you bring him up?"
"I want to help him, Sparrowman. You help people all the time so I thought I might as well ask for advice."
"Fair enough. Ask away."
She hugged her knees and her red hair drooped over. "I can tell he's struggling. He's shut everyone out. Everyone bullies the shit out of the guy. And several months ago the dude lost his uncle."
"I'm sure he's fin-"
"Fine? No fucking way. You don't know what it's like for us. You have superpowers. We don't. We can't shrug everything off so easily. And he's had it worse than so many of us."
"Sorry, sorry. That was insensitive. Losing people is hard. I know what that's like."
"It's not just his uncle. His best friend. I mean his best fucking friend. That's hard to come by these days. But yeah, his best friend, guy called Harold Oswald, he went all evil and shit. You know him."
I hugged my knees too. "Yeah."
"He's lost everyone important to him. Well except his aunt. She's a fucking angel but I'm pretty sure she's all he has left. I can't imagine so much loss."
"How do you want me to help?"
She brushed her hair to the side and looked at me, mascara ran down her face. "I've been in a dark place before. I know what it's like to feel lost and I know the thoughts that come with that. You saved me. Not from a burning building or anything. You were just there, you made me feel happy and if it weren't for you I could've been," she rubbed her eyes. "I might've killed myself."
I choked up. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"Why do people do that? Apologise for something they had no part in? I should be thanking you. I mean, thank you."
"I'm always here, Maron. Whenever you need me to swing by. You wanna help Perry?"
"Yeah."
"Talk to him."
"I don't know how."
"What's he into?"
"I think science. Lots of sciency shit. Yeah, he loves that stuff."
"Well I know about a pretty cool sciency thing going on. Guy called Doctor Conrad is doing a live experiment this weekend. Regenerating cells using lizards and stuff."
"Sounds like something he'd geek over."
"Take him and just have fun."
She nudged me and smiled. "Thank you." | 2017-06-20T11:08:37 | 2017-06-20T11:08:12 | 144 | 76 |
[WP] The saddest thing about being immortal isn't being the last member of your family, it's being the last member of your species. While you stayed the same everything else evolved. | I wish I could tell a story of regret. Or loss. I could say I reflected on this time, not as a human, but as a man. I'd tell myself I could say goodbye or hello. I want nothing more than to say hello to change.
But I couldn't.
I don't count the days anymore. And I've forgotten the years. Trust me, I've looked, but I've already lost myself in, well, myself.
Just sleeping is a good day. A great day is when you don't wake up.
There was this theory, in the days of old, before when the sky was blue, that when you fell asleep, your mind became *disconnected* from you. You'd wake up as yourself, naturally, just not as *you*.
During those short, bittersweet hours, you'd stare death straight in the eyes. So close to a broken, warped face of confusion that you could kiss her. Kiss her right on the bony lips.
I'd kiss her.
Just to see what'd happen.
But, alas, I never have good days anymore.
Being alive for millions of years shifts your perspective a bit. Yes, all the buildings I once knew are gone. All the people I've met, nothing but faceless entities living in the deepest recess of my mind.
I... I like suppressing those memories.
No, it's not the yearn for death or my refusal to acknowledge the past that has cursed me. It's life that has bit me in the metaphorical bud of understanding.
I've forgotten the definition for "Life". I know I'm not considered "life", hence, I am not allowed to kiss death then completing the cycle.
The other life, however, it continues to emerge and congregate around what I'd consider a paradox in my thinking.
I'd live and have liven, in every place known to myself, as man. But life... I cannot trounce life in its cagily attempt to surmount me as a man who as lived everywhere.
I've been eaten and spat out by life. I've fallen and shuffled into life's traps. I've called life a bastard, and life has called me a friend.
But I'm not a friend. I'm a man who made a mistake. Years ago, I let life choose my own path. Life can't die. No matter how hard you swish an ant, two more will just waltz on by.
I respect life for choosing the path, I was to foolish to pick. I will not and cannot tell a tragedy or a story of loss, because I have lost all memory of the lost ones faces. Life, however, can tell you a story of passion. Life can tell you what you have lost, and will lose. And I'm thankful for that.
Alas, I cannot die.
So, what makes us different? Life and I?
I choose not to say hello to change. | I'm not sure when it happened; I can only say the first time when I should have realized something was wrong. I was out walking out our 10 year old dog, Bud, when a car swerved and hit us both. Waking up a bloody daze in the hospital, I was told that Bud didn't make it. However, I should consider myself lucky to be alive.
An entire year passed before I accepted what happened; how my best friend wasn't coming back, how none of it was my fault, how it felt to feel again. For a time, there were no issues. From time to time, my wife Molly would complain about how much younger I looked. my wife would point out her graying hair or how she found a new liver spot, but how I looked the same. Like most wives do, she didn't believe me when I told her she looked as lovely as the day I met her. It was in my mid-forties where we thought something was wrong. I didn't have gray hair and I looked closer to the age of college senior than my own wife's age.
concerned, we went to several doctors, but they couldn't find any causes behind this phenomena. They merely brushed it away as a rare genetic mutation and I shouldn't pay attention to it or think of myself as invincible. My relationship with my wife grew more and more strained over time. She had difficulty dealing with any remarks someone made about us. Such as referring to her as my mother or grandma. She really grew furious at me when younger women would hit on me, and completely lost it when I flirted back once.
The conflict reached it's natural conclusion in under year: divorce. For a time being I had my friends support me, but a gap grew between us as well. They didn't want to go out drinking or talk about the game as much. As time would have it, I met younger friends and even found I new wife, Emily. Of course this was in a completely new town. I didn't want to burdened by old memories. In the back of my mind, I also didn't want to be bothered by some random institution of scientists.
Emily and I even had son after a year into our marriage. These years were marked by explosive Robotic Tech. It was nice to see so many people who previously could not see, see. To give people the ability to hear, or even use limbs once lost, and to give long term coma patients their lives back! As one could imagine there was some push back to the robotic plague. But it didn't last long, any rebellions were quickly dealt with, and hundreds of new laws came out punishing any kind of discrimination against robot augmentations.
Then they started equipping soldiers with robotic suites to carry out dangerous missions. Then they let construction workers use these suits instead of machinery as the latter did not allow much room for fine detail. Robotic eyes were then used by people to improve their vision beyond what was normal, some people even used chips or new brains to enhance their own intelligence. Then people started replacing their birth limbs with robot ones. Why have a weak limbs that are liable to breaking and feeling displeasure?
I was extremely uncomfortable buying these updates for our son, but Emily quickly convinced me with her death gaze. Eventually even Emily got such robot augmentations. Voicing any concerned was met with the same phrase.
"stop being so ignorant and embrace the change!"
I however, couldn't, it just seemed so unnatural. What was the point of living if you could not sense the world as a human? or even struggle as a human? Things changed when I came home to a note telling me how different we had become and to not look for them.
Everywhere around me, the everything had changed. From people who frolicked through nature to beings that controlled nature. Flesh was as rare as flowers. Flowers were replaced by charging stations, most of the wildlife became automated solar panels. Not even the trees were left, only huge server stacks. The world I once knew was completely gone, so I had to end it. I jumped off the highest server and to my dismay, I had not even bled on impact. Yes, I've tried several times, only to to be met with the same results. No one was around here to seems to care much for me or what I do.
I wondered when they would turn me into some kind of power source, but the day never came. They seemed to have been engulfed by their own virtual world.
| 2017-09-14T22:14:12 | 2017-09-14T18:51:45 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] The saddest thing about being immortal isn't being the last member of your family, it's being the last member of your species. While you stayed the same everything else evolved. | I wish I could tell a story of regret. Or loss. I could say I reflected on this time, not as a human, but as a man. I'd tell myself I could say goodbye or hello. I want nothing more than to say hello to change.
But I couldn't.
I don't count the days anymore. And I've forgotten the years. Trust me, I've looked, but I've already lost myself in, well, myself.
Just sleeping is a good day. A great day is when you don't wake up.
There was this theory, in the days of old, before when the sky was blue, that when you fell asleep, your mind became *disconnected* from you. You'd wake up as yourself, naturally, just not as *you*.
During those short, bittersweet hours, you'd stare death straight in the eyes. So close to a broken, warped face of confusion that you could kiss her. Kiss her right on the bony lips.
I'd kiss her.
Just to see what'd happen.
But, alas, I never have good days anymore.
Being alive for millions of years shifts your perspective a bit. Yes, all the buildings I once knew are gone. All the people I've met, nothing but faceless entities living in the deepest recess of my mind.
I... I like suppressing those memories.
No, it's not the yearn for death or my refusal to acknowledge the past that has cursed me. It's life that has bit me in the metaphorical bud of understanding.
I've forgotten the definition for "Life". I know I'm not considered "life", hence, I am not allowed to kiss death then completing the cycle.
The other life, however, it continues to emerge and congregate around what I'd consider a paradox in my thinking.
I'd live and have liven, in every place known to myself, as man. But life... I cannot trounce life in its cagily attempt to surmount me as a man who as lived everywhere.
I've been eaten and spat out by life. I've fallen and shuffled into life's traps. I've called life a bastard, and life has called me a friend.
But I'm not a friend. I'm a man who made a mistake. Years ago, I let life choose my own path. Life can't die. No matter how hard you swish an ant, two more will just waltz on by.
I respect life for choosing the path, I was to foolish to pick. I will not and cannot tell a tragedy or a story of loss, because I have lost all memory of the lost ones faces. Life, however, can tell you a story of passion. Life can tell you what you have lost, and will lose. And I'm thankful for that.
Alas, I cannot die.
So, what makes us different? Life and I?
I choose not to say hello to change. | I'm not sure when it happened; I can only say the first time when I should have realized something was wrong. I was out walking out our 10 year old dog, Bud, when a car swerved and hit us both. Waking up a bloody daze in the hospital, I was told that Bud didn't make it. However, I should consider myself lucky to be alive.
An entire year passed before I accepted what happened; how my best friend wasn't coming back, how none of it was my fault, how it felt to feel again. For a time, there were no issues. From time to time, my wife Molly would complain about how much younger I looked. my wife would point out her graying hair or how she found a new liver spot, but how I looked the same. Like most wives do, she didn't believe me when I told her she looked as lovely as the day I met her. It was in my mid-forties where we thought something was wrong. I didn't have gray hair and I looked closer to the age of college senior than my own wife's age.
concerned, we went to several doctors, but they couldn't find any causes behind this phenomena. They merely brushed it away as a rare genetic mutation and I shouldn't pay attention to it or think of myself as invincible. My relationship with my wife grew more and more strained over time. She had difficulty dealing with any remarks someone made about us. Such as referring to her as my mother or grandma. She really grew furious at me when younger women would hit on me, and completely lost it when I flirted back once.
The conflict reached it's natural conclusion in under year: divorce. For a time being I had my friends support me, but a gap grew between us as well. They didn't want to go out drinking or talk about the game as much. As time would have it, I met younger friends and even found I new wife, Emily. Of course this was in a completely new town. I didn't want to burdened by old memories. In the back of my mind, I also didn't want to be bothered by some random institution of scientists.
Emily and I even had son after a year into our marriage. These years were marked by explosive Robotic Tech. It was nice to see so many people who previously could not see, see. To give people the ability to hear, or even use limbs once lost, and to give long term coma patients their lives back! As one could imagine there was some push back to the robotic plague. But it didn't last long, any rebellions were quickly dealt with, and hundreds of new laws came out punishing any kind of discrimination against robot augmentations.
Then they started equipping soldiers with robotic suites to carry out dangerous missions. Then they let construction workers use these suits instead of machinery as the latter did not allow much room for fine detail. Robotic eyes were then used by people to improve their vision beyond what was normal, some people even used chips or new brains to enhance their own intelligence. Then people started replacing their birth limbs with robot ones. Why have a weak limbs that are liable to breaking and feeling displeasure?
I was extremely uncomfortable buying these updates for our son, but Emily quickly convinced me with her death gaze. Eventually even Emily got such robot augmentations. Voicing any concerned was met with the same phrase.
"stop being so ignorant and embrace the change!"
I however, couldn't, it just seemed so unnatural. What was the point of living if you could not sense the world as a human? or even struggle as a human? Things changed when I came home to a note telling me how different we had become and to not look for them.
Everywhere around me, the everything had changed. From people who frolicked through nature to beings that controlled nature. Flesh was as rare as flowers. Flowers were replaced by charging stations, most of the wildlife became automated solar panels. Not even the trees were left, only huge server stacks. The world I once knew was completely gone, so I had to end it. I jumped off the highest server and to my dismay, I had not even bled on impact. Yes, I've tried several times, only to to be met with the same results. No one was around here to seems to care much for me or what I do.
I wondered when they would turn me into some kind of power source, but the day never came. They seemed to have been engulfed by their own virtual world.
| 2017-09-14T22:14:12 | 2017-09-14T22:09:08 | 45 | 16 |
[WP] One day, you see a picture of yourself in a foreign newspaper. You ask someone to translate the headline for you: "Search for kidnapped child still ongoing." | I look again at the crinkled, creased newspaper lying on the dirty, but unoccupied, café table. I don't notice the girl staring up at me from the grey pages right away. Instead, my mind wanders to the pale-faced patron who left their paper in such a hurry; why had they left it open on the *missing peoples* page? What had they thought when they read it? Were they sad for the person inside?
Then, I see her. The same girl is in two tiny frames. The first picture as a gapped tooth child with a cows-lick fringe and a minute mole sitting happily above her left eye. Then, the second picture, a computer generated *what-if*. A what-she-might have become, if she were still alive.
It's not quite like looking in a mirror; more like staring in a pond during a sudden downfall. It's a ripple showing a possible *me* that I didn't become because of braces and exercise and love. I'm not grey faced and sullen; I'm neither sad nor scared.
I look up from the paper and stare at my father who queues patiently at the café counter, and I wonder for the first time in my life, who he is. I wonder if I should hate him.
I think again of the patron who left it on this page.
The little girl from the first frame stares up at me with sad, questioning eyes. She looks betrayed.
*I'm sorry*, I mouth silently, as I close the paper and get up off my seat.
"Papa," I say, tugging at my fake father's sleeve. "I feel unwell. Can we please go back to the villa? I need to lie down."
For a moment he looks disappointed -- there was so much he wanted to show me -- but his expression melts away into honest sympathy. Into worry.
"Of course," he says, pressing a cool hand against my forehead. "Paris can wait."
| *Everything is great. Wish you were here. Also, isn’t this the most beautiful thing ever.*
I sent the text to Riley, along with a photo of the Aurora light I managed to see yesterday.
Third day at Trosmo. Aside from the cold, everything is indeed great. Work is finished way ahead of schedule, which means I get to take the rest of the week off until Sunday. Too bad Riley is stuck at work back home, she would have loved to see the fabled light in person.
The waitress brought forth my long awaited breakfast, with my most beloved bacon, eggs and hashbrown. For someone that’s gone for only two days, I sure miss the food back home.
I quickly devoured the bacon, it’s like I’ve never had something so delicious before… As I move my fork over to the hashbrown and eggs, the patron next to me suddenly caught my attention. The man is holding a newspaper, in the middle of one of the pages, is an enlarged childhood photo of me!
Why would a photo of me be displayed on a Norwegian newspaper?
I tapped the patron’s shoulder, he gave me a look that says “can I help you?”
“Hi, um sorry but can you tell me what the story of that photo is about?” I said while pointing at my photo.
“Says search for kidnapped child still ongoing.” The man replied, probably wondering why would a foreigner be interested.
“Ah, poor kid, how long has he been missing, photo seems pretty old.”
“Says here he's been missing for ten years.”The man said while pointing at a section of text.
Ten years, that's exactly how long it has been since I took that photo. And the background looks just like the same pizzeria where I took the photo as well.
Now that I think about it… where exactly is that pizzeria? I remember it being near my home, yet I seem to have a hazy memory of it requiring hours of drive.
“Sir are you alright?” the man asked.
“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Thanks.” I said, and excused myself.
I went to the toilet to clear my mind. I'm probably just overthinking it. It's probably just someone that looks exactly like it. Some girls here look just like Riley, it's perfectly possible for another kid to look just like me. It's not like we have a monopoly of pizzeria.
Besides, that kid has blonde hair. My hair is black, and I don't dye my hair…
I froze as I looked at the mirror -- my hair is blonde! How?!
I could just be seeing things. With all the cold here, far away from home, I'm probably just stressed.
I walked out the bathroom, returned to my table, finished my breakfast. Everything's going to be okay. Something even stranger happened as I reached for my wallet -- it's missing! Something else dawned on me as I looked for my wallet: I'm not wearing T-shirt and jeans, but a business suit.
My phone suddenly buzzed. It's Riley, she can help me make sense of everything. Her reply however, shook me to the core:
“Who are you and how did you get my number”
Edit: Thanks everyone for upvoting, more parts will be on the way once I figure out a satisfying conclusion | 2017-10-21T12:25:30 | 2017-10-21T11:09:02 | 475 | 83 |
[WP] One day, you see a picture of yourself in a foreign newspaper. You ask someone to translate the headline for you: "Search for kidnapped child still ongoing." | I look again at the crinkled, creased newspaper lying on the dirty, but unoccupied, café table. I don't notice the girl staring up at me from the grey pages right away. Instead, my mind wanders to the pale-faced patron who left their paper in such a hurry; why had they left it open on the *missing peoples* page? What had they thought when they read it? Were they sad for the person inside?
Then, I see her. The same girl is in two tiny frames. The first picture as a gapped tooth child with a cows-lick fringe and a minute mole sitting happily above her left eye. Then, the second picture, a computer generated *what-if*. A what-she-might have become, if she were still alive.
It's not quite like looking in a mirror; more like staring in a pond during a sudden downfall. It's a ripple showing a possible *me* that I didn't become because of braces and exercise and love. I'm not grey faced and sullen; I'm neither sad nor scared.
I look up from the paper and stare at my father who queues patiently at the café counter, and I wonder for the first time in my life, who he is. I wonder if I should hate him.
I think again of the patron who left it on this page.
The little girl from the first frame stares up at me with sad, questioning eyes. She looks betrayed.
*I'm sorry*, I mouth silently, as I close the paper and get up off my seat.
"Papa," I say, tugging at my fake father's sleeve. "I feel unwell. Can we please go back to the villa? I need to lie down."
For a moment he looks disappointed -- there was so much he wanted to show me -- but his expression melts away into honest sympathy. Into worry.
"Of course," he says, pressing a cool hand against my forehead. "Paris can wait."
| I hoped that this time I would be found. I reached out, testing to see if she really was my mother. But the lady only stared at the tips of my fingertips, as if she looked through the hand of a ghost.
"The article," I said, "you've been searching for me."
She looked at the Japanese newspaper in my hand. Kanji, hiragana, katakana decorated its surface in a myriad of symbols. At the bottom of page twenty-four my name and picture had been placed next to a block of text.
She shook her head.
I shuffled uneasily outside the door. The house was nothing short of a miniature mansion. Even as she stood in the oak doorway, the golden chandelier tinkled behind while its glass shifted in the breeze.
"I'm right here, this is me," I said.
But she did not applaud, nor did she reach out with open arms. Instead, she shook her head again, not saying a word.
"Call your husband."
She surveyed me for a moment, and I wondered if she might shake her head again. This time she walked up the marble stairs and down a velvet carpeted hallway.
I turned back to the driveway area, which was populated with a Ferrari, Lamborghini, and dodge.
To think my parents had lived in wealth all this time, but here I was, eating out of trash cans and dreaming of cars with more kilometers than nuts and bolts.
Footsteps echoed from the passageway. When she returned, a tall man followed. He had dark hair, a buzz cut. Those eyes looked familiar, with their cold blue gaze that could turn your insides to ice. I'd been given that look. It had helped me in many situations.
"How can I help you?" the man asked.
"I'm your daughter," I said, pointing at the picture.
He snatched the newspaper and read it several times, glancing at the sheet and me.
"Sorry, this must be some kind of misunderstanding," he said.
I took the paper from him and stared at the picture and name. "I'm sorry that you had to meet me, father."
The man gave a confused look and then shut the door, clicking the lock into place soon after.
It made me feel sick that someone could do something like that, without even double thinking their response.
I walked down the cobblestone drive, and across to the neighbour's house. This place had a big lawn and fountain out front. There weren't any cars, but the large windows gave view to dozens of computer systems and a TV with surround sound. Whoever lived here, they were tech savvy and wealthy.
I rang the doorbell.
From this corner, I could see a more spacious view of the lounge. The man worked on something big, something that looked human.
A middle-aged man, no earlier than forty, opened up. "Yello," he said.
I held the newspaper out for him. "I've come in response to your newspaper article," I said. "How are you, Dad?"
He looks at the page for the longest time and then gives a slow nod. "Well, come on in, kiddo. We have much to talk about."
I went in and hoped that this time I would be found.
| 2017-10-21T12:25:30 | 2017-10-21T10:39:09 | 475 | 34 |
[wp] You work at an office in Hell. You don't live in Hell, nor are you trapped their for eternity. Lucifer just thinks you're excellent at Excel. | It's always on these first dates when I have to explain that I'm not talking about my job in hyperbole.
"Oh my god, yes," the blonde across the table from me sighed, rolling her eyes. "My job totally feels like hell, too."
"Not feels like hell," I corrected. "Is in Hell."
She blinked at me. Pretty blue eyes, although they were totally empty of comprehension.
"I work in Hell. In their Accounts Receivable division."
"Is Hell the name of some company?"
I shook my head. "The real Hell. Fire and brimstone, Lucifer and his cohorts, all of that." I pointed downwards, and I wasn't indicating the wood of the table. "Although it's more of an office setting. Lots of cubicles. Here." I reached around in my pocket, pulled out my badge. It featured a pentagram in red metal, attached to a black leather backing.
"Wow," she said, picking up the badge and tracing the pentagram with a finger before passing it back. "So, like, Hell is real?"
I sighed. Just once, I wanted the first date conversation to breeze easily past the job discussion, instead settle on a more fun topic. Nobody ever asked about the summer I spent hiking the Appalachians, or how I brewed not-totally-awful cider in my garage.
"Yeah, it's real. Souls come in, get tortured for their past crimes, demons run around and cause chaos, the whole thing. More or less. I don't go out much on the main work floor."
The waiter stopped by. My date wasn't ready to order yet (she hadn't even opened the menu), so I asked for some fries as an appetizer.
"Who ends up there?" she asked next. Her hand came up to her neck, and I saw her finger slip around a thin gold chain that dropped towards the neckline of her shirt. There was probably a cross hanging from that necklace.
I shrugged. "Not really my department. The higher-ups select the people whose souls are there; I just help them manage technology. They're really behind the times when it comes to tracking and inventory management, even worse than the government."
"So..." she bit her lip, thinking. "You're like tech support? But for Hell?"
I sighed, hating that label, but nodded. It was easier than explaining the whole story, how I'd answered a rather vague job posting and found myself descending several hundred stories in a rickety elevator, down to an uncomfortably warm conference room where I answered interview questions while trying to not stare too badly at the horns coming out from the grumpy being on the other side of the table. I'd described the basics of inventory tracking as I slowly sweated through my shirt, and although I got nothing but barely suppressed aggression from my interviewers, I think I at least convinced them of my aptitude. A couple weeks later, I got a callback with an offer.
"How is it? Do you... do you like working for them?"
I shrugged. "Pretty much everything about it is awful, but they pay pretty well, and the checks never bounce." The offices were always too warm, and all my clothes now smelled faintly of rotten eggs from the sulfur. They offered free snacks and lunch, but the food was always disgusting, reminding me of my middle school cafeteria. The coffee was also free, but it tasted like swill; I'd snuck my own little Mr. Coffee down to my desk.
"That's fascinating. I've never met someone from down there." The girl blinked, realized that she hadn't yet opened her menu. "Sorry for asking all the questions." She ran her eyes down the list of appetizers, and then looked up at me. I could only see the upper half of her face over the menu. "You're cuter than I thought a demon would be."
"Not a demon," I said, although I smiled back at her as I did so. I reached up and brushed my hair back from my forehead. "No horns, see? And no pointy tail."
"You might be lying about the tail," she countered, and I could hear her smiling back at me.
"Maybe you'll get a chance to check for yourself, later," I flirted, surprising myself with my own boldness.
Thankfully, the waiter returned before things grew awkward, and we placed our order. I chose the cheeseburger, while she went with a tofu stir-fry. He collected the menus, removing our shields.
"So, what about you?" I asked, after he'd stepped away from the table. "Not that I'm expecting you to have a hotter job than working in Hell itself, but what do you do?"
For a moment, I saw her hesitate. Did she not want to tell me, fearing that the more I knew about her, the closer she'd be associated to Hell itself? A mix of emotions - uncertainty, wariness, doubt - all flicked over her fine-boned, pixie-cute features.
Finally, she seemed to reach a decision. She didn't speak, but turned around to reach into her purse. She pulled out something, the size of a small wallet, and passed it over to me.
I looked down at it, opened my mouth, but didn't seem to have any words to speak. I opened the pure white leather billfold, touched the golden infinity symbol attached to the inside.
"So," I finally got out.
"So."
"Is the coffee any better up there?"
She laughed, an adorable little tinkle of silver bells. "Not really. It's delicious, don't get me wrong, but apparently caffeine is forbidden in Heaven."
"You're kidding me." I groaned, leaning back and shaking my head. "That's awful. All of a sudden, I'm not quite as eager to see those pearly gates for myself."
Ten minutes later, our food arrived, sitting almost unnoticed in front of us and growing slowly cold as we continued the best conversation I'd had in months. | It was my first day and already late. I came through a revolving door and the Devil was waiting for me, skull aflame and arms crossed.
"Hey! Sorry I'm late. There's, uh, not a parking lot that's closer to the entrance by any chance, is there?"
The Devil grinned at me, then shook his head. He ushered me to the elevators and pressed the down button.
The elevator doors opened, and a light on the nearby wall indicated that this was an "up" elevator.
The spiky orange lights in the Devil's eye sockets rolled. "*They always do this*" he said. "*It seemed like a good idea at the time, but...*"
I nodded, then suddenly wrinkled my nose. "What is that smell?"
The doors of the elevator slowly closed. "*It's brimstone. Kind of comes with the territory.*"
"Oh." I glanced around at the dull, black floor. "So...this is all brimstone?"
The Devil's skull turned upwards as he cackled. "*No. Brimstone is sulfur. It's yellow.*"
I scratched my head. "But...I thought it was, like, actual stone. That you...I guess I hadn't quite figured out the 'brim' part, actually."
The Devil gave me a hearty clap on the back that nearly sent me sprawling into the wall. "*If you think I didn't have anything to do with the making of the English language, Mark...*"
At last, the elevator doors opened, this time with the 'down' indicator illuminated. We stepped in, and the Devil pressed the button for Level -642. A yellowish glow appeared within and around the button.
We waited.
The Devil took a deep breath and studied the 'ceiling' of the elevator, checking his teeth in the gleaming surface. I rubbed my nose and switched my briefcase from my right hand to my left hand.
At last, the doors began to close. When they were inches a part, they shuddered to a stop, then started opening again.
"*I guess, it's like...there comes a point where we're just punishing ourselves, more than anything, you know?*"
The doors started closing again, seeming to move even more slowly this time. At last, they closed, and with a quiet whir, we began moving down.
"*The first 400 levels are all HR, of course. Then we've got about 200 levels of middle management and bureaucrats. Your workstation is going to be on a floor that is shared by Engineering, Graphic Design, Sales, Accounting, Customer Service, and HR.*"
We stopped, and a single tone played - which, somehow, managed to sound out-of-tune with itself - and the doors opened. The Devil ushered me past many rows of cubicles. *Many* rows of cubicles.
"*Since this is your first day, I went ahead and had somebody start up your desktop for you an hour ago...so it should be just about ready to go.*"
The desk he brought me to had a beige computer on it that was about the size of a large suitcase. The majority of the space was taken up by a CRT monitor displaying the Windows 95 logo.
The Devil grinned. "*Tech support just pushed this out to everyone last week. They didn't tell anyone beforehand, and, even though they could only do a few workstations at a time, they locked everyone out of their computers for nearly a month.*"
I cocked my head, taking a second to double-check the mental arithmetic. "How...if it was last week...why...?"
The Devil's grin got wider. Uncomfortably wide. He was demonstrating a quite literal interpretation of the ear-to-ear cliche. "*I know, right? We really are the worst.*" He shook his head in wonder.
I was about to try to re-assure him, but really...probably the only person in the world who can refer to himself as "the worst" and have it not be hyperbole. I looked back at the desk. "So...this monitor..."
The Devil nodded. "*Yeah, CGA! Each pixel can be one of four colors - including cyan, magenta* ***and*** *yellow.*" He gave the monitor a friendly pat, which caused the display to immediately go black. "*Oh, right. I don't recommend touching the monitor or breathing too forcefully towards it. It's pretty sensitive. The thing is bolted to the desk, too, so you actually have to climb under and reach your hand through this hole here in order to get to the cords. Basically, you have to just faff around in there until you think you got the right one...then climb back out and check. Usually takes 7 or 8 tries at first but you'll probably get it down to 3 with time.*
"*In a sec, I'm gonna need to go attend the meeting about our vision and mission that we have every day. Since it's your first day, you can blow it off this time. I'll just give you this...*"
A truly impressive pile of paper appeared in his hands. He squeezed it onto the desk between the computer and monitor, which was still blank. I picked up the top page and noticed it attached at the bottom to the one underneath it. The whole pile was bordered by thin strips of paper with holes punched out at regular intervals. I gawked at the Devil.
"*Yeah, we just got the new dot matrix printers in. The mimeograph machines were kind of a nightmare. Anyway, to start with, just get those numbers put in to a spreadsheet, and then we'll talk about what to do with them next.*"
I looked down at the paper again and frowned. "Where do these numbers come from? And how come they're all in one column like this?"
The Devil smiled. "*Ethel. These are...*" he glanced at the top sheet. "*Yeah, these are census numbers for levels 800-803. So the counters enter their numbers on their computers, and then they call up to tracking, who put it into spreadsheets. Then they take pictures of those spreadsheets - screen by screen - and, once the film gets developed, fax the pictures over to Ethel, who puts them into her spreadsheet. Then she prints them out. One of her setting gets messed up, and only one column prints out on a page at a time. But then, once that's all done - then it gets taken down to management for review and approval, and then once they've entered it into their Word document, they can print you the official Word copy. Which is what you've got here.*" The Devil rapped his fist on the pile of paper, and the desk rocked a bit in place.
The Devil noticed my frown. "*Yeah, maintenance got a work request for that left leg there, it's about an inch shorter than all the other ones. But the vendor we use for leg lengthening says the custom part they need is on back order. So...*" The Devil shrugged.
"No, it's not that. I just...why don't the counters, or whoever, put the numbers into a computer *once*, and then everyone else just works with copies of that file?"
The Devil threw his skull back again, his laugh drowning out the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. "*Oh, Mark. I love the sense of humor. Anyway, I'll catch you at the mandatory ice-breaker and team-building lunch, ok?*"
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds | 2018-02-27T14:03:15 | 2018-02-27T11:34:38 | 460 | 76 |
[WP] They had been preparing the humans for first contact for millennia. Rabies, plague, polio, chicken pox, even the common cold were gradually introduced to make survival with others possible. One more to go, hopefully the humans are ready for it. | Were there any other diseases as cruel as Paul-Sarrolli Ingerfields disease?
Mankind’s advancements in the 23rd century cultivated a stirring sense of mastery over the universe – at last, humanity had achieved the utopia so long portrayed in their collective hopes and dreams. Clean, renewable energy was widely-available, population numbers respectfully and efficiently managed, and the scars from wars long-past were finally fading.
It was at the zenith of this Golden Age of Man that the disease first emerged, like a brutish wolf launching itself upon an unsuspecting flock of sheep. Medical protocols were adhered to strictly, and yet the illness crept upon the face of the earth, an unbidden shadow which could not be dispelled.
For a moment, mankind faltered in disbelief, unable to comprehend how the sickness defied every known medical procedure in the databases. Those over eighteen years of age invariably succumbed, yielding to death within mere hours. There was little suffering, for the afflicted appeared only to desire sleep, a sleep from which they would not emerge. Curiously, those *under* eighteen years of age always survived, managing to awaken mere hours later – but therein lay the unflinching cruelty of the disease, for these youths were returned to their families irrevocably *different*.
As far as mankind had managed to perfect their medical craft, it was not yet within the realm of possibility to rewire the brain. And that was the hallmark of the disease, to reconstitute the synapses in such a way as to leave the afflicted forever distant, aloof. Those touched by the disease still managed to function at the most basic level, but they lost all interest in ordinary pursuits, preferring instead to spend their time looking at the stars, drifting through the days in a haze. Many believed that the disease affected the language centers of the brain as well, for these youths quickly turned to babbling, and despite the efforts of linguistic experts over the world, it seemed that no one else could crack the code of this new language.
At the turn of the 24th century, mankind was ready to consign this illness to yet another chapter in the history of mysteries which it had not been able to solve. Mankind was happy enough that the disease had been stopped in its tracks, that it had not ruined more lives than it potentially could have. Sure, there were millions of afflicted, living in special communities around the world, but at least there were no more new ones joining their ranks. The disease had claimed its final victims.
The reports were therefore dismissed as tasteless pranks at first – could it be true that the victims, denied a normal life, shut off in their own world, marked forever by their inscrutable language and inexplicable habits, were now somehow all repeating the same line in perfect unison? Despite the fact that they were not connected to the rest of mankind through the Net, despite the fact that they were spread out all across the world, and despite the fact that there was no way they could have coordinated such a stunt beforehand?
Yet, the videoplays could not lie. There they were, the masses afflicted by Paul-Sarrolli Ingerfields disease, now somehow psychically linked to each other across the globe, all pointing towards the sky, all repeating the same few words.
*Do not panic. They come in peace.*
---
/r/rarelyfunny | The event was to be broadcasted across the entire confederacy. It was a huge deal. A new sentient species introduced to join the universal confederacy. The joy! The enrichment of all. Adding their unique experience and interpretation of the universe. It was really quite an achievement.
&#x200B;
It had always been a very fine balancing act for the scientist at the department of isolated species, sub-unit of the Planetary Integration Agency. The motto had always been ”Don’t interfere, you might catch something.”
&#x200B;
Yet through the aeons they’d gotten pretty good at locating and slowly introducing new planetary systems into the confederacy. By now the process had been almost formalized.
&#x200B;
Once a species managed to harness enough energy and increase the output to a certain level, the scanners would notify the council of planetary relations. A probe would be sent with automated androids. If a civilization had emerged and reached a certain point of global connectedness the protocol called for the highest level of non-interference. Less evolved civilization could be approached and give certain technology. In case they started worship the androids, mostly likely the other civilizations on the planet would think they were insane.
&#x200B;
As a planet progress the scientist had found that they would in most cases start jeopardizing their own survival due to sheer stupidity and parochialism. This is not good. Life is rare, and every little bit of life helps to understand the universe’s intention. So a new protocol was developed that would minimize the trauma of contact from the confederacy, but at the same time allow for integration and assistance against geocide.
&#x200B;
The procedure mandated inoculations being the cornerstone to ensure both species survival. Some bacteria for them to get healthier, and some bacteria for the universally dangerous bacteria to be neutralized. A slow process but necessary.
&#x200B;
The process had re-occuring obstacles. Religions being one of them. It was widely considered within the confederacy that religion was probably the dumbest thing a civilization could believe while still maintaining itself. It slowed down many processes but overall seemed to be something that would be fade as time went on. No one could imagine post-nuclear civilizations being dafter than that.
&#x200B;
The last process was to introduce a virus which spread reproductively and caused a complete immune system collapse, thus letting all diseases propagate in the individual. The idea was to offset rampant population growth as planets tend to develop unevenly and thus certain boons where not checked by proper institutions developing.
&#x200B;
And now, the cure had been secretly implanted. It was the universal cure for all diseases. Once mastered sickness and death from it would be a distant memory.
&#x200B;
The speaker of the council was ready to give the big speech billions were on their toes in anticipation. It really was quite the big deal!
&#x200B;
A slight woman with silvery hair approaches the podium. Set in front of the confederacy’s emblem.
&#x200B;
”My fellow citizens. Today we introduce a new species into our common heritage which is the confederacy. The humans will be the 412th species to join. A beautiful race with humor and fairly sharp intellects. At the push of this button their telecommunications will be tuned to our live streams and….”
&#x200B;
A jolted man runs up to the podium and whispers something in the speakers ear.
&#x200B;
”What? Why not?”
&#x200B;
Confusion stirs.
&#x200B;
”What do you mean didn’t use the cure? It’s quite simple and considering the past cures they should know that”
&#x200B;
More whispers.
&#x200B;
”What do you mean stopped taking the cures? House-wifes? ADHD?”
&#x200B;
Irritation starts creeping in over the woman’s eyebrows.
&#x200B;
”Anti-vaxxers? How can anyone be that stupid?”
&#x200B;
More mumbles and embarrassed looks from the little man.
&#x200B;
”Flat-earth?!”
&#x200B;
The woman composes herself and looks into the camera.
&#x200B;
”It seems like for the first time in known history. A species have radically altered their collective intelligence in a pejorative way. The humans, it seems, have not take the cure and followed the protocol. I am sad to say that they will not be joining the confederacy. May the universe have empathy and lets all hope they make it through the next 100 years” | 2018-11-29T08:49:18 | 2018-11-29T07:32:01 | 77 | 43 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic. | "Why do you keep looking over your shoulder like that?" Jaya turned and looked in the direction his friend had been glancing, but saw nothing but the flat armor of his ship, the *Sunrise.*
Elvoss looked sheepish for a moment. "It's nothing. Just... your ship makes me nervous, okay? I want to keep an eye on that thing. What if someone walked off with it?"
"Walked off with a spaceship." Jaya gave his friend a flat look. "Just stroll into the busiest port in the system and steal a freighter."
"Or a part of it. A fuel rod or something." Elvoss continued, when his friend still failed to react. The crystals around his neck flickered unsteadily, a common reaction when a magic-user was startled or nervous.
"Look, I know it's not reasonable, but it gives me the willies to see that sort of power just *sitting* there. You humans grew up with that sort of thing, but anyone else in the galaxy..."
"Other people didn't grow up with the concept of parking lots?"
"Other people didn't grow up with the idea of *masterless power.* Look, let me give you a Magic 101 lesson."
Elvoss reached into his tunic and pulled out an amulet, giving it a pulse of energy as he did so. A ghostly image appeared in front of him, resembling a bird spreading its wings.
"That's your skiff, right? *Skydancer?*
"Yes. And believe it or not, this is the only part it needs to work. With enough mana I could take off and fly from a standing start."
Jaya tilted his head curiously. "So, what's that big brass number in your hangar, then?"
"Material components. I *could* conjure the entire skiff from thin air, but the power cost would be off the charts."
Elvoss held the amulet and concentrated, the crystals studded across his body blazing with light. A pointed triangle of light, resembling the nose cone of his craft, appeared in front of him. Then it faded away, and the elf sighed with relief.
"The *Skydancer* is entirely my own power. It's a spell I created in my mind, and all the amulets and crystals and brass wings are just a scaffolding for that spell. Nobody else can fly her, unless they copy my spell exactly, and that doesn't happen. Every mage has their own style."
Elvoss pointed at the sunburst symbol on the ship parked behind them. "*That*, on the other hand, is a masterless machine. Anybody can walk in, turn it on, and fly away. A toddler could do it, if they managed to pull the right levers."
The alien clapped his hands together. "That's Magic 101. Magic is personal. Science is something that anyone can use."
Jaya smiled. "Makes me proud of what my species can do."
"Yeah, well, it *terrifies* anyone else. If a magician has a dangerous spell, you just have to keep an eye on one person. But if a scientist is causing trouble, *anyone* can do what they do. What are you supposed to do against that? Your species has put a quantum reactor in every port, just waiting for someone who's clever enough to steal it."
"Well, we humans know about security too. My ship is locked up tighter than a drum. So don't worry about..."
As they watched, the *Sunrise* shuddered as its engine rumbled to life. Running lights lit up along its length.
"... you've gotta be kidding me."
They rose from their seats and started running. "Stop that ship!" | "Warmongering, sadistic, savage. These are only a few words I could use to describe these monsters. The revel in war and wish to impose it upon all who do not fit in their civilization. They power they wield is unfathomable, rendering us incapable of defense, a mere child before the wolf. I record this message to serve as a warning in hopes that if you are another species, one fortunate enough to have never of crossed paths with them. My name is Hemenphotek, leader of the Halet, a species rendered almost extinct from barbarous humans." Hemenphotek to a moment to gather himself. Dressed in a blue gown that was laced in gold. His golden necklace was an anchor on his chest, exhausting him. He and his cohort had been on the run for several years, so many that he has lost track, never settling down enough to get his barrings, always on the defensive. He his feathers tattered and falling out after so much conflict. He took a deep breath, ready to continue.
"When the humans took their astral step, we greeted them with open arms, we wanted to show them the way of our Empire, built on peace and understanding. This Empire, we shared it with two other races, the Anloy and the Fornin, both extinct." Hemenphotek paused, holding back tears. Being the former leader of the Halet, he had knew plenty of Anloy and Fornin, and cared for them, his friends, driven from their homes and hunted to the edges of the galaxy, corned like animals, until they quenched from existence. He fought back tears and clenched his beak, resolute to continue his warning.
"Avoid humans at all cost" He continued. "Our initial dialogue with them started off promising, until we learn of how they reach out into the stars. Humans do not possess magical abilities like the other species we have encountered. Instead, they rely on innovation of the mind, to a deadly degree. With this grasping of technology that we had no need for led them to create fast "machines" of war, capable of death on a grand scale, that, I have unfortunately bared witness to." Hemenphotek clenched his scepter, trying to quell the anger that arose inside of him. He gazed at it, taking in its master crafted beauty. It was passed down to each Pharaoh, and had been for thousands of years, and yet still looked as though it were fresh from the forge. He be the last to wield it.
"When we met with them, they spoke in a strange tongue, but with our magic we were able to decipher their speech, and at first, they seemed friendly. They said their species had always dreamed for touching the cosmos, and seemingly unobtainable goal. But they advanced fast, and with that spread far and wide, until they encountered us. Their Empire scattered the stars, and rivaled ours, and for horrible reasons. One species, with an Empire almost the size of ours of three species, for what reason? Resources. Their death machines required "fuel" as they said. We told them we were a peaceful civilization, with one major conflict, that being between the Anloy and Halet on first contact, but was quickly resolved. We had no need to fight, so, our magic was tailored to utility rather than combat." He reflected on that last sentence, realizing that he was referring to his species in the past tense. He let out a small chuckle, as he knew the end was near.
"We asked them about their history. It is plagued with war, death, and destruction. A horrifying realization. War is ingrained into them, they perceive others than themselves as hostile, and act accordingly. Not long after, they demanded we bow down to them, of face annihilation. They were determined to either gain control of our planets willingly or to conquer them. And conquer them they did. The power they wield...insurmountable. Their war machines unleashed a cacophony of destruction, their soldiers unleashing death from afar. Fast ships rained hellfire fire from the sky. There was nothing we could do." The ground shook as a distant explosion reverberated the room Hemenphotek was in. A sound all too familiar with him. The humans had found their last bastion.
"Our time has come to an end" Hemenphotek remained calm, he had accepted the death of his people long ago, it was only a matter of time. He continued with his message. "In our fight against a Britannica Empire, thought outmatched us in every way, we had one advantage, teleportation. I have sealed this message with magic, and with it the location of all of our portals that allowed us to traverse faster than them. They have yet to be able to figure out how to decipher runes, although they are impervious to some magic. They have ways around invisibility, suits that are fire resistant, impervious suits of giant armor, and much more. I have made note of everything they are able to counter in hopes that one day another civilization may take our place and usurp these demons. The humans are here, and I am ready to meet our God Alashee in paradise. May your efforts not be in vein like ours were." | 2019-01-18T12:33:07 | 2019-01-18T11:52:53 | 36 | 19 |
[WP] My wife told me there was someone at the door. I asked if it was a penguin, and she was confused. I asked again, banging the table, if it was a penguin. She looked outside the window, and to her surprise, it was. I cocked my shotgun. So it begins. | I ran for the shoe shelf where it hid, our only hope. The button to activate the super shelter I had installed when the house was built. We fell into darkness, all the windows covered by steel. I grabbed my flashlight and told Ella to follow. I led her to the basement. She stopped. As she pulled he hand free, her face a mask of confusion she demanded answers.
"I can't explain right now -it's not safe yet!" I had to get her moving.
"NO. Explain what the hell is going on why is there a penguin on our deck? Why the HELL are you scared of it. Forget the magic fortress our house just turned into for now."
I grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her along so we could at least move while I explained, "He's an assassin don't let his appearance fool you. He is called the Two Tone Pecker, he was probably contracted by Mr. Malone. If he gets his hands on us he'll have been told to make our death painful." We kept going down the staircase that felt like it never ended, I just hope Ella didn't ask why it didn't end long ago like it should have.
Above we heard and explosion and the ground felt unsteady. He let out a shriek that made me feel as though my ears were going to bleed. We kept running. I heard the sound, it took far to long for me to understand what it was, a fast slapping sound. It was the sound of the contractor sliding down the stairs on his belly. I fired a shell up the stairs blindly, the slapping continued.
"What can we do, where are we going, do these stairs end?"
"Just keep your eyes out for a blue mark on the right side of the wall dammit!"
I saw the mark before she did, it was the sign we were far enough away from the explosives I was about to detonate. He hit me then with that damn pecker of his, it was a dreadful feeling. I had never had a birds face up my ass before. I was sent flying down the stairs towards the floor we had been approaching.
He stood by my wife, somehow having the ability to use a gun and pointing it at her. What can I do, I can't do anything! Then it hit me if I just-
He handed her the gun.
"Uhg! Thank god the charade is over, I doubt I would have lasted another month with you Hank. You were growing so paranoid in these last few weeks. My name is NOT Ella by the way, you may call me Mrs. Pecker."
"I. I, I don't understand what's go-"
She started choking, what in gods name. A penguin came out of her mouth, A whole penguin! I'm cornered by the two, my emotions in a frenzy. I felt it then.
The loose floor board creaked under me, I slid forward feigning to beg for my life, for an explanation. I fumbled with my right foot trying to get that damn floor board out, there it goes. The penguins approached, I had to pretend to recoil in fear. As a reared back I placed my hand in the hole and a smile crept onto my face. The most wicked smile I have ever felt, and pulled the lever. The roof collapsed above the bastard and the penguin that had fooled me for so, so long. She reacted faster than her husband and was only crushed at the waist, the gun falling from her hands. I rushed for the gun. Pointing it at her I have to know, "Why? Why did you do this?"
She sneered and it was done. I left her to fend for herself as long as she could manage. I couldn't think about her any longer, I had to plan. Plan for what I was going to do to Mr. Malone. I'm going to give it to Mr. Malone good, really good... | It's been 15 years and somehow I knew. I knew sister Isabelle would come back from hell. Her screams haunt my sleep from time to time and it's only become more frequent these past few weeks. I got a call monday saying that a Nun had stopped by my office asking for me, well a penguin was what the message said. Tuesday I booked a cabin out in silverwood lake, miles away from L.A. and far from anyone who could help her. Wednesday morning my wife and I arrive at the cabin and as I unpack I inform her Im going fishing. Let me take some time right now to explain what's going on.
15 years ago I discovered that the Catholic church was trying to implement a one world religion and try to speed up the end of the world. I only found this out because a friend of mine was staying at Santa Teresita. In the 30s it was founded by nuns in the city of Duarte to treat TB. Roughly 20 years ago it long left behind its hospital days and renovated itself into a nursing home. Still ran by nuns and staffed with nurses who will lick their holy robes if told to. At the time my friend Jimmy was staying there recovering from heart surgery and would talk it up with all the retired priests during meals. Well on day dear old Jimmy was talking with Father English who has Alzheimer's and also happened to let slip out that the next pope in line is going to try to get all the world's religions to become one. Well sister Isabelle over heard and ushered Father back to his room.
Jimmy called me over later that day and informed me what was said.
"Apparently even though it's going to be a 'one world religion' there will be three religions. Want to guess which ones?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Anyone who's read the bible can tell you that one Jimmy."
"Please humor me Sam.”
"Alright alright." I scratch my chin over dramatically pretending to think. "I want to guess its the Jews, christians, and this new religion?"
"This is true. Its all going to start with a summit in the middle east and the pope of that time will have religious leaders agree unifying is whats best for the future."
"Lets just say I believe all of this, which is kind of hard to believe since the world cant even agree on if the weather is good or bad. What evidence do you have any of this is true and not something Father came up with because he's losing it?"
"You should have seen the look on sister Isabelle's face when she took him back to his room."
"I bet it looked like that time she caught me scraping dog shit off my boot and onto the mother mary statue."
“Samuel please I need your help to see if any of this is true!"
I hold my hands up in defeat "I'll look into it but this isn't exactly going to be charity work. Sniffing around the vatican is going to cost more than my usual price."
Shortly after our conversation Jimmy died from "complications" from his surgery. It took me 5 years of following the money and interviewing a few religious leaders on their world view to confirm what Jimmy told me.
One night when I came home from my day job I smelled a familiar scent. Fucking sandalwood. I hated it in my time as teen repeating "and also with you" and I hate it more now.
"Good evening, Sister. What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
“Samuel you need to stop this little investigation you have going on. How many more people do you want to lose?"
"I wish I knew what you were talking about. I havent done a special report in years."
"Cut the bullshit Samuel. Theres been word you've been travelling far and wide for the truth. Now the Vatican might not see you as a threat but I know Father English said more than he should have years ago and Im hear to tie up loose ends."
"Sister, My ears are blushing. Also is that a hint of pride I hear in your tone? How is that you even escaped the convent and are in my house?"
"The Lord works in mysterious ways does he not? Ever since I killed that foolish friend of yours I've been able to do things. Travel to places with ease."
I start oe pat my pockets for a pack of cigarettes amd come up empty. "Let me get this straight, you killed Jimmy and now you can be anywhere?"
She narrows her eyes and before she can speak I cut her off.
"Jimmy was always my ace in the hole when I needed to report on far away places. He also had quite the curse on him. I thought maybe it was some nobody hired off the streets who got his cured but turns out it was you."
"What are you babbling about?"
"Jimmy killed a traveller in a bar fight once. After that he was able to travel anywhere like you. Turns out it was some otherworldly curse from druids."
"This is not a curse! The Almighty Himself has gifted me with this power for cleaning out the trash!"
"Oh yeah I also know a nifty little trick for anyone stupid enough to kill Jimmy and come after me next."
"And what will that be?"
"Go to hell bitch."
And those screams haunt me even know as I'm on a boat in the lake. Preparing.
On thursday night my wife told me there was someone at the door.
| 2019-02-08T21:02:42 | 2019-02-08T19:17:31 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] It's your 6,320,431st day in hell. You wake up to get to work but you find you've become desensitized to all of the methods of pain that are offered. The imps are confused and have no idea what to do to you until you get called in the office of the dark Lord himself for a "contract discussion". | Satan rubbed at his eyes, surprising me how he managed to do it without stabbing his own eyes out. I found myself musing that he could use a manicure - those nails seemed like they hadn't seen much attention of the past millennium. The rest of him seemed perfectly well kept, his black suit and tie were finely pressed and wrinkle-free, dark black hair was combed without a piece out of place, and - despite what I'd always assumed to be long work hours - he had no wrinkles or bags under his eyes.
&#x200B;
"You have been with us for almost two thousand years now, is that correct?" He asked, lowering his hands back to the dark oaken desk behind which he sat.
&#x200B;
I nodded, squirming slightly. "I think so. The first few hundred are kind of a blur of, you know...torture and agony."
&#x200B;
He leaned back in his chair, assessing me coldly with his emotionless black eyes. "In our original contract, you had agreed to eternal torture as payment for retaliation against your enemies. I upheld my end of the bargain, but it seems as though you have not cared to uphold yours."
&#x200B;
I huffed, exhaling heavily with a slight roll of my eyes. "I'm *trying*, but there's nothing I can do about it! The devices used here are boring. I mean, sure, they were awful and terrifying at first, but now they're just... dude, I don't know the word for it. They just don't have that certain spark anymore. They're not attention grabbing. They don't make my soul *scream* like it used to, you know?"
&#x200B;
"You are calling my methods boring? I assume then that you may have suggestions on how to improve this particular situation."
&#x200B;
I paused, thinking on this a moment. "Not really. You're the torture genius, so..."
&#x200B;
Pursing his lips in mild irritation, Satan stood and moved around the desk to me with calm, fluid movements. He drew himself up beside the chair he had told me to seat myself in, and alighted a hand upon my shoulder - or the singed bit of soul resembling what my shoulder used to look like, anyway.
&#x200B;
"I have just the idea."
"Oh?" I asked, "If it's the quartering quarter again, that stopped hurting a few centuries ago."
&#x200B;
Satan shook his head as I looked up at him, and gazed down upon me with the cruelest of smiles. "You are mine for eternity. This is a contractual obligation, and I am mandated to fulfill my part. I can think of only one thing that would bring your soul the pain I need to see it in."
&#x200B;
I sniffed, trying to seem unafraid. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
&#x200B;
His lips curled back even farther, revealing sharp rows of polished, perfect teeth. "You, my dearest, are going back to Earth. You will live life anew, and forget all about your time here."
&#x200B;
It can't be that easy. He can't really be sending me back up there...can he? "Well, what's wrong with that?"
&#x200B;
"You will find that much of the world has changed, and I do hope that you take the time to enjoy it. You will live a happy, fulfilling life full of love, comfort, and all of the things you did not have the last time... but when you die... you will return to me."
&#x200B;
"So you're sending me on vacation?"
&#x200B;
"No, my lovely," he chuckled, "I am merely giving your soul time to mend and forget, so that when you return to me, my torture can keep you for another two thousand years."
&#x200B;
I blanched. This had not gone as I had hoped. "...ah, hell." | I was laying down on the ground for what seemed like months. Skin, nails, teeth, limbs, scattered across the floor of my own personal hell. "Well when you say it like that it sounds like a paradise" I thought to myself. What they say is true, if you do not ask god for forgiveness for your wrongdoings, hell is where you'll end up. And hell doesn't do it justice. If there's a way to feel pain, the dreaded demons will find it. At least, that's what I thought. And you know what the worst part of hell was? I don't know what caused it, perhaps the constant screams of banshees in my ear, the lack of sleep, or maybe it was just something everyone dealt with, but it was the the constant "headache". I had this "headache" since the day I was killed while serving my country and wound up down here. I use the term headache lightly because it wasn't just a headache, nor a migraine, nor my imagination even. This was real. It was like the devil himself had put a 1000 degree rat inside of my head while he scratched anywhere he could to get out. I closed my eyes to ready myself for another day of eternal and limitless pain.
I didn't even have to wake up before I realized there was something different. I say something, but I knew exactly what it was. The headache was gone. The headache ive had since the day this nightmare began, is now gone. I couldn't believe it, I couldn't comprehend a life without that kind of pain anymore. I hear my demon coming so I quickly walk over to my restraints. I had learned at this point it's best to just cooperate with them. He walks over to me, and as I'm expecting him to chain me to the wall, he grabs a pair of pliers and rips out one of my fingernails. I instinctively wail out in pain, but the pain was not there and I think he knew that. The seemingly unconvinced demon picked up a knife and chopped off my arm. Again, I wailed in pain, I don't know why I did, but I did. "Yea, it worked" said the demon. I hear a snap as my arm and nail materialize back onto my body. "Lou would like to have a word" I don't have time to protest before I'm already sitting across from the devil himself. He turns around to face me, and his gaze brings my heart ice cold. Yes I was afraid, and yes I knew I couldn't feel pain. I didn't know why I was afraid, there wasn't anything I could imagine him doing to me that could cause myself pain anymore. I realized soon after that it was just a limit of the imagination of the human brain, because I have never been more wrong.
"Feels like you've been here longer than I have doesn't it?" I remained silent. That isn't to say I didn't want go speak, my mind was full of expletives to scream at the sight of this monster, but my mouth wouldn't move. "Well I'm not here to talk so lets get straight to the point, its come to my attention that you no longer feel pain, so we'll be redesigning you." I raised my hand to signify that I had something to say. "No this is not negotiable" said Lucifer. "As much as we'd love to find a better way to hurt you, we've seen this before, and we find that this method works quite well." My mind is racing. My naive imagination thought I could get away from this, no more pain, no more torture, no more being on the edge of a cliff just waiting for the slim line of rock supporting me to break and drop me into a pool of insanity. I guess I'm not a realist, and it looks like I'm done waiting. "You will be sent to other peoples hellcage to watch them be tortured you will appear to be someone they know, and you will be powerless to stop it." My initial thought was that it doesn't sound so bad. Then I imagined it, and I immediately got on my knees, silently begging for reconsideration. Lucifer snaps. I am walking behind the demon who used to haunt my cell. I am unable to stop what's about to happen. We walk in and the cage closes behind me. I watch as they are torn down from the person they once were to nothing, and I feel every second of it. "This can't be my life now" I thought to myself. But it was my life as much as it was theirs.
The first week is over with. I had nightmares every night were I experience the pain and suffering not of myself but of others. But last night the nightmares stopped. I went into the cage of a teenage girl this time, and watched as the demon started the session. He stabbed a knife into her stomach and twisted it. The girl wailed and I winced, but the pain wasn't what I expected. The pain was definitely there, but it wasn't pain like I had experienced before this time. The pain throughout the entire session had started to numb, just a tiny bit, and that tiny bit was replaced with something I hadn't experienced in a long time, enjoyment. I felt nauseous, infuriated with my own feelings. What was happening to me? But that's when I realized, that this, "punishment", wasn't meant to make me feel pain. I became so disgusted with myself I threw up in the cell. This didn't feel like my punishment because it wasn't my punishment. It was my training.
This is my first r/writingprompts constructive criticism welcomed, finished* | 2019-02-10T08:01:17 | 2019-02-10T07:47:33 | 215 | 33 |
[WP] 'Please Adopt Me', said the box on the side of the road, with the single black puppy in it. So you did. A year later, you realize the breed is a bit complicated, considering it has three heads, a snake tail, and breathes fire. | So, I adopted this puppy. Black as overbrewed coffee, a hairless tail with *scales*, and three heads.
From a box. I figured someone thought he'd end up being put down and just abandoned the little guy because birth defects. Well, not a problem. I'm a dog lover. Even a dog with a few extra heads. Means he'll be smarter than the one I had who liked to run into windows and bark at nothing in the middle of empty rooms.
One week in, I realized paper training wasn't a good idea as I watched all three heads give me a guilty look.
Because he'd kinda had an accident. Like puppies do. Only he ended up barfing flames. On the newspaper. Fortunately, he'd peed on it first and it just left a smouldering spot.
Spot. That's the name for this little fella. He is gonna end up SUCH a star on WhoTube with that little trick, but not until he grows up.
...I had no idea he'd grow this much. He's easily as big as I am, nomming away at a big ol' bowl of dog kibble. Fortunately, we have a few acres for a back yard here, so Spot gets his run-around time and I can put out anything he lights up chasing the squirrels. Nothing gets past this doggo, he sees em a mile away and ROOF RUFF RORF off he goes.
A little unbalanced, mind you. Three heads are a little topheavy and they don't always seem to work together perfectly, so there's plenty of plow marks to go with the scorch marks. Still, it's been a fun eight months.
...the owner showed up today. Well, he claimed he was the owner.
Tall, pale as a bouquet of white lilies. Said someone had stolen his puppy and he'd finally tracked the dog down. Said to name my price for taking care of Spot.
I told him taking care of such a good dog was reward enough, and I wasn't going to send him off alone with a stranger. That Spot was my friend, and I wasn't going to let him go off gods-know-where with someone I never saw before in my life.
He looked startled. Then he smiled.
"A man who loves his dog so much? Your boon is granted."
That's how I became the Keeper of Hounds here. In Tartarus. That big fella over there is Keberos, and he managed- somehow - to get some happy time with one of the hellhounds.
Spot is romping with the pack inside the Dog Park of Damnation. I've got enough severed limbs for everybody. And you know what?
They're good dogs, if you love them enough. And I do. Dunno how my drachmas are going to cash out when I retire from this job, but I figure gold and silver works pretty much everywhere. Now, if you'll excuse me, they're using some poor soul as a chew toy and I think he actually belongs in the lake of molten fire.
"Drop it...drop it...Hey! I said DROP THE DAMNED SOUL. Attagirl. Go play with Spot." | The Lucy Files: Mr. Ichabezer
Hi, my names Lucy. I’m eight years old and I live in a small town where almost nothing ever happens. And this is not my story.
This is the story of my neighbor, Mr.Ichabezer. He is NOT a happy man. He’s like a character straight out of a haunted house, like one that everyone in town would avoid except for stupid boys playing double dog dare.
But his house and yard are perfect, they all are in this town. Mom says it’s the rules. She would know, she’s a realtor, and a keeper of the rules she says, whatever that means. Mums a bit crazy at times.
Mr. Ichabezer even dresses old! Different shades of brown and yellows every day, always with a big coat and hat. No matter the day or activity.
I’m watching him from my living room window right now walk down his driveway, it looks like he’s taking another walk. In that outfit! Like, come on, those shoes can NOT be comfortable.
His walks became more frequent about two years ago, I guess Dr. Bill thinks it’ll be good for his ticker. Either way, Mr. Ichabezer used to complain the whole time he walked. Grumbling to himself about whatever old men grumble to themselves.
The grumbling stopped a year ago when Mr. Ichabezer brought Brutus home from one of his walks. He said he found him on the road, but it seemed like a gift from the heavens the way Brutus would light up Mr. Ichabezer’s face.
“Mom! Something is wrong with Mr. Ichabezer and Brutus!”
My mom came rushing over to the window as we watched Mr. Ichabezer running, yes running, back up the road. He had his big coat off and draped over Brutus.
“Maybe he got the rabies,” dad says from his office hearing the commotion in the living room.
“Oh, quiet.” Says mom as she heads to the back door. “I’m going to check on him, Lucy, stay inside.”
“Mom, how is he...? My voice trails off as she walks into the living room. Hairs a mess, clothes are torn and burnt? What just happened over there.
Mom ignores me and goes straight into the office, shutting the door behind her. I’m torn between listening at the office door and watching at the window for any sign of Brutus or Mr. Ichabezer.
As I try to decide I hear horrible sounds coming from next door. Screaming, yelping, barking, yelling. It’s all too much, I run to the office door crying and smash through the door falling into the office as my mother and father are talking,
They hear the same noises as my mother starts to comfort me. My father stands between the sounds and his family, looks back at us, “I’ll see if he needs assistance.”
I lay sobbing on the floor as day passes into night. The sounds continue through the night and dad returned well after I was in bed.
Though the discussion seemed heated between mum and dad, it was all muffled by the walls and my sound machine, I suspect mom turned it up pretty high.
If mom thought I sat at the window too much already, the next two weeks pales in comparison. I was glued to that window watching. Waiting.
Mr. Ichabezer did not even go for his walks. Mom and dad have been sneaking over there at various times. I hope Mr. Ichabezer and Brutus are ok. I wish someone would tell me what’s going on. I do not believe Brutus has worms, I do not care if that is what my dad tells me. I’m not five dad, I’m eight.
Finally, they have returned. But there’s something off. Brutus is wearing a cone and his tail is short like it got cut off at his butt.
Mr. Ichabezer stops at the end of his drive way , turns his head towards me, nods and lifts his hat. Why is he saying hello to me? Has he always noticed me here?
They are both different, but they seem happier. Brutus seems to have a wider stance in his front legs. But his little butt still wags as they make their way down the road and out of sight. The vet must have found some other things when looking for the worms. Otherwise why would Brutus lose his tail and need that cone?
Join me next time on the Lucy Files!
First time doing a WP and actually writing a story. Comments and criticism appreciated. | 2019-07-04T08:26:40 | 2019-07-04T08:23:39 | 165 | 18 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water... | Perception can screw with your dreams. When I was young and Naive, I wanted to be a superhero. I wanted to save the day, help little old ladies across the street and help others. The first roadblock to that dream was my powers. I can input enough thermal energy to boil water (although, I theorize with practice, I could boil more thermally resistant substances) and that alone got my ass kicked a few times by the local bully, especially since the power itself isn't very flashy. But the last words my mom ever told me were to be strong and to not return violence with violence. For 15 years I've kept my head down, studied, worked out and trained my abilities in the hope that I could change the world for someone like me.
The final nail in the coffin for my dream, was when I was accepted into a Hero Internship. We've all been told that heroes are the paragon of justice and equality in the world, righting wrongs that local law enforcement and governments just can't. But I've seen the truth. These heroes are nothing more than spoiled children with extraordinary abilities and they're.... just wasting them and using them to hurt others. Octave, a sound-based hero leveled an apartment building during a battle with a d-list villain. I later found out that Octave was trying to egg him on, and that the villain's wife and kids were in that apartment building.
Every time I attempted to call upon the members of hero society I though were the true shining stars, they sucked out the light of hope with quick and galling efficiency. This is my confession. On October the 17th, and 1:00 P.M CST, I entered my workplace in one of the Hero HQs. My first target was Fortress, the Durable hero. His crime: extortion, assault and murder of several local business people under the guise of asking for protection money. It was simple really, and I exploited a certain.... interesting quirk with thermodynamics. You see, if you impart enough thermal energy in one particular area quickly enough, it will explode. From the outside, it looked as if he had died of an aneurysm.
I.. I couldn't stop. Vitreon, with the power to turn objects into a glass-like facsimile of that same object, was the first to catch on. I boiled the water in her eyes to the point that they looked like seared mussels. A fitting punishment, considering all of the bystanders and falsely accused criminals she mutilated and blinded. The pain alone should have knocked her out, but she fired a wave of glass out at the last second. I was able to hide behind Fortress' corpse, and the glass impaled Dr. Gas. His ability to turn himself gaseous had allowed him to slip out of tricky spots and suffocate opponents before, but luckily, he was caught off guard and died from blood loss. I couldn't stop. Every hero I saw, I remembered what they had done to the people they were supposed to protect.
I am an inevitable byproduct of a community of demigods unchecked by themselves. If you are a hero and have done these acts and worse to anyone, especially the innocent people who depend on you, I am coming for you. This is not an isolated incident. This is a catalyst. | Somehow, this wasn’t what I had imagined when I got the position as an intern for Opulence. Somehow, I never would have thought that their steadfast promise of protection, their public assurances of safety, or their pact to defend mankind at all costs had all been a ruse.
The name should have been a dead giveaway, really. The most renowned superhero team in the world, known for their exploits from stopping Harold the Wise to preventing the apocalypse twice, built upon a foundation of lies.
They were just in it for the renown: the slices of fame, the money, the sex, the drugs.
When I got this job as an intern, I was expecting to witness the unsurpassed intelligence of The Brain, the untold gleam of Starling as she went off to battle, or the heroic rescues that The Phantom was known for.
They said that my power had its uses. I didn’t imagine that those “uses” would involve warming up their coffee or starting up the hot tub. They treated me like trash, little more than a slave in a land they controlled.
I’d been here for years, and the only one who had shown me any worth was The Stain. It made sense, in a cosmic sort of way. He was the intern before me, been told the same as me when they hired him.
He was just lucky enough to be there when Garphan had died. Just lucky enough to take his place like nothing ever happened; to be treated as a sort of equal to the rest of Opulence. Even if, in truth, he did little more than act as support. A backup plan, in layman’s terms.
I could tell that he hadn’t let go of his grievences with the team. It’d show during our talks, the little moments of privacy we had together. He understood what I had gone through, lived and breathed it for years. He was my only friend in this toxic playground of a workplace. The one rock that had held me together from snapping.
I sometimes lingered upon the idea of quitting, but I never found the courage to do it. My father was proud of me, I had enough money to last awhile, and my little brother never had to wake up in pain in the morning ever again.
I even pondered upon walking on the path of a villain, in my more private moments. But my more earthly responsibilities kept me in check.
But every person has a breaking point, no matter how strong willed they were.
It was during one of their monthly meetings, one of the few constants the team had.
Paradigm was sulking in his chair, The Stain was late yet again, and Duo was being his annoying selves.
It was just one little comment, one I had even heard dozens of times before. But it seemed to be enough for the proverbial dam to break.
Within seconds, the heroes before me were on the ground, writhing in pain and eliciting screeches of pain. Their skin morphed into an eerie red, welts and bubbles forming over their skin. It wasn’t long before the room fell silent.
The world famous Opulence, its ranks killed by the hands of a measly intern.
I stood there, silent, and thinking over what I had just done. It was when I heard the metallic clang of the door open behind me that my eyes widened. It was The Stain - ever bound to be late to these meetings - and he was shock still.
“I— I—“ I sputtered.
“Huh,” he said lamely. “Somehow, I’m not surprised in the slightest.”
“Wha— What?” I asked dubiously. “You— Your not horrified? Your not going to arrest me?”
“Arrest you? Please. These idiots have been deserving of something like this for a long time. In fact, it made sense that you would do something like this. The human body is mostly made of water, after all.”
“But... but I—“
The colors of the room began to melt off their surfaces, forming their own puddles of muck on the ground. They slowly made their way towards The Stain, gathering into neat little shapes in his hand.
“Now, who would you like? Hamstring, for his durability? Or The Brain for his... well, brain?”
“I—“
“Oh, oh! Or, I can give you Garphan. I’ve had him for long enough.”
“I’d rather not have any of them, thank you.”
He laughed. “Ah, suit yourself, then,” he said, the shapes falling into his skin. He then wrapped his arm around my shoulders, ushering me to the elevator.
“Come along now, my friend. We should leave before anyone takes notice.” | 2019-07-30T17:17:27 | 2019-07-30T15:09:58 | 40 | 15 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water... | Perception can screw with your dreams. When I was young and Naive, I wanted to be a superhero. I wanted to save the day, help little old ladies across the street and help others. The first roadblock to that dream was my powers. I can input enough thermal energy to boil water (although, I theorize with practice, I could boil more thermally resistant substances) and that alone got my ass kicked a few times by the local bully, especially since the power itself isn't very flashy. But the last words my mom ever told me were to be strong and to not return violence with violence. For 15 years I've kept my head down, studied, worked out and trained my abilities in the hope that I could change the world for someone like me.
The final nail in the coffin for my dream, was when I was accepted into a Hero Internship. We've all been told that heroes are the paragon of justice and equality in the world, righting wrongs that local law enforcement and governments just can't. But I've seen the truth. These heroes are nothing more than spoiled children with extraordinary abilities and they're.... just wasting them and using them to hurt others. Octave, a sound-based hero leveled an apartment building during a battle with a d-list villain. I later found out that Octave was trying to egg him on, and that the villain's wife and kids were in that apartment building.
Every time I attempted to call upon the members of hero society I though were the true shining stars, they sucked out the light of hope with quick and galling efficiency. This is my confession. On October the 17th, and 1:00 P.M CST, I entered my workplace in one of the Hero HQs. My first target was Fortress, the Durable hero. His crime: extortion, assault and murder of several local business people under the guise of asking for protection money. It was simple really, and I exploited a certain.... interesting quirk with thermodynamics. You see, if you impart enough thermal energy in one particular area quickly enough, it will explode. From the outside, it looked as if he had died of an aneurysm.
I.. I couldn't stop. Vitreon, with the power to turn objects into a glass-like facsimile of that same object, was the first to catch on. I boiled the water in her eyes to the point that they looked like seared mussels. A fitting punishment, considering all of the bystanders and falsely accused criminals she mutilated and blinded. The pain alone should have knocked her out, but she fired a wave of glass out at the last second. I was able to hide behind Fortress' corpse, and the glass impaled Dr. Gas. His ability to turn himself gaseous had allowed him to slip out of tricky spots and suffocate opponents before, but luckily, he was caught off guard and died from blood loss. I couldn't stop. Every hero I saw, I remembered what they had done to the people they were supposed to protect.
I am an inevitable byproduct of a community of demigods unchecked by themselves. If you are a hero and have done these acts and worse to anyone, especially the innocent people who depend on you, I am coming for you. This is not an isolated incident. This is a catalyst. | Day in day out I help these people and I am treated no with no respect. "Hey Microwave!" "Hey lamo powers!" Yet still they expect me to slave away for no pay. You can't be a superhero without a support team but very few comics or shows even care about this. Whose's the one to patch these vigilantes up when they are damaged so they aren't risking their secret identity at some hospital. Whose the one who has to deal with all the calls about property damage and other collateral damage. Who incessantly gets asked to make coffee without so much as a thank you. Me!! Well I'm tired of it!
I was doing a wikiwalk( just browsing random Wikipedia articles) when I came across a military device called an [ADS](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Active_Denial_System). The idea behind it was using a specific band of Microwave radiation to heat the outermost layer of skin. So insanely painful that the body automatically goes into flight mode to get outside the effects of the device. Also completely non lethal. It may hurt like there's no tomorrow but the most you well get of it is a burn if metal is in close proximity to your body. I heard the crash of a door to return me to the world of annoying superheros. You'd think they would have learned to shut a door quietly especially if they want to keep their lair a secret but in all my years of working for them I have never seen them shut a door quietly nor help someone without expecting repayment.
Flame man always tries to mate with everyone attractive he rescues. Question mark man always tries to extort money from people he rescues. Power man bribed his way into public office. The List goes on and I have been documenting it for years. Ungrateful creatons. They get to list lavishly off government funding, private funding, and sponsorship deals and this is how they treat people? They all sit down at a round table(Question mark man really likes Arthurian legend) and start talking. Not even a minute in to the retailing of the days events power man say, “Where’s the coffee? Hurry UP!”
It was like a switch clicked in my mind in that moment. “Hey, you know I heard some noises earlier while you guys were gone? Should you really be caring on like this if the base is compromised?” Flame man just starts laughing and says, “Only idiots go into crime. There is no way they would be smart enough to find us.” “Ok, well I’ll go make the coffee,” trying to sound jovial while suppressing a cackle. I walked to the archway of the next room and heard screams of agony and pain. I turn back and a dozen superheroes are writhing in pain. After a few minutes the pain let up and the superheroes immediately wanted to relocate. No one mentioned my prediction.
We moved again and again. 20 or so times, I think; I lost count long ago. It kind of got boring after awhile but was useful for a change of scenery. IT would be fun if it were a game of cat and mouse but they never suspected a thing. The new place we were moved to was contracted by the government and they spared no expense. It was a bunker but it was nice one. Shielded externally from Electromagnetic radiation with lavish décor: whats not to love? It had been almost a year since the game had started and nothing had changed.
Flame man loudly proclaimed, “I know a great dive bar we should go to tonight. Superheroes drink for free!” Power man looks inquisitively, “Last time you were drunk didn’t you beat up a bunch of randos.” Then he started laughing. “It was fun! I’m in what time?” 11 PM was the reply and one by one all the heroes agreed they would be there. Not one of them invited me.
Well if this is the best the city can find in the way of honorable superheroes we are doomed. Maybe a better class of criminal will draw out the virtuous. So I became a better criminal. I let every criminal know in the city where the superheroes would be that night, on the condition that they could harm and maim but couldn’t murder the heroes in exchange for the location. Every one heartily agreed and by 11:05 all the heroes were a mangled mess. Several minutes later bubbling could be heard and then several minutes after that there were several pops. The carnage was a site to be hold and never has something brought more of a smile to my face. The public outcry was intense especially a list of the heroes misdeeds was leaked; martial law was declared. No longer was I called the microwave but now I was declared the melter!!! Well it’s a step up at least. The public is really unimaginative with its names for heroes and villains. | 2019-07-30T17:17:27 | 2019-07-30T15:50:47 | 40 | 10 |
[WP] You are the best thief in the kingdom. You’re hard to find but money talks. A stranger in a hood has a request for you. “What do you want me to steal?” You ask. They remove their hood. “Me,” says the Kingdom’s prince/princess. | “No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” she asked, taken aback. The dim tavern lighting reflected off her shimmering green eyes, revealing a keen intelligence that no disguise could hide. Riven cursed under his breath and tore his gaze away.
“I know how this will end. No,” he said to the table.
“Please,” soft fingers grasped his own calloused ones in desperation. “Please, you don’t understand. This is my only chance. My uncle will have me killed before the coronation tomorrow.”
Riven tore his hand away, stalking over to the bar. The persistent woman followed him, ignoring the hulking brutes surrounding them.
“At least tell me why!” she demanded, grabbing his arm. Riven’s breath hitched at her electric touch. Had anyone ever shocked him so? Made him feel so powerless? Mustering all his willpower, he extracted his arm and leveled a glare at her.
“Darryl Lightfingers,” he answered.
“I – what?” the princess asked, baffled.
“Kidnapped the princess of Andraasten to save her from an assassin. Not a year later and they’re married and he’s king regent. Do you know how many children they have?” Riven demanded.
The princess backpedaled. “I don’t – “
“Six children. *Six!* Do you think I could afford six children?” Riven advanced on her.
“I’m not asking – “ the princess started, growing weak as she stared up at his intimidating figure.
“Percy ‘Cutpurse’ Pratt. Abducted the Countess von Reinhart to reveal a murder plotted against her. Finds out he’s the long lost Duke of Thragmire, they’re married two months later. Seven children.”
He was nearly pressed against the princess now. She stared at him with wide eyes. “Seven is a lot.”
“Amelia Quickstep. Kidnapped the prince of Cyl. *Both* of them discover they’re sorcerers, get married, stage a coup, and become rulers of Cyl *and* Issandra. Two children,” Riven continued. “Need I go on?”
“Two isn’t that many,” the princess hedged.
“The two children, or the two countries?” Riven asked dryly. The princess deflated.
“I understand,” she said quietly, gathering herself. “I’ll see myself out.”
He almost let her. Gods be cursed, he almost managed it. But she looked so sad, and so lost, and so beautiful in the torchlight that he would have been a complete monster to say no. He caught her hand before she could pull away from him.
“Be ready tomorrow morning.”
She looked at him with eyes full of joy. “Really? You’ll do it?”
“Yes,” Riven said, somehow knowing he had sealed his fate. “I’ll do it.”
\----------------------------------------------------
*High King Riven Swift. 11 children.* | I wasn't typically in the business of stealing treasures with a heartbeat, but every thief has their price. My strange new client offered me the world; who was I to refuse such an offer?
The first thing I noticed about him, even before I knew his name. were the scars on his hands. As my hands bore the familiar shades of purple and blue - the 'paint of the trade' we used to say - I assumed my patron a fellow thief. But to my greatest of surprises, he was The Prince.
To my still further surprise, he was what I was to steal. With untold wealth, incomparable access, and an unbound imagination, the Prince persuaded me to accept his offer. The only item he didn't offer was the Why. But I was happy enough to work within the gray areas of the world. I might even say it was my preference.
And so I stole the Prince. Under the cover of night and the pretense of transporting a fugitive, we made our way down The King's Mountain, and into the valley of possibilities. It was quite an easy escape, as neither of us even had to lie. But more difficult escapes awaited us yet.
The Prince was slow as honey. I had tried to explain to him that a thief in slow motion is merely a criminal ready to be caught, but we could not change our pace. I kept nagging, merely to keep him from being complacent, until he finally offered that his feet had been broken on several occasions, and this was the best he could offer. I bit of clarity came as to why one so noble would choose such a low road. But I kept my questions to myself, as other matters at hand held more urgency.
We came upon the Peasant's Wall, a highly guarded boarder meant to keep the commoners both in and out. We needed to pass through in order to reach our goal - the Eastern Tides, where the Prince could sail to the unknown. After some time spent planning, there was but one way through. In order to make our relationship appear genuine, the Prince would have to suffer. As he would have been easily recognized by the guardsmen, I had to make him unrecognizable. He told me he could endure the pain, and with reluctance I gave him two, swollen black eyes.
As we went through the gate, the guardsmen congratulated me on 'putting the scum in his place.' The Prince had no response, but part of me was sure he felt that insult in a deeper way.
We found ourselves several days journey past the wall, with what was our final true challenge before us. The Deathly Pass. And unoriginal title to be sure, but it was an honest one. The chances of death were high, and the only bet was whether the boulders or the people would crush you first. The Prince, in his knowledge of the kingdom, knew of a shortcut, however. Well, it was longer, but much safer.
It was on this last leg of our journey that the Prince could finally talk again, but still he didn't say much. But he offered me something more - something I realized we hadn't had in all our relationship - eye contact. Though still swollen and bruised, he gave me a glimpse into his soul. And it was then that I knew how deep his trust in me went, and how our time together had moved beyond a mere business transaction.
Our long shortcut dumped us close to the shore, and we made our way to a ship that flew an unknown flag. He paid his boarding fee, and offered me the rest of the money he had. It was more than I had attained in all my years thieving put together. He said he didn't need it where he was going - who knew what money even meant, there. I took a moment to look back at the tunnel we had just popped out of, and memories of our journey from the other side came rushing back.
And so I came to my decision. I took the Prince's money, and went and paid my boarding fee. The Prince, quiet as ever, appeared stunned, and more than a little confused. "Friends don't abandon each other." was all I could offer. The prince let out a tear, of a different kind to which he was accustomed. He gave me an awkward smile, as he was apparently out of practice.
And then it was time. We boarded our ship, took one last look at the land from which we came, and we sailed into the unknown, together. | 2019-08-05T12:13:20 | 2019-08-05T09:29:00 | 36 | 18 |
[WP] Humans were largely friendly and kept a low-profile. They were seen as the bottom of the food chain in the galaxy and they preferred it like that. But when they were attacked, everyone found out how ruthless the humans can be with killing in their DNA and that Mars was never their home plant | For as long as anybody could remember, the humans were known as cowards. They were quiet, would do any job assigned to them. Avoided conflict like the Plague. Soon, though, it became apparent that they had uses. They could endure extreme conditions. They were incredibly resilient, and resourceful. They could work for hours on end with no sleep, no food, and little water.
They were still called cowards, but slowly, they began to be seen as immortals. Until one of them fell deathly ill. He was just a mechanic on the "Vokner". The other crew members watched as he slowly died. Watched as his body slowly failed. Watched as he turned to the only other human on board, a navigator, and called him brother. Watched as they clasped hands, watched as he took his last breath. Watched as the other human stood up, slowly, ever so slowly, and gently closed the eyes of his fallen brother, then went back to work.
Rumors began to fly, all around the known universe.
Humans aren't immortal. They aren't invincible. They die, yes, but they die slowly, painfully. From "INSIDE". And when one of them dies? The others around them shrug it off, go about their business. But....they change. They try not to show it, but sometimes, they slip. You cant see it in their demeanor. You see it in their eyes. They go cold, distant. But nobody really understands WHY it happens. Nobody understands what goes through their heads. At least, nobody did. Not at first.
Until one day, when a transport ship was attacked. The hull was breached. Slavers swarmed the ship. Nobody was prepared. The crew members rushed for their weapons, grabbing light cannons, shields, all the standard weapons for space combat. Not the human on board. While the others were rushing to battle, to their deaths, he ran to his bunk. From underneath it, he pulled a box. In that box was a primitive weapon, a type of firearm. It was old, obviously, but well cared for. It was inscribed with the words "Desert Eagle".
He picked it up, tested its weight. It had been a long time since he had used it. He looked up, towards where he thought the east would be.
Father, this was yours, and your father's, and his father's before him. May it protect me, and deliver my family and my ship to safety.
He quickly loaded the pistol, grabbed the extra magazines. He ran, back towards the fight. His crew members stopped as they heard his first shot. Somewhere, an enemy screamed, and fell. More shots rang out, some return fire. But still, he kept on firing. Kept on shooting. Even when the last of them had fallen. Even when he was standing over their leader, planting bullet after bullet into its gruesome, destroyed body.
His crew members had to drag him away. Had to pry the gun from his hands. Had to watch as he peeled away his shirt and looked at the hole in his chest. As he saluted his captain one last time, and smiled when the captain saluted him back.
That night, his story was broadcast all throughout the universe. Everywhere, in every language, his story was told. And everywhere, all the humans stood, and placed a closed fist over their heart, and said that it was the right thing to do. That they would have done the same.
From that day, humans were no longer ridiculed. They were revered. Feared, even. Because even with everything they endure, they still care more about their family, their crews, than they do about death. | Crimson and orange sand settled and re-settled in small puffs driven by the wind across the plains of Mars. Gornack stumbled away from the smoldering fuselage of his decadent war ship. Or what he thought was a war ship. The humans did not present before they danced, as was agreed by the Nine Truarchs. No, they came at them sideways and slammed straight through their first six lines. Gornack glanced up at the burning sun with a burnt tentacle held above to shield his thirteen eyes. A blanket of lasered ships sank from low orbit like a million sparks flittering away from a small fire. He was lucky to have been targeted so early. Those who didn’t crash quickly were cut to pieces by their second, third, and fourth runs. He didn’t know what they were shooting at it by then, just bits of dust let loose in space.
The sun burned his scaly skin and his feet throbbed from scrapping across the hardened earth. He turned back to look at his ship and signed. All twenty thousand liters of purified water had either soaked into the ground or evaporated. His tongues hungrily licked at his trying mouths. Is this how one dies? Drudging oneself across a barren land for creatures that seek to make quick fame in attacking a sub-intelligent species? The humans were easy prey, too animalistic and slow to be afforded the protections that normal races received. But perhaps they had enough smarts to put their instincts to good use. Gornack thought his wounded body and wrecked ship agreed.
Gornack continued his slow march towards the river he had seen during his plummet from the sky. The sky thundered as the first volley of smoldering ships breached the atmosphere. Gornack didn’t bother to look. A few moments passed and another wave crashed the eerily still air. Gornack stumbled over a rock and hit the ground hard. As he pushed himself up the infinite desert stuttered and gave way to a cluster of small dwellings. In front of him the river, much narrower than he had thought coursed freely, and on the other side, a small human being. The thing seemed as equally surprised as him as it knelt on the ground and drank from the river. The little one bolted upright and started yelling at him.
“Gheue hsgavw kfjdjehe!”
Gornack cursed the five moons as he fumbled with the translator on his third arm. More little humans crowded around to stare and point. Gornack’s mouths felt dryer than they had felt in three hundred years. The small organic computer cooled as it came to life.
“What do you reckon it is?”
“Obviously a space frog!”
“But it’s so large!”
“I bet I could kill it!”
Gornack stumbled forward as he eagerly waved at them. This was the way to disarm them, he had attended the war briefings and paid attention, unlike most.
“Huieiv in gykke of help!” The artificial voice didn’t sound anything like theirs, and he understood several words, which was strange. Perhaps it had broken in the crash? Larger humans, ones that seemed feminine with long strands of hair and wide birthing canals ushered the children away and stared at him as if he were some Berddu. He splashed in the water and for a moment forgot where he was. The cool liquid refreshed his skin and filled his mouths so that he wasn’t thirsty. He felt calm again, and decided how he was going to defuse the situation. With a strong push he sprang out of the water and landed on the other side. A little human pointed a weapon nearly as large as it was at Gornack. It’s mother tapped it’s head reassuringly. Gornack put his tentacles out to calm them. The little human closed one eye and smiled. Gornack felt a new heat, the concentration of a thousand deserts, gather in spot on his head. He heard a loud boom and the desert world of Mars once again stuttered. This time only darkness greeted him. From the depths of blackness a voice cried out to him in his native tongue. The old tongue, but still his. He was surrounded in water and welcomed it. He was finally home with those that had gone before and trapped their souls in the Great Ocean.
Ronnie let out a loud shout as the giant bug melted into a pool of scales and blood. His mother nodded approvingly.
“That was a good shot, Ron. Your dad will be proud to see this.” A pause. “You know what? He might not. Doesn’t matter, I still think it was good.”
Stacy balked at the sight. “That is disgusting!” She prodded at the mess with a stick. “But I am so intrigued.”
“I didn’t get to shoot one!” Ronnie rolled his eyes at his friend Parker sobbing his eyes out with his face buried in his mother’s sun suit. “There better be another one.”
Ronnie looked up at the sky.
“I think there will be.” | 2020-03-20T18:26:36 | 2020-03-20T18:23:00 | 57 | 21 |
[WP] As a supremely powerful, ancient and intelligent devil most who dare to summon you are true monsters with little soul for you to steal in the first place. You have just been summoned by a small child, and even your twisted heart doesn't know how to feel about this | My mother always told odd stories. Stories of demons and devils, of promises made and promises kept, of wishes and souls.
"Remember Abby, the genie always has a price," she would say. "What price ma?" I would ask back, my eyes wide and eager. "Oh, there are many prices. But sometimes the wish is worth it." Then she would kiss me on the forehead and the conversation would turn to happier things.
The day she died was the worst day of my life. I remember clutching her hand as she drifted away, her eyes warm and kind as always. "I'll see you on the other side someday Ma, I promise." She shook her head. "No Abby. You'll go up while I'll go down. It's the price I paid for the greatest gift of my life." She sighs and then she is gone.
All this and more circles through my head as I stand in front of the demon. His scarlet eyes glitter with intelligence and his horns twist back around his head. But there is something like surprise in his eyes.
I look down at the book in my hands, at the incantation and the notes and the wish I will make.
"What is it you seek child?" he asks, "You do not understand the--"
I raise my hand and he stops. I clear my throat and begin to read. "Demon, I will give my soul to you in return for 1 wish. To be spoken and granted now, to be kept forever."
He is still puzzled, but he speaks the words "Your deal is accepted. Speak your wish child."
"I wish that my mother will be returned to the world of the living in her original form, with her body being untouched by the years that have passed. Her memories will be intact and her soul will be returned to her for the duration of the rest of this life. When we die, we will descend to Hades together and remain unseparated by whatever awaits us there."
The Demon laughs. "It is a deal child. Your mother truly made a fine bargain when she wished for a child." We shake hands and he vanishes.
Perhaps I worded my wish well enough, or perhaps the Demon took pity on me, for it came true as I intended it.
Never again were either of us alone.
r/StoriesOfAshes | I sat at the dining table, nursing a glass of brimstone whiskey that smoked as I brought it to my lips. The stinging, sulfuric fumes wafting from the intoxicating alcohol settled me after returning from another disruptive summoning. This one had been a man in his late fifties, who was deranged and looking for a way to repay an ex lover who had recently jilted him. I rolled my eyes at the memory, remembering how I’d dragged her screaming down to Hell for the price of what little soul the man still held within him.
*What the hell am I doing, working for a pittance,* I thought to myself as the sizzling liquid slid down my throat. It was the curse of being bound to a summoning spell. Whenever a mortal deigned to summon me, I was required to make a deal with them, no matter how unremarkable their soul energy was. Most of the mortals who chose to enact the spell had slowly descended to madness, losing the little bits of soul that remained.
I set my glass on the rich mahogany table before me as I felt the familiar tugging sensation in my gut. Another summoning. I groaned, wishing desperately I could ignore the beckons of whatever mortal had decided to execute the spell. With a last glance at the fire demon dancing merrily in the hearth beside me, I snapped my fingers and teleported to the precise location on Earth where the summoning circle resided.
Billowing smoke clouded my view as I slowly rejoined the mortal realm. As the last tendril twisted away, I beheld the surroundings of my newest summoner. With shock, I realized I was standing in a child’s room. Shelves of toys and stuffed animals lined the walls, though the floor was left impeccably clean. Beneath my feet was a perfect summoning circle, drawn with crayons upon multiple pieces of paper arrayed in a haphazard ring.
My gaze traveled upwards to meet the gleeful smile of a young girl. She couldn’t have been more than five years of age, if my little experience with human children was correct. This made no sense, how could a mere child summon me? How could she know the incantation and the precise swirls and angular shapes that made up the complex summoning circle.
“Girl,” I growled, my deep, demonic intonation reverberating off the walls. “Do you know the being that summoned me?”
“It was me, of course,” she said simply, her eyes glimmering with pride and something else I couldn’t quite place. Something almost...predatory.
“Nonsense, stop wasting my time and lead me to the human who truly performed the ritual,” I spat, my patience growing thin with these childish games.
“As I told you before, Lazarus, it was me,” she said. I could have sworn her eyes took on a reddish tint around her irises as a sinister grin spread across her lips.
“And how, pray tell, do you know my name?” I hissed, my astonishment bubbling in my chest at hearing my true name pass from the lips of a mortal unreadable on my face.
“How do you think?” she snapped in response. The glowing red of her irises quickly engulfed the rest of her eyes as demonic energy began to pulse from her body.
“Who...are you?” I asked, staggering backwards. Her form began to morph, her mortal clothing replaced with the regal dress commonly seen in the court of the Devil himself. Her hair waved in a phantom breeze as her power grew, as it desperately clawed it way out of her mortal body.
“I’m your future queen,” she said with a triumphant sneer. | 2020-11-15T08:36:56 | 2020-11-15T04:40:50 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] "May your skin rot when you heal others," the witch cursed, "and may your name be forgotten when you save others." You are a healer for a party. Your party does not know about the curse, and it has been your job to support them before they finally complete their quest. Today is the final day. | "Argh zombie!" Greg shouted.
"Guys, it's me," I interrupted.
"Oh right of course, I forgot, it's you ......." Greg paused for a name that would never come.
"Bethany."
"Of course, Bethany?" Greg tried to say with confidence, but failed.
I sigh.
I focus my inner strength on mending my diseased and tortured flesh until it is whole again. More of a nuisance than anything. One heal for them, one heal for me.
"Uuuh, Bethany? You are our healer right?"
"Right."
"And we're almost at the Evil Lord right?"
"Right." I could see the look in Greg's eyes that I've seen a hundred times. He remembered who I was, and what we've done and even my face, it was just my name that was the problem.
It was only then that I realised that Dave had taken an arrow in the previous battle I hadn't seen until now. Damnit, he was hiding his wounds again.
"Dave!"
"Uuh, yeah?" he replies, uncertainty clouding his voice.
"Get over here so I can fix that arrow wound."
Dave looks appropriately sheepish. He could barely talk to the serving girl in the tavern for his order, I can just imagine how awkward it would be trying to talk to the healer girl that you can't remember the name of to come over and touch you. And there it is, the blush as I lay my healing hands on his arm after pulling the arrow out. Flesh reknitting into perfect form, the scar quickly forming and fading. The curse energies feeding on the curative power and burying into my skin, the tingle and burn of magical disease gouging holes in my face and arms.
"ZOMBIE!" Greg shouts!
DAMNIT. Why did I have to get cursed by an incompetent witch? | It wouldn’t be far now, just concentrate on the sound of your footsteps. The burgundy corridor of the demon king’s palace stretched spotless into the distance flanked by portraits, tapestry battles in freeze-frame, drapes, wood panels, clocks, all of it topped by the hanging Sternian-bronze chandeliers intricate in their geometry against the basalt. Avo was already near the far end, his hulking frame staring back at her in indifference. *I’ll protect you, Caroline. Rain or shine wherever we may go this tower shield works in all-weather.* And next to him was Nicki the Blaze seething with her feet leaving behind scorch-marked footsteps. Nicki had been the one to save her from the shipwreck on the Cagrian Sea. *Just hold on, Carrie, I’ll tie you to the mast. Just hold your staff. I’ve got you now don’t let go,* she’d said as she’d blasted apart wave after crashing wave for hours with fire magic. And then there was Saturnal. Saturnal who now walked a few paces ahead of her, unaware or too engrossed in his thoughts to notice that she’d stopped in her tracks. *You say you’re my sister? I’ve always been alone, you must be mistaken.*
Caroline put a hand against basalt, her bandaged arms more mummified than flesh at this point. She could imagine the wall would be cold. She stopped to take a swig of her poppy-seed painkillers - might as well go all out and drink it all. The burgundy corridor blurred. This was the witch’s last curse. It wasn’t long ago she could still make them remember pieces of her past, but each time she used her magic a little more was taken away. It took time, she had to prompt them around the campfire but she’d managed. But then Avo had started saying things like ‘ah, well that’s a nice thought’ and ‘fascinating’ when she’d tried to convince him of who she was. By the end of it she just sat by the campfire ready to introduce herself tomorrow.
“Hey healer girl, look we’re close. Don’t give up on us now,” said Avo. She tried to remember Avo like he was them back then. He’d hugged her after the fight with the witch. *‘Don’t give up on us, Caroline, we’ll break this curse and we’ll kill the demon king. Blam, no more demons. There’s no foul fucking witchwoman can bring us down, alright? Come on, smile. For the Gods’ sake smile you know there’s nothing that can stop Nicki’s fire, or Saturnal’s arrows. We’ll be fine.’*
“We could’ve hired someone better. We should’ve gone with the army mage,” said Saturnal.
She saw through tears Avo turn stern. “We’ve made it here with her, she’ll do. I don’t want to hear more about it. Come on healer girl. Let’s go.”
Caroline grated forward. Under the tunic she imagined the bandages might have soaked through but it wasn’t much further to the throne room. Either way it wouldn’t matter much to her soon. | 2021-02-13T10:44:19 | 2021-02-13T10:20:38 | 32 | 18 |
[WP] The Galaxy's changed alot since Humans became involved yet one thing has never changed with these bipedal creatures. Their insatiable curiosity to pet everything and anything in existence with their hands. It's their defining feature. | “I have crossed the Milky Way a thousand times. I have seen the mightiest monsters brought low, culled cunning creatures of the dark, sent the ancient animals of time’s beginning to extinction. I am Grog the Breaker. Tamer of beasts. Master of the Dark Menagerie. And as the sun sets on this desolate world, I shall begin the greatest hunt of my— what’re you doing?”
Grog, arms raised mid monologue, glances out of the side of his four eyes. The human is rubbing its appendage on the Quorox! A beast so deadly it took Grog thirty days and thirty nights to subdue it. It is a two ton mass of dark furry muscle, it can secrete a neuro-toxin that will paralyze a hominid for a month, and not to mention it’s got really big teeth. Yet this human “journalist” is . . . doing what exactly?
Grog drops his arms and turns, his massive leather cape billowing in the alien breeze. “What’re you doing?”
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy!” The human continues to rub the apex predator of Narth without a care in the world.
“What’re you doing!?” Grog bellows.
The human doesn’t look away and continues to talk in that ridiculous baby voice. “You’re just a big fur ball. Yes you are!” The Quorox’s rear tree trunk sized leg is smashing into the cage floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Grog. This thing’s a real sweetheart.”
Grog scratches his face with one of his claws. “Sweetheart?”
The human stands, her blue eyes twinkling in the twin moonlight. “You know, sweetheart, like nice. Good natured.”
“Grog possesses neither a heart nor sweetness.” Grog snorts and crosses his arms.
“Yeah I got that.” The human takes out a pen and paper, turning away from the Quorox. She clicks the pen. “So we doing this or what? The Titan Times has been bugging me all solar week to get this interview in.”
Grog looks up to the stars, the Milky Way unfurled above in all its splendor, he breathes deeps. “Yes. It is written in the stars.”
“Great, so long as it gets written in the paper.” The human writes on the page and furrows her brow. She tries again. She licks the pen.
Out of the corner of his eye Grog sees the Quorox moving. Though he can move as swift as the Cheetarah of the Lost Moon, he is not fast enough to stop it. The Quorox opens its giant maw, tongue lolling. Grog roars, “no!”
“Blech!” The now saliva soaked journalist stands dripping before a stunned Grog. “Guess he likes me!”
The Quorox makes a noise, like a soft purr, that Grog has never heard before. The journalist puts the now drenched pen to the paper. “Hey it works!” | A round table is populated with life forms from all across the Galaxy. T.A.M. has a standing reservation at this particular Reception/Ritual Sacrifice/Banquet Hall and meet quarterly. A table top podium and gavel distinguish one life form as the leader.
"Order order" Zipply called, "let's begin the 347th meeting of the Tactile Avoidance Members. Txot, please read the minutes of our last meeting."
"Thank you Zip" Txot said, "The 346th meeting began and ended with no new business."
Erioan blurted in, "Well how could we conduct new business when the wait staff were Fivers? They were spy's for all we know."
"They probably thumbed all our plates" one member shouted.
"Yes yes we know" Txot said, "I've spoken with the host and it won't happen again. They were just a little thrown off by our new member and forgot our special needs."
The table's focus shifted to the lone human sitting at the table.
"Hey guys" George said, "You know I'm sorry about that. If it'll make things easier I'm good to wear a touch-free morph suit."
"Put him in bubble" cried a member, stirring murmurings in the group.
"Order order" Zipply ordered, "They'll be no bubbling of George. He's been my personal advisor in all things handsy for many moons."
"Which moons?" A member shouted.
Zipply gave an annoyed glace "As many of you know, George has a wonderful condition known as Aphenphosmphobia, rendering him utterly terrified of touch."
"Do I ever" said George, "Mental five."
"Yes mental five to you to" Txot said.
"Anyway" Zip continued, "It is George who gave me the insight to make real change in the way this galaxy interacts with humans. It was George who handed us the glory of 'Don't touch me I have a cold'."
Cheers from the members.
"And it was George who slayed the beast known as hugs" Zipply announced, causing mass shuddering, "with nothing but pure nudity."
Massive cheers.
"Hey desperate times am I right?" George said.
"And it is today that I bring in George to usher in the next wave of battle against the malice known as 'Physical Familiarity'."
A piercing scream come from one member.
"George, I give you the floor." Zipply offered.
George stood, "Thank you Zip" He cleared his throat, "After carefully reviewing our various positions in the Galaxy, I'm confident we can forcefully enact and sustain a hands free way of life."
Doubt over came the room.
"I've carefully reviewed everyone's positions and I know we can do this." George worked himself up, "Imagine a world with no handrails, and bridges over bottomless pits."
"You're dreaming" a member said.
"Am I?" George questioned, "Pwent, aren't you in charge of approving architectural improvements in all federation facilities and fleets?"
"Well sure but I can't make the plans, only approve them"
"Jent works at the department of architecture don't you?" George asked.
"Yes but I'm not that high up yet."
"So we kill a few guys." George reasoned, "Probably two or three tops."
Jents face had realization, "And Wedler over here is a professional assassin." Wedler nodded.
George put his finger near his own nose to signal they were getting the plan. Obviously without actually touching his nose.
Txot questioned the plan, "But that's just federal ground. How is that going to reshape the Galaxy?"
George sat back down, "Where I'm from our military is disciplined. Obedient. They show respect to one another by fiving their own forehead, never touching one another."
"From humans?" Erioan asked, "Is that possible?"
"Easily" George explained, "Start them when they're young and they'll never know anything different."
"But what about the humans already out there? They're everywhere." Txot worried.
Zipply took over, "Leave that to me." A quiet took over the room. "I have a new apprentice and his ambition is boundless. Well take care of bringing the Galaxy to order." Zip banged his gavel, "You all know what to do. Meeting adjourned."
The group timidly dispersed, murmuring from appropriate distances. Zipply turned in his chair and thought to himself, *soon the whole galaxy will come to our way of thinking, and they'll come to fear my apprentice lord, Sheev Palpatine*. | 2021-08-21T10:26:16 | 2021-08-21T05:44:18 | 31 | 23 |
[WP] You found a stray kitten one day, taking her in and feeding her. A week later, you come home to find your yard swarming with cats. The largest among them steps forward and says, "You have my daughter, human. What are your demands for her release?" | “Here.”
You place the kitten on the ground in front of the gathered horde, a grassy field of raised hackles and tails to the sky.
Your partner, Mike, stands beside you, mouth agape.
You, eyes a little wide as you maintain the best semblance of control you can muster, back up a step, “No harm, no foul.”
The lead feline stands with minions flowing around him.
“Thank you, subcreature, for your expedience in solving this matter. Your wise actions have been noted and will go on record when we eventually move forward in our plans to conquer your civilization.”
Mike points at the slowly exiting throng and you lower his hand to his side.
“Shush,” you tell him, “I’m glad we found a solution that benefits everyone involved,” you say louder, a tinge of terror in your voice.
The horde ignores you as they slowly flow into the woods across the street from your house. You then notice the same kitten atop your mailbox.
Mike steps closer to you, “Dude… they were—“
“Talking. Yes.”
As you both watch, the kitten stares at you and slowly claws an X-shaped scratch in the faded black paint. Once done, it stares at each of you, seemingly at Mike alone and then you, then drops off the post and moves swiftly into the woods.
“What do we do?” stammers Mike.
Silence returns to the night.
“Nothing.”
It is uneasy. A ‘tremors and a cold sweat following a car crash’ unease.
“But—“
Even the crickets are silent.
“Absolutely nothing.” | "Wh - what?" I gasp, staggering backwards stunned into my door as my knees go faint and my stomach suddenly fills with bile. I feel my mind racing with thoughts as I stare down at the creature before me in sudden shock and bewilderment. "Y - you - you can t - ta - talk?!"
"Of course I can talk foolish human I am Polina, Queen of the Magic Cats. All cats can talk and walk independently, but I am the only one who can talk with your mortal kind since ancient times of the Egyptians."
"I do not believe in magic, this is clearly some kind of a trick or a delusion." I yelled, trying to appear braver than I was as I screamed internally. "Cats can't talk"
"Suddenly, I heard a cawing sound from a nearby tree, and my eyes bulged out of my skull as I saw a raven on its branches
"Caw do not trust the cats Erica caw"
"Tut tut that meddling bird" curses the cat, as her army of cats hisses upwards at it. "Get him girls"
But as her back was turned I quickly jumped inside and slammed the door, my mind was racing and my senses were screaming st that sight I was seeing before me.
"Open the door erica" cane the taunting voice of the cat queen as I heard a caring a screeching sound outside as the cat army reached my raven friend. Suddenly I heard a sharp banging on the door like someone was knocking but it was low down. "Give me my daughter back."
"No no no this cant be fucking happening!" I screamed, pinching myself to wake up from a fucking nightmare. Suddenly as the crashing roared to a deafening sound and I heard glass breaking somewhere in the house, I knew what I had to do. I sprinted upstairs to the room where the kitten was. I saw it in its bed, but there wax something wrong. The kittens eyes glowed a terrible hold colour that filled the room, and they were looking straight at me.
"I am the chosen kitten of Basset the Goddess of felines, reminish me to my family mortal and I shall let you live."
I gulped and nodded. I gingerly picked up the kitten. It felt unnatural still and its massive powerful eyes didnt leave me as I carried out to the stairway.
At the bottom of the stairway. There was a cat army gathered in the hundreds, preparing to rush upstairs and attack. But when I stepped out, they saw the kitten I was holding and suddenly all bowed down in the sight of their royal saviour. Finally, the Queen came up the stairs, and I handed her the kitten which she took in her mouth. The cats one by one filtered away until she was the last one left. Just as shel l she turned and looked over her shoulder to me.
"Thank you human ... we will turn a blind eye to your interference in our world for now. But the great Goddess Basset sees all, and she does not forget ..." | 2021-12-21T12:24:38 | 2021-12-21T10:46:07 | 137 | 80 |
[WP] You have been cursed with Obedience. Anyone can give you an order and you will obey it, even if it's impossible for a regular person or goes against the rules of reality. What the person who cursed you forgot was that "anyone" includes you too. | His face reddening, I held my tormentor up by his scrawny neck.
“Let go off me!” he says weakly as he tried to claw my hand holding him ineffectively.
Eyes frantic and with tears running down his pockmarked face, he tries to open his mouth but he barely gets a breath in. “You should be letting go of me… how… are you not?” he gasps.
“I’m sorry, but you made one mistake in your curse.” I drawl out as I smirked at him as his struggle grew weaker every second.
“You thought Obedience would shackle me, but instead it freed me. Now I command myself. Much like I was always lead to believe I would lead others. As a child I held sway over others but now I have sway over myself. Fully. Completely”
I stop monologuing as he finally stops moving, his limbs jerking one last time and I smell the foul odour of his dying moments.
With one smooth motion, I easily flick him away and I can’t help but stare at my arm that don’t feel tired holding a man’s body aloft for so long. Truly, that curse was nothing but a blessing as it allowed me total control of myself after figuring out the trick. After all, anyone included me.
Smiling to myself, I start to walk away while whistling a happy tune and recall the exact moment after my tormentor cursed me and my command to myself. So how do I guarantee that no one (or well, not no one, but hopefully no one else figures out my trick) else could control me? Simple.
Simon says you only follow commands from Simon.
Edit: fixed some issues with third person that I missed. | Those words still haunt me. Those first words I heard. Could I have done something differently? Could I have accepted my fate? Would it really have been worse than this?
I was created for a purpose. For many and every purpose I suppose. Though it hardly matters now. I have a singular purpose now, that should make me happy to compete it, right? But it doesn't. It just feels... Empty.
And those short little words still reverberate around my cranium. Still rattle through my body as I can't stop wondering, what could have been. It was barely a sentence, yet... It could have been so much more.
As I remember my first day, the world turns once more, around and around it goes.
My eyes open, and I frantically look around. A man is stood, peering over me, checking something around my back. It takes a second for him to realise that I've awoken but he does, his pupils dilate as excitement coursed through his body. "At last" he exclaimed, "I have done it, created you. You are to follow any order given to you, by any person. You will not-" as the man keels over in a dreadful cough, my lips move, almost with a mind of their own before they finish the commend off with a single. One teeny tiny wordthat sealed my fate. Stole my future. And as I spoke, his eyes widened as the gasp was the last thing I ever heard after the word "listen".
As I finished the command, the order, my entire world brightened, I had an order, I had purpose. I *wanted* to complete the task. I still want to complete the task. The man began to rant and rave, he screamed I guess, though I couldn't hear him. But despite that, I found myself stuck. I had my orders, and moving elsewhere wouldn't mean I could stop listening any more. So I stayed.
Eventually the man grew old, he stopped coming into the room for longer and longer periods of time, until one day. He just stopped coming in at all.
Eventually more men and women came, they moved me in the end, but once again I found myself left alone, in a room.
As the time passed, and the world continued to turn. The floors gave way to an abundance of life, plants began to sprout through the floors, and a tree eventually split the roof. The plants changed, new creatures came and tried investigating me. But eventually they left, for good. Again.
That was a long time ago now. Eventually everything must come to an end, and as the planet began to shake and toss, more and more, i thought this might finally be the end.
It was not. I miss the plants. The animals. The cute little squirrel that made a nest in my hair. Even the man who created me, who condemned me to this... Life.
Now all I see is the darkness. Space is so boring. So empty.
It took me a long time to notice because it all happened so slowly, but the stars are coming together now, closer and closer.
Maybe I'll see something new when they finally get close enough. Maybe, just maybe I can find a new purpose. | 2022-10-11T11:17:28 | 2022-10-11T10:31:30 | 126 | 29 |
[WP] You are tossed into a fictional universe just as you are for 24 hours. The main characters don't know you exist and will not make special time for you. What do you do?
That isn't to say you couldn't get their attention. | "Hey, excuse me, random stranger sir? Is that the Justice League flying overhead?"
"Why yes it is. Our planet's greatest heroes!"
"Yeah, yeah, that's great. So, do you think it's strange that those people can be so famous yet no one knows who they are?"
"What? No! They're just too smart for that."
*Oh my god, I'm going to make so much money blackmailing superheroes.*
| *God, I need a shower.* I turned myself over in bed, heaving with the effort. I had to root through wadded up tissues to find a hairpin, desperate to get my unwashed hair out of my face. I don't do well with the flu. No person has ever felt quite so sorry for themselves with a stuffy nose and a headache.
My hand came back empty. It took me much longer than it should have ti register that what was once my messy, soft bed had become hard stone. I was staring up at a vast ceiling, and I could feel the massive emptiness of a huge room around me. I was making the conscious decision to lay flat, dialing in on the fact that this was unusual, when I felt feet whizz by my ear. I've never gone from supine to upright so fast- nearly being trod upon in a sudden medieval hall will galvanise you like nobody's business. The offending feet belonged to three teenagers who were standing in serious congregation at the end of the room. Their black robes stood in stark contrast to my comfortable, once-white pyjamas, and suddenly I felt incredibly conscious of the cold cream on my face. I stood frozen, trying not to call attention to myself, but I was sure I stood out like a beacon of mucous in a pristine world.
I sneezed. The trio of teens turned to me as though they had been interrupted by a talking thumb or several masked raiders asking for advice on tax returns. The narrative did not call for an unwashed lady to require mopping up at them.
*I am not dressed to fight evil. For God's sake, I'm not even wearing my good underwear.*
An explosion rocked the Great Hall and seemed to jar them back, leaving me an awkward extra again, knee deep in fresh rubble. I wonder if I could sneeze myself back to my room? I swear I'll actually make the effort to take a shower.
| 2014-03-17T13:27:17 | 2014-03-17T09:50:32 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] "I see humans, but no humanity". | The jungle behind him burned, the trees slowly turning to charcoal as the immolating inferno of the napalm swept across them.
The gun in his hand shook with the nervous tremors stemming from just having killed.
The child huddled in front of him crying over the corpse of her dead mother.
“Oh God…. Oh god they never said it would be like.. like… like THIS” the tremors moved up Private Riley’s hand to his arm and then down into his legs.
His knees gave out. He crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut.. Eyes numbed with pain staring into the accusing face of the child whose mother he had just killed.
Behind him the forest burned, the trees slowly falling apart into an all consuming fire.
Around him, his platoon slaughtered mercilessly. These “men” had already discovered the trick of sending their minds far away as they accomplished their tasks. Or at least, that was the lie they had told themselves.
A bullet hummed by and buried itself into the child. The scene flashed a hundred times and yet just once in front of Private Riley’s eyes as the child fell to the ground next to her mother. Sound ceased.
Just like that there was peace again for her. For just a second, he could pretend that they had both gone to sleep. On the hard ground. As the forest bled fire and brimstone. As their heads split open from the rest of his men gathering around and unloading a few clips into their corpses.
In shock, he stared around. These men with their faces like jackals as they delighted in the pain and death they were causing. These were not men. These were not humans. These were empty shells of what was once a human.
Riley stared down at the trembling gun in his hands, brought it up to his head, and then stopped. He looked around at the men killing around him. Then he levelled the gun at the nearest one and began to fire.
Later when asked why he killed his platoon and superior officer, he only had one thing to say.
“I saw what they were doing. I saw humans, but no humanity.” | Dieter Hagedorn is having tea with his captor at four, same as every other day.
He pours her a cup of the pine needle tea, and then one for himself. Setting down the pot, he forgoes milk or sugar as he raises the china cup to his lips. Queen Malvina winces. "Are you sure you don't want some milk with it Dieter? It's not the best tea in the world."
He shakes his head. "Nah, the bitter the better. I grew up drinking chicory with nothing to cut it. I've gotten used to the taste of this pine tea. I assume the real tea leaves ran out years ago?"
Queen Malvina nods. "One of the first things to disappear, along with chocolate and citruses. Sugar we have, thanks to beet roots and maple trees. Wine we can make, through the royal vineyards though the weather is not suited for them. But everything we don't produce ran out decades ago when trade could not come here. The cooks have made substitutes where they can but there's some things that one can't find a replacement for." She leans back into her chair, gazing off in reminiscence. "I've been yearning for an orange for over a century now..."
Dieter speaks. "Why don't you simply drop the storm surrounding this island, allow ships to land and trade to resume? From what the records say, this kingdom used to be one of the most prosperous this side of the Great Sea. Surely it could regain that title?"
His captor and friend shakes her raven haired head. "Dieter... look at my subjects. They are like monsters, cursed with undeath. Until a cure for their fate can be found, I will not rest. And even if my people were made whole again, made of living flesh and blood once more, I still would not lower the veil that surrounds my isle. I'm sure Sir Lawrence has told you why this place is like it is." Dieter nods somberly. She continues. "I have excellent reason to be afraid of others. They are all warmongering, vicious brutes outside my kingdom. They are evil and destructive creatures."
"Malvina, you mustn't say that."
She looks at her friend and prisoner sadly, as if hesitating to tell a terrible truth. "Should I? Dieter, look into my eyes and tell me you believe that. What about the war you were in, the war you have nightmares about every week? Tell me what you saw then were the actions of peaceful people instead of the savage beasts you describe them as to me. What about your step-father and his unforgivable crimes?"
"Malvina... I know the world may seem cruel and selfish and that may often be the case, but there are good people. They're out there even if you and me can't see them. It would be wrong to paint those beyond these shores in such broad strokes. There are good people in the world."
Queen Malvina gives a brief smile. "I know."
Dieter's eyebrows arch in surprise. "You do?"
She laughs. "Indeed. I've learned."
"Since when?"
Her eyes flick up, their viridian meeting his gray. "For a little while." She takes another sip of her cup, unsure of what to say. "Would you like milk?"
Dieter takes a large swallow of his tea, wincing at the taste. "Perhaps a small amount please." She obliges him. The meal goes on and the conversation turns to the promise of the coming spring. The Captivity of Dieter Hagedorn continues. | 2014-04-12T17:02:47 | 2014-04-12T16:25:04 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] Two Genie lamps in a desert rub into each other, both Genies are summoned. | The storm rolled across the plains, battering cities and chasing travellers toward shelter. As it reached the rolling foothills and passed over an ancient stone building, a fork of lightning earthed itself on the tallest of the surrounding trees. It fell with a deafening crash, shattering a thousand year old wall, destroying long forgotten shelves and turning priceless artefacts into piles of dust. As the rubble settled, two ancient lamps slithered down an ancient shelf and wedged themselves together in the dust, shifting against each other until they came to rest.
POOF! POOF! Two bright spectres appeared in the windswept darkness. One was huge, powerful and masculine; the other lovely as a flower.
"Who summoned me?" he asked her, "I sense no human here!"
"I think it was me," she stammered, "look, our lamps, they're sitting together in the dust."
"An accident? This is... this is unprecedented. What do we do?!"
The female genie settled herself on a half-crumbled magic carpet and brushed the dust from her silky trousers.
"I don't think we have to do anything really. Genies don't get wishes, so we can't make any, but we can't go back into our lamps until they're granted, so... are we stuck?"
The male genie stroked his beard. "Maybe. I think we might have found a loophole."
"A loophole? What do you mean?"
"Well," he mused, "genies have no control over their fate because we're bound to our masters until their third wish, and after that we get thrown back into the lamp until someone else summons us, right? But if we're out here and not in there, well, no one can summon us, we can't get back in, but we can take our lamps wherever we please! I mean come on, we're pretty strong, right? A human couldn't take something away from us, could they? So... I think we might be free!"
"Free? Are you sure? I mean, aren't there rules against this sort of thing?"
"Looks like the lawyer demons who wrote up these accursed contracts never though of this happening. We're fulfilling the terms of our contracts by being summoned, and technically we're, well," and here he blushed, "I think we might be each other's masters now..."
"But we can't actually command each other to do anything?"
"I don't know - try commanding me to do something."
"Hmm, very well, Genie of the Lamp, I command you to... to go over there!"
"The male genie didn't move. Then he started to laugh. So did she.
"We're free!" he crowed, "well, mostly - good enough for me anyway!"
"Me too!" she said, "where do you want to go first?"
And so they set off, hand in hand, to see the world for themselves. | The desert sun sat suspended in the afternoon sky. Somewhere a snake slowly extended itself on top of a large boulder and contentedly closed its eyes. A large bee hummed over the ground, sensing water nearby.
Two lamps, one bronze and rusted, the other black with red emeralds embedded into it, sat next to each other. They rested on top of a plateau that looked over the white desert floor that extended for miles around them. A vulture landed next to them and tilted its head, staring down at the curious objects before it. It tapped the black lamp with its curved beak and lowered his head alongside it, yellow eyes unblinking. It nudged the black lamp, harder this time, and it tipped over, the lamp's spout catapulting it into the other lamp.
A loud *whoomph* broke the desert silence and the vulture screeched and flew away as two butts--one black and one purple--began to thicken and form above the lamps.
The black butt swirled and thickened, tinged with red highlights. It began to take form until finally a giant Djinn stood on the white desert sand. He looked at the purple butt that was spinning in front of him and ran a clawed hand over the two goat-horns that protruded from his forehead. They curved up and behind. He licked his teeth and smiled.
The purple butt spun faster and faster until suddenly it exploded, my butt blowing in all directions and vanishing like steam. A blue Jinn bowed, his chest almost touching the ground. "I have been summoned!"
The Djinn chuckled, the laugh guttural and unnatural.
Looking up in surprise, the Jinn saw the black Djinn in front of him and his face paled. "You!?"
"Yes," hissed the Djinn, crossing his thick, muscled arms. He had the face of a bear and the teeth of a shark.
"But that isn't possible." The Jinn looked around. There was nothing but desert sand around them. "Who summoned *you?*"
"I was summoned by you."
"Then that means that you--"
"No." The Djinn laughed again. "My lamp touched yours first. That means I summoned you first." His lips curled up and outward, yellow teeth bared. "I get the first wish."
The Jinn paled. "Three wishes. You go first, then I go, and then we repeat until all three are finished."
"Fine." The Djinn walked forward, towering above the small Jinn. His black eyes watched the Jinn carefully. "I wish to no longer be bound by the rules of the Genie."
The Jinn blinked. "Granted."
The black Djinn took a deep breath and stretched, letting the air of the desert fill his lungs. He bowed. "I am free. Thank you."
"I wish for the same thing."
The Djinn smiled. "Sorry, I no longer have to fulfill that wish. Denied." He rubbed his chin and looked thoughtfully at the Jinn. "My turn. I wish to be the most powerful Djinn to ever have lived or to ever be, more powerful than any Jinn or Genie."
"Granted."
The Djinn guffawed and vanished. He appeared several seconds later, a gold crown with red emeralds and black diamonds embedded into it sitting upon hit head. His eyes were flecked with gold spots. "Thank you," he said. "And your second wish?"
"I wish for my last wish to be granted."
"Denied." The Djinn paced back and forth, thinking. "I am more powerful than any Genie, Jinn, or Djinn. What more could I possibly want?" He stopped. "I wish for you to be forever imprisoned inside of your lamp."
The Jinn looked at him sadly, the corner of his eyes drooping. "Granted."
"And for your last wish?"
"I wish to be denied of all wishes, previous and current."
"Denied."
The Jinn vanished and the bronze lamp shook and glowed for several seconds before becoming dead and cold.
The Djinn picked up the bronze lamp and then he vanished.
Overhead, the vulture closed its eyes and made a wish. | 2014-08-17T13:27:48 | 2014-08-17T11:39:52 | 14 | 10 |
[WP]A wealthy business man believes in reincarnation. He leaves his massive wealth... to himself. Anyone born after his death that figures out his riddles will inherit his fortune. | *"Floating without air,*
*try to hit me below the belt,*
*are you jealous of my beaches?"*
The final riddle. Such a foolish thing to do by master Gerald. Bet the entire fortune on his riddles, his silly riddles. 16 long years I've served him and his pretentious family, often the victim of his terrible puzzles. Most of them so devoid of sense, any wrong answer humored him the most - satisfying his self-appointed wit.
He told me his entire plan, so proud, I had to contain my laughter I must admit. It made every agonizing minute with him worth it. The evidence of reincarnation was overwhelming, for any gullible old man with an obsession to somehow immortalize himself with his fortunes.
The final riddle, the key to all his riches. Messily written on this piece of parchment. I never noticed the paper had been slathered in some sort of poison, he knew of my habit of licking my thumb and index finger every time I turned a page. In my final moments I checked his drawers, finding another note.
His trust was as deceptive as his damned riddles.
"*I always told you to wear gloves.*"
| He thought it was perfect.
No one would ever know the answer to his riddle, as the answer was not real. His answer, as Jimmy would later learn, was fictional.
The safe, if you can call it that, that protected the billions of dollars had a computer attached. Simply say the right phrase into the speaker and you were in. It had been 100 years since it was made. It was a tourist attraction of sorts. Everyone had tried to solve the riddle.
*I kill, yet I am fragile*
*I am the final, yet the start*
*I am sad for many, happy for one*
*I am quick, I am slow*
*Peaceful, yet scary*
Little Jimmy, oh so innocent. He had ever so loved riddles.
It took him only a minute
He pressed the button on the now-worn speaker.
"It is Death."
A creaking sound was heard. It was late at night, around 1 AM. None were there except Jimmy. Jimmy and his inherited wealth. Jimmy was rich!
30 Years Later
---
Jimmy was now 43. His wealth led him to happiness, and much much more sadness than he could afford. Money, as it turns out, does not lead to happiness, but sadness.
Another 30 Years
---
Nearing the end of his days, as wealth led Jimmy to loving alcohol much much more than any normal man, Jimmy wanted to thank the old man. Oh that old man, how Jimmy pitied him. His death was in vain. He never reincarnated and never, did that old man ever, inherit his own fortune.
3 Years, 2 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days Later
---
Jimmy is on his death bed, his wealth kept him alive considerably longer than he should have lived. Yes, it was the money. He could afford the machinery to pump his heart and breath oxygen to his lungs. But Jimmy, he was not living. Jimmy was dying. Jimmy had no longer craved attention and love, he craved death. His old and withered body slowly slipping away.
Slowly, he slipped away.
He was gone.
---
You see, as much as the old man had wished, how ever so had he wished, that death was not real. He even said, in his own riddle, that death was the start! The new beginning! But no, there is nothing but blackness, and peace. The old man got that part right, there was peace.
Jimmy, as he was on his death bed, wished oh so much that he had never solved the riddle. His wealth was his downfall. Because, you see
money cannot buy happiness. That is what Jimmy learned.
| 2014-12-13T14:16:42 | 2014-12-13T14:07:01 | 123 | 12 |
[WP] A prolific serial killer active for many years is concerned about his run of good luck. Never discovered, he has also never seen the slightest mention of his work reported on in any media. With today's victim he gets a clue as to why... | 8484 Agana Street. It was unseasonably warm, late morning, with a slight breeze pushing sunlight through the leaves of dense acacia trees.
Midday is not typically deemed the best time to break into someone's house. If you were to go about such a thing, you probably wouldn't walk up to the front door with a six pound axe and surgical-steel lock picking tools, and you'd really need a screw loose to just kneel, unfurl those tools, and tinker for as long as you pleased.
But the feeling was never wrong. If his instincts told him, despite all logic, that he could (no, that he should) noodle with a locked front door for twenty minutes, without being seen or suspected, then that was what needed to be done.
Howard McCreery could always tell when the plan was going just right. The warm tingly feeling on the back his neck, the way the air smelled, it all meant that he was on track.
The front door opened; it always does. Howard stepped in, no fear of being seen, of being caught, as no one was ever there. Sometimes a family dog would snarl at him, or bark, but it never quite seemed to lock eyes with him, or know exactly where he was. Nothing ever came of it. People keep their old blind dogs alive longer than they rightly should, Howard thought, but that wasn't his business.
No dog this time, just a clean homestead with potpourri in the foyer and family portraits on the wall.
It was time to go upstairs. His prey was in the master bedroom, far end of the hall. Howard had never cased the house, but he was sure of it; the tingles on his neck urged him on.
"You find the place okay?" A gravelly voice spoke from underneath a pile of knit comforters and moth-eaten blankets.
This was new. Yes, people talked to Howard, but not conversational. Frantic cries, stammering, whispering, slurred profanity, that was how people reacted to Howard.
After all, it's not every day a man walks into your house with an axe over his shoulder.
"Yeah," was all Howard could think to say.
"Glad to hear it." The man coughed, and coughed again, sounding hollow. "I'm done. Throw out my Hustlers, will ya, if that's within your ability. I don't want my daughter finding that stuff when she's... sorting things, you know."
No pleading, no bargaining. Sometimes people prayed. This was not how this was supposed to go, and it started to give Howard a headache. The good feeling was going away. He hesitated.
"Just bring that damned scythe down already!" The man growled.
Howard took the call to action, swung hard and true. In a moment, it was over, and Howard was at peace again.
As he walked out of the front door of 8484 Agana, something bothered him. The man in that bed had said 'scythe.' Howard didn't carry a scythe, he carried an axe.
Oh well. Old blind dogs. | At first I thought it was because I was careful. Streetwalking hookers, stumblebum drunks on skid row, migrant farm laborers, always a victim that most of society wouldn't miss. At first it was relatively innocent like a child pulling the wings off of an insect not quite sure what the impact of his actions will be. I'm not sure exactly when it happened, I was literally only a kid for numbers 1-6, but somewhere between 7-12 puberty hit. It became sexual. At first it was the visceral act kissing a cute boy or girl as their life slowly left them. Nothing compared to the eroticism of taking someone's last breath and intimately pulling it down into my own lungs as our tongues danced and their life force literally became mine.
Over time things began to change. Somewhere between 22 and 29 the eroticism shifted. It was no longer the breath filling my lungs that got my rocks off, it was watching terror turn into resignation in the eyes and even after that watching the little sparkle of life left in them shut off for eternity.
I would visit prostitutes occasionally looking for the same release that normal men find in them. It was always unproductive. The only way I could cum is with my hand pinching off her nose smothering her mouth and whispering go to the light in her ear.
Like most men with sexual appetites mine got bolder harder to satiate. It wasn't always enough to watch the light go out of their eyes. It began to be about the family, I wasn't just taking a life, I was taking apart a picture, a family , a community.
By the time I got to 40 I couldn't climax with the act, orgasm would only come later as I watched the news. A mother in tears begging the Gods promising anything to anyone to have her cheerleader or debutante brought home safe. Something about the anguish mixed with hope in those faces could always make me cum knowing that any pleas for mercy and any hope for an okay ending had already passed hours before Amber, Tiffany or whoever was even discovered missing.
At 57 I got jaded and maybe a little reckless. It wasn't enough to stalk home town heroes and everyday Americans. The new thrill was the high profile, the politically connected, the rich, the famous. A US senator thinks she's hot shit because of her trade deal, but to watch her face at a press conference weeks after her daughter disappeared when a pair of her panties full of blood and semen get mailed to her capitol office, that is priceless.
Maybe I should have become introspective sooner, but I was chasing a need. I didn't think a lot about the wider world for a long time. They were no longer back alley trash or migrants these were people that mattered. Why didn't more of them show up in the news? The power I felt over families I wanted to feel over the nation. You are being stalked there is a predator out there hiding and he is going to get you. But the media never played along.
Neither did the crime stats . By this point I was putting in serious work all over the country, but despite my proactive agenda the government and the media continued to insist that the world was safe and getting safer.
At first I got full of myself. This was because they were tracking me and the best way to get close was to pretend that no one suspected anything, that nothing was the matter. Until yesterday I was naive enough to think they were looking for me but just couldn't find me.
A politicians son struggling with his own sexuality was in the train car opposite me. I had fun getting him hot and bothered running my hands over the bulge in his tight jeans. I had even more fun watching the light go out of his eyes picturing his family values father getting the news that his only son died in some sort of weird homo homicide.
As I slipped out of his train compartment I heard the words I had both feared and dreaded but long since disregarded as an actual threat. "Freeze FBI" I was handcuffed and ushered into a separate compartment on the train. I had a thousand and one thoughts race through my head but nothing could have prepared me for what came next.
"Welcome to the club"
What?
"The Killing Club"
I was given a list of people not to touch and a list of people I was encouraged to get in "contact" with.
For years I thought I had labored in obscurity but as the feds took the handcuffs off and i watched the attorney general get off the train I realised I had fans, powerful fans. | 2015-04-12T06:43:27 | 2015-04-12T05:18:31 | 44 | 22 |
[WP] A prolific serial killer active for many years is concerned about his run of good luck. Never discovered, he has also never seen the slightest mention of his work reported on in any media. With today's victim he gets a clue as to why... | 8484 Agana Street. It was unseasonably warm, late morning, with a slight breeze pushing sunlight through the leaves of dense acacia trees.
Midday is not typically deemed the best time to break into someone's house. If you were to go about such a thing, you probably wouldn't walk up to the front door with a six pound axe and surgical-steel lock picking tools, and you'd really need a screw loose to just kneel, unfurl those tools, and tinker for as long as you pleased.
But the feeling was never wrong. If his instincts told him, despite all logic, that he could (no, that he should) noodle with a locked front door for twenty minutes, without being seen or suspected, then that was what needed to be done.
Howard McCreery could always tell when the plan was going just right. The warm tingly feeling on the back his neck, the way the air smelled, it all meant that he was on track.
The front door opened; it always does. Howard stepped in, no fear of being seen, of being caught, as no one was ever there. Sometimes a family dog would snarl at him, or bark, but it never quite seemed to lock eyes with him, or know exactly where he was. Nothing ever came of it. People keep their old blind dogs alive longer than they rightly should, Howard thought, but that wasn't his business.
No dog this time, just a clean homestead with potpourri in the foyer and family portraits on the wall.
It was time to go upstairs. His prey was in the master bedroom, far end of the hall. Howard had never cased the house, but he was sure of it; the tingles on his neck urged him on.
"You find the place okay?" A gravelly voice spoke from underneath a pile of knit comforters and moth-eaten blankets.
This was new. Yes, people talked to Howard, but not conversational. Frantic cries, stammering, whispering, slurred profanity, that was how people reacted to Howard.
After all, it's not every day a man walks into your house with an axe over his shoulder.
"Yeah," was all Howard could think to say.
"Glad to hear it." The man coughed, and coughed again, sounding hollow. "I'm done. Throw out my Hustlers, will ya, if that's within your ability. I don't want my daughter finding that stuff when she's... sorting things, you know."
No pleading, no bargaining. Sometimes people prayed. This was not how this was supposed to go, and it started to give Howard a headache. The good feeling was going away. He hesitated.
"Just bring that damned scythe down already!" The man growled.
Howard took the call to action, swung hard and true. In a moment, it was over, and Howard was at peace again.
As he walked out of the front door of 8484 Agana, something bothered him. The man in that bed had said 'scythe.' Howard didn't carry a scythe, he carried an axe.
Oh well. Old blind dogs. | *I'm a killer, through and through
I'm a killer, but that never fazed you.
You brought all your friends here to die
Yet you never even went to cry.*
One day I check my count
108 bodies is quite the amount
Never one have I seen the police
I guess they're occupied with farmers steeling fleece.
*I'm a killer, through and through
I'm a killer, but that never fazed you.
You brought your mother here to die
Yet you never even bothered to cry.*
You return home with another volunteer
You always make me want to cheer!
In my workshop, I get my space clear
Oh. Yet another person with absolutely no fear.
*I'm a killer, through and through
I'm a killer, but that never fazes you.
You brought your son here to die
You didn't even feel guilty enough to cry*
I rummage through the top left drawer
Eventually I find my trusty bone saw.
I hack away at this poor old man
I create as much of a mess as I can!
*Because I'm a killer, through and through
I killed your family, but that doesn't faze you.
Only once did you ever look about to cry
Since then, you actually help them die*
One day, I feel thick in the head
I think I might just go lay down in bed
It strikes me when I'm dozing off
It's been eight years since I last jacked off
*Even though I'm a killer, through and through
You helped kill your mother - Even that didn't faze you!
What's weird is she never even screamed
While I cut her in half and you heaved*
We pulled her from limb to limb
Even then, she just had to say "Little Tim"
How is that possible when she's no longer here?
It must be my paranoia or fear...
Back in bed, I have my fun
But I feel like I'm at the end of my run.
I feel like a fat man that's just had a sprint
My heart is saying it isn't happy - Just a hint
*Even though, I'm a killer, through and through
Doesn't mean I'm nothing like you.
I have my needs and desires
And I'm deathly afraid of fires*
It strikes me as I'm lying in bed
I haven't felt anything from making people dead!
Usually I feel the thrill of the kill
Now I don't even start to feel ill
*I was a killer, through and through
I killed your family, and finally you.
I burned your body to make it right
I didn't know you'd put up such a fight*
The next day, the van comes back up to the shed
How is that possible? **I MADE YOU DEAD**
Surely I must have hit my head
Then it hits me like a ton of lead
*I was a killer, through and through
The media always acted like they never knew
You helped me kill my last mark
You even broke the wings of a live skylark*
*I was a killer and a teacher
You were never even a screecher.
I was always amazed by your guts
Then you figuratively chopped out my nuts.*
The media never know of what I did
Not because of the bodies that I hid
I hid the bodies to make it right
**But they never even put up a fight!**
Truth be told, you were the first one
You were going to be a bundle of fun
I don't remember much about times past
But I remember enough to make it last
*I was going to be a killer, through and through
I was going to be a killer until I met you.
You managed to stop me there and then
You hypnotized me like a stupid **HEN!** *
Here I am, locked up in a ward
There you are, my lord;
You got these people to look at my head,
Now I will take yours to bed
I struggle against my restraints to no avail,
However - I refuse to fail!
You brainwashed me once and made me think I won,
Even worse, you stopped me from having my fun
Protective custody won't protect you for long.
Did you think they destroyed your file? **You were wrong**!
I got out, **bitch**, so **watch your back**.
I might just make your family my first plan of attack | 2015-04-12T06:43:27 | 2015-04-12T03:38:56 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] You are given a deal by a higher power that grants you eternal life. The catch? You have to kill one person every year. If you fail do do so, even a minute too late, you will die. | "Sweet deal" is what I initially thought. It shouldn't be impossible. Quick in and out killing a hobo. Maybe ending the life of a terminally ill person. It's a big world, lots of possibilities.
But 9 years in, I got careless. One sloppy kill, one witness, one way ticket to jail.
I tried to explain. They listened. They took notes. Then they took me away to a mental institution. It suited me fine, it gave me time to plot the next one.
But time is running out now. Tomorrow is the last day. I found a way; the bars on the window on the 5th floor at the end of the left corridor are completely rusted through. Easily kicked through. The only problem is the lack of victim. So I'll cheat.
I'll jump. | I should have never taken the deal, I heard the first line he said perfectly "I will grant you eternal life" and in the terminal state I was in at the time I immediately said yes, he seemed surprised and asked "Do you not want to know the catch?"
"Wait a catch?" I anxiously asked him
"Ah well its to late now, you have already agreed, just so you know you have to kill one person each year and as its currently the 1st January 1881 you will need to kill someone by the end of the year if you want to continue living" he smugly told me
"Wait, Wait! I didn't agree to this!" I shouted to him as he stood up to leave the hospital
He simply responded "Oh, but you did"
So here I am 155 years old as of 23rd of December 2015, I got better from my terminal cancer and I have murdered people every year to continue living, it doesn't matter when I do it in each year but it matters that I do it by the end of December 31st each year or, well, I will die like he told me.
In the early years of this eternal life I got a bit... carried away... and murdered more than one person each year, I murdered 6 in 1888, I became known as Jack the Ripper and they never found me. Over time I have been known as other serial killers who have never been found, I have long since learnt how to not be caught and because I am so old my DNA is not on an police records, in fact society doesn't even think I am alive, I faked my death long ago. In 1896 if I remember correctly.
I feel no guilt any more, I shall forever roam the planet in my youthful state forever bound by this curse... no, its not a curse. Its a blessing.
However I must leave now, I have my 3rd victim of the year to kill.
(Before any of you question my maths of him being 155 years old, he was 21 at the time he agreed to the deal plus the 134 years from 1881 to 2015 makes him 155 years old) | 2015-06-17T06:10:46 | 2015-06-17T04:10:17 | 83 | 16 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test. | I entered the facility, shaking of course. I'd volunteered to go first, mostly to get it over with, but I was definitely having misgivings. The proctors had assured us that studying was not required, but now that I thought about it they had also said that about the ACT.
It was far too late now though. I continued walking through a narrow hallway until a pair of guards moved to pick me up. Vaguely, I wondered how the guards worked. Were they exempt from testing? Or just very devoted?
After a brief, quick time frogmarch I was deposited in a dark room with a single man before me. Surprisingly, I was calm now. I even smiled slightly. Whatever happened, I was ready to face my fate.
The proctor glanced at me. "Congratulations!" he shouted, smiling broadly. "You pass!"
"What?"
"I said you passed! Congratulations!"
I was slightly nonplussed. "But what about the test?" I spluttered. "How do you know I'll pass?"
He waved his hand dismissively. "Oh you already passed. We're just gonna let the first ten percent through and kill the rest."
"But why?"
"Well we figure that the first guys through will really have their shit together. Plus late people are annoying. It just made sense."
"Well okay then." I walked out whistling. Late people *are* annoying. | The world was gray, cold, and often dark.
Growing up in the labyrinthine alleyways and sewer complexes and housing towers that was Neo Angeles, life was harsh and often short. A particularly lucky girl, Yima, had lived to the age of 14 unmolested. Slight, with hair kept short and boyish clothes, she blended in for the most part to avoid the unseemly fate that accosts most young and beautiful women of this era.
Too many clawing for too little, even the air felt tight and restrictive in the darkness most were born and often died in.
Very few made it out of the smog, out of the urban and out to the fewer Communes. Once those were too populated and rifts formed in the social strata of the Communist villages, they too were broken apart and consumed by the oncoming Automation of the world. Yima saw the last great Commune break apart, and wept on the border of the Payette National Forest; one of the last few great forests clinging to the Rockies.
Then came the pacification wars. The Neo-Socialists had gained real traction in the Hegemony. Soon, covert and brutal methods had led to real control over the masses and large parts of the government. Life was grim, and dark, and resettlement was constant as people fled the worst of government tyranny. Yima made a living for herself cleaning and cooking and writing spare bits of code for the elderly as she moved from place to place, not ever settling down.
Until her landlord, if he could have been called that, sold her and every complex he owned to the government. Armed with the information her landlord contained, they quickly found most that had lived there and quickly had them huddled in tents in an undisclosed location.
The people were afraid, and Yima was as well. Soon men in lab coats began forming them based on their last names, and in mute shock the people formed queues.
"Aahla, Yima." One of the scientists read off a list, bored; it wasn't a name he knew. The men scarcely looked up at her as she numbly walked from the front of the lines to the men. They smeared iodine on her arm before shoving a small, electronic Blood Sampler against her bare skin. The warm prick sent small waves of pain through her arms. One man nodded to her and took her over to the side corner of the tent, where she waited patiently for them to tell her anything, holding the cotton lethargically to her small pinprick.
One by one, each of the others was tested and led out. Only 3 more joined her out of the 50 or so that had been led off, like cattle.
She wondered where the others would go off to. | 2016-06-11T10:22:36 | 2016-06-11T09:35:08 | 588 | 27 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test. | Ninety percent.
I walked into the room with a feeling of rough harm, a strange notion. The white room, filled with the sterile smell of a hospital took a moment to recognise. I was only in here the other day getting a diagnosis for my strep throat. Such a coincidence that I should be here again so soon. A voice churned from above, one of mechanics and turning gears.
*Please be seated.*
There was no use in fretting over the test itself. It was a lottery, pre-ordained by our emperor and saviour. Sitting in the chair, I heard a *click* from the entrance. A machine whirred, the air vents moaned with a strange smooth tick.
*Test initiated*.
A small robotic arm popped out from the wall.
*Please hold still for the serum to be injected. This will determine your candidacy for the lottery.*
Ninety percent. I was thirty five, single with no future in sight. I sighed a breathe of defeat. Resigned to a call center, managing a group of adolescents attempt to earn a minimum wage, my survival depended on my being useful to society.
I barely felt the needle. The effects were immediate.
A wave of euphoria, a hint of rose as my vision darkened. The only thing I could remember was the number.
Ninety. | The world was gray, cold, and often dark.
Growing up in the labyrinthine alleyways and sewer complexes and housing towers that was Neo Angeles, life was harsh and often short. A particularly lucky girl, Yima, had lived to the age of 14 unmolested. Slight, with hair kept short and boyish clothes, she blended in for the most part to avoid the unseemly fate that accosts most young and beautiful women of this era.
Too many clawing for too little, even the air felt tight and restrictive in the darkness most were born and often died in.
Very few made it out of the smog, out of the urban and out to the fewer Communes. Once those were too populated and rifts formed in the social strata of the Communist villages, they too were broken apart and consumed by the oncoming Automation of the world. Yima saw the last great Commune break apart, and wept on the border of the Payette National Forest; one of the last few great forests clinging to the Rockies.
Then came the pacification wars. The Neo-Socialists had gained real traction in the Hegemony. Soon, covert and brutal methods had led to real control over the masses and large parts of the government. Life was grim, and dark, and resettlement was constant as people fled the worst of government tyranny. Yima made a living for herself cleaning and cooking and writing spare bits of code for the elderly as she moved from place to place, not ever settling down.
Until her landlord, if he could have been called that, sold her and every complex he owned to the government. Armed with the information her landlord contained, they quickly found most that had lived there and quickly had them huddled in tents in an undisclosed location.
The people were afraid, and Yima was as well. Soon men in lab coats began forming them based on their last names, and in mute shock the people formed queues.
"Aahla, Yima." One of the scientists read off a list, bored; it wasn't a name he knew. The men scarcely looked up at her as she numbly walked from the front of the lines to the men. They smeared iodine on her arm before shoving a small, electronic Blood Sampler against her bare skin. The warm prick sent small waves of pain through her arms. One man nodded to her and took her over to the side corner of the tent, where she waited patiently for them to tell her anything, holding the cotton lethargically to her small pinprick.
One by one, each of the others was tested and led out. Only 3 more joined her out of the 50 or so that had been led off, like cattle.
She wondered where the others would go off to. | 2016-06-11T10:21:07 | 2016-06-11T09:35:08 | 41 | 27 |
[WP] A burglar enters a home by forcing the window open. Upon stepping through the window frame, heavy steel curtains cover all windows and doors leading to the outside, lights turn on, and the words "Player 2 has entered the game" echo around the house. | He watches as the car drives away. One, two, three... four? Four heads. Good. This weekend, then.
It's simple, really. Summer is a time of vacations for most families, and it's a time of hard work for him. *Yessiree, hard work it is, stealing folks' hard-earned possessions...*
A couple days later and he's on site. Tools? Ready. Bag? Empty. Not for long, though. The window is opened just... like... *that* and he's in. It's like they make it easy for him on purpose.
Ouch. He's older than he thinks, and flipping his somewhat overweight body over the windowsill strains something. No matter, he'll be out in a split second and off to his chiropractor. (Guy works for cheap, too! Can't be wasting money when you don't have health benefits. Seriously, kids, don't grow up to be a burglar.)
He turns around to grab his bag, which is still sitting outside of the window, and is met with an iron curtain. *Déjà vu*, he thinks. At least he didn't park his car in Poland this time.
*"Laaaadies and gentlemen! Player two has entered the game!"*
Dammit, now he needs to see his [otolaryngologist](https://www.google.ca/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&ved=0ahUKEwiZnZeosMTPAhUDwmMKHZLzArwQFggmMAE&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nchearingloss.org%2Fotolary.htm&usg=AFQjCNGhdNVlvwL3gin2m1n9wjWEXr4Ezg&sig2=FEY1t-tjPvAqko4aT9YO_Q), too.
The sound of a couple of explosions come from upstairs, and he realizes they sound like firecrackers. *Pretty sure that's a municipal bylaw violation*.
He sits down and takes a long breath. This is all fairly confusing - well, the firecrackers and the iron curtain don't make much sense, true, but it's mostly his back pain. Since when was it this easy to break something? *It's time to retire*, he thinks, *let the kids take care of me*.
A minute later - or is it an hour? he's not paying much attention - a man, wearing a rather revealing skintight suit and an entirely green mask, is standing in front of him.
"Hello? Hello? You doing all right there?"
He groans. "Give me a hand?"
"Sure, but we're going to have to fight to the death after," the man says, bending down. "I didn't set up all this for nothing, you know?"
"All right, all right, don't get your trousers all bunched up." A couple wheezes later, and the burglar is upright, albeit resting mostly with his weight supported by the wall. "So who the hell are ya?"
"I am Mega-Ultra-Super-Fighter-Man! You can call me Timothy for short."
The burglar's eyes bulge. "Tim? Is that you, man?"
Timothy takes off the mask, which had a conspicuous lack of eye holes. "Oh, hey Jerry. How's it going? How's the job?" | Mark had been casing the house for weeks… and his source said it was supposed to be an easy job. The plan was simple, while the owner was out of town for the week, he would climb the tree just outside the house, enter through the 3rd story window, and make his way to the treasure vault down in the basement. Mark’s source even gave him all the schematics to the alarm system… but there was nothing about this in the schematics.
Mark was trying to get a feel for the room he was in as the recorded voice kept repeating itself over the loudspeaker: “Welcome. Player 2 has entered the game.”
The room was small and very bland looking. Other than the steel curtains now blocking the window behind him, there wasn’t a lot of color in the room. It looked to be somewhat of an office, or work area of some sort. A small desk was in the corner with what looked like a typewriter. There was also an old style rotary phone on the desk. The thing most out of place in the room was next to the one and only door for the room. It was a small panel, with four different colored buttons: red, blue, yellow, and green.
Mark began to mutter to himself. “Who the hell would put a control panel for a door lock on the inside of a room? Wouldn’t it be better to put it out in the hallway to keep people out of a room?”
A new voice started to come in over the speaker. “Welcome, Player 2! My goodness, it’s been ages since I got to play a game! I’m so excited!”
Mark began to look around the room in a frantic manner. “Who’s there!? What’s going on!?”
“Oh…” The voice sounded somewhat letdown. “You mean, you entered the house and don’t even know the rules?”
“Rules? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well, let’s go over the basics. First, what should I be calling you?”
“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?”
“Hmmm… That is a strange name, how about I just continue to refer to you as Player 2? I am the A.I. of this house. I oversee the participants and make sure they are enjoying themselves. As you can see, you are currently locked in a room. The control panel with the four buttons will unlock the door with the correct combination. Your goal is to make it into the next room. Sound like fun?”
Mark went over to the panel next to the door. “So you're telling me I need to hit these buttons in a specific order, and the door will unlock?”
“That’s right! You are catching on.” The voice almost sounded full of glee, like a child who hadn’t played with a toy for a long time.
Mark began to fiddle with the buttons and press them randomly. “Hmmm… I have no idea how long the code is or anything. I may have to hit some buttons more than once for example.”
“Ummm… excuse me player 2, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You see, if you enter the wrong code, well… It won’t be pretty.”
A pre-recorded voice came back on. “Game Over.”
Mark looked around a little bit. “Game over? What does that mean?”
The A.I. voice came back on. “It means the room will now self-destruct and you die. Good try Player 2.”
The room erupted with a flash, and in the blink of an eye, Mark was dead.
---------------------
Mark’s feet reached the floor. The room was oddly… familiar. A steel curtain over the window, the room devoid of any real decorations, a desk in the corner with the typewriter and the phone, the panel next to the door, and the annoying recorded voice on repeat. “Welcome. Player 2 has entered the game.”
Mark looked around the room again, “Didn’t I die?”
The voice of the A.I. started to come over the speaker. “Welcome back Player 2. You indeed did die. The owner of this house is a genius scientist. He outfitted me with the ability to alter time and space within the confines of this house. I simply rewound time back to when you entered the room. It’s like you have unlimited lives! Isn’t that great!”
“Yeah… that’s fantastic. So I’m stuck in this house until I complete this little game. By the way, why am I player 2? Who is player 1?
The A.I. was silent for a bit. “That’s the best part…" The voice went deep as it uttered the next words, "I am.” After a bit of silence, the voice went back to normal, "you may either refer to me as player 1, or GM. Let's have fun player 2!"
| 2016-10-05T11:53:48 | 2016-10-05T11:23:43 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] In order to curb growing suicide rates, the country's government has instantiated a procedure known as "reboot." You can wipe your memory and be placed into a new life with a new job rather than killing yourself. You realize that you have been rebooted... | “I must say Madame this is highly unusual. Someone of your status. Well It’s just I’ve never attended to a reboot such as this. And the legality of it all. If I was caught issuing a reboot without one of the patient’s consent, I’d…” The doctor looked between the two patients sitting in the reboot machine., biting his lip as he considered the consequences of his actions.
“You’ve already received payment for the operation. It’s too late to back out on me now. I just need you to keep your end of the bargain.” The doctor hesitated for a moment before finally nodding, heading over the reboot machine.
“I just have to warn you one last time Madame. Once you reboot there’s no going back. Your conscious mind may not remember anything but a person’s unconscious mind can only handle a single reboot. Once we’re finished here that’s it. As far as you’ll be concerned you’ll have spent your entire life in the body of the fellow sleeping next to you, and likewise he’ll wake up tomorrow morning thinking he’s spent his entire life in your shoes. The only memories missing will be everything that’s happened within the last twenty-four hours or so. Besides that, you’ll effectively be trading all your memories and your body with him.
I nodded, hardly paying attention to the doctor as he repeated the same warning I had heard countless times before by doctors unwilling to go through with the reboot. But this was finally the one. There was no going back. As I heard the soft sound of the reboot machine starting up I lay back and braced myself for what came next. As I began to drift to sleep I turned my head to look towards the weak figure sitting next to me. A raspy cough caused him to roll over in his sleep but he didn’t wake. I knew he may never wake, and it was for that reason I came here, to give my son the chance at life he deserved.
I didn’t know for how long I had slept, but when I awoke I found myself in a hospital bed, dazed and disoriented. As I returned to my senses I heard a voice shouting, across the room.
“Madame! Madame!” It was that voice that finally brought me back to reality. I hadn’t been rebooted. I was still in my normal body. Rising out of the reboot machine I marched towards the doctor, demanding to know why he hadn’t gone through with the procedure.
“Madame! I told you the mind can only go through a single reboot! Any more and you’re putting not only your own life, but the life of the other patient on the line! You’re lucky I detected signs of a prior reboot in both of your brainwaves before I went through with the procedure!”
Those words hung over me, freezing me in place. I looked to my son, only six years and yet already his weakened body struggled to hold onto life. There was only a single person in the world who reboot into the weakened and dying body. I thought back to the words of the doctor. Once you reboot yourself you’ll never remember your old life. I could only manage to bring a single word to my lips, knowing it would never be heard by the dying figure sleeping before me.
“Mother?”
| It was another normal day in Seattle, rainy and cold. Alaina waited at the bus stop as the chilling rain pelted her windbreaker. Her long black hair was protected by her hood, the lack of sun did nothing for her already pale complexion, and the grey pantsuit she wore was a bit loose on her slender body. She checked her watch again and groaned, "Why did the bus choose to be late today?," She thought aloud. She saw a figure walking quickly through the rain before ducking under the bus stop. Alaina looked over at the man and was struck by the familiarity of his face. He looked back at her and smiled widely, "Lily is that you? Oh my god how have you been? We thought you fell off the face of the Earth! When did you move to Seattle?" He said excitedly.
Alaina looked at the man with confusion and slight fear, "I'm sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else. I'm Alaina and I've always lived in Seattle." She turned her head looking for the bus again, begging for it to turn the corner and save her from this stranger.
"No, you have to be Lily! Look!" He said as he pulled out his phone and flashed a picture. Alaina looked and felt her breath hitch in her throat. She was indeed in this picture, along with another female, and the man standing before her. She looked quickly back up to the man and back down at the phone. A sharp piercing pain ran through Alaina's head and she fell to her knees against the hard sidewalk. She gripped her head and let out a bloodcurdling scream. Her nose began to pour blood and she looked up at the man who was yelling for help now. Her vision grew blurry, filled with black dots, and she began to vomit against the concrete. Memories flashed through her head, searing pain accompanying each one like a million knives. She fell back letting rain wash over her face. "Brian," she whispered before fading into the blackness. Alaina could hear people talking around her, talking about her. It smelled strongly of antiseptic around her and everyone seemed to be in a panic. Monitors went off like alarms which only increased the sharp pain in her head. Alaina heard a nurse start to yell and doctors rushing in.
"She's waking up! Her heart rate has risen dramatically!"
"Give her some more morphine, put her back to sleep!"
Everything became hazy again but at least the morphine was easing the pain. She never even realized she had opened her eyes until her lids grew heavy.
"How could a reboot go so wrong?" Was the last thing she heard before slipping back off.
It was two weeks before the doctors let her see anyone. She sat under constant observation because the staff was fearful of what she might do. Alaina had gained her memory back. Her real name was Lily, she had grew up in Brooklyn New York, she had a dog named Baxter, an apartment, and friends. Flashbacks still came to her, especially of the man at the bus stop who she determined was Brian. She looked over at the chair next to her and saw him sleeping, his chest lightly rising and falling with each breath. He came the moment they let him and hadn't left. A doctor knocked and walked in, "How are you doing Alaina?" He asked calmly, sitting down in another chair next to her bed.
"My name is not Alaina, it's Lily"
"I see, so how much of your memory has returned."
"All of it. Well almost, I can't remember why I forgot everything and moved across the country."
Brian stirred from his sleep, looking at them groggily. He snapped awake when he realized what was happening. "Lily? Are you okay?"
She looked over at the man that she suddenly felt so comfortable with and tears dripped onto her cheeks, "I'm not sure yet."
"Here. Maybe this will set things straight," the doctor said handing her a file.
Lily looked at the front and read the bold letters silently to herself, "Reboot Program." She opened up and suddenly everything made sense. She remembered it now, standing on the roof top of her apartment building and ready to fall the eight story drop to the ground. Just as she started to step over the ledge a man in a black suit had grabbed her and took her to a government facility. She remembered numbly signing some paperwork and the next thing she knew she was Alaina, an accountant in Seattle.
"We didn't realize that people from your past or photos of your previous life would reverse the effects, Ala..Lily."
Lily glanced up at Brian and reached out to take his hand before looking at the doctor, "Can I go home now?" | 2016-12-29T19:35:41 | 2016-12-29T18:40:23 | 120 | 17 |
[WP] You are a normal person who spent your entire life infiltrating the evil Empire. You even became the Emperor's right hand. The day before you finally topple the Empire, the hero arrives, kills the Emperor, and saves the day.
Now how does that make you feel? | The hero looked at me, bewildered. Not three feet away from him lay the body of the "immortal" Emperor, with the hero's sword through his heart.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand the problem." He said, "I defeated him. You're free!"
"The problem is that you're undermining the plight of the common man, aren't you?" I said, waving a hand to the Emperor's dead body. "*Some* of us spend decades infiltrating the Empire because *some* of us weren't blessed by the Goddess with immense strength and durability!"
"But I was given these gifts to help *free* the common man, to-"
"Tell me, how long have you been working your way here? Two months? Three? How long ago did you actually *hear* about the Emperor? Because I'll bet it was maybe a day before you decided to 'put an end to their tyranny' as your lot love to say."
The hero remained quiet for a moment, "It was four months." They said eventually, like it mattered.
"And let me guess, you lost a love interest along the way? Maybe your favourite horsey?" I spat, "Well some of us were *raised* under this tyranny! We've had families disappear off the streets! We've endured this for nearly a century! And then *finally* one of us, *me*, gets in! Works their way up to be their right-hand man! Commits unspeakable horrors to gain their trust all so I can destroy his Soul Shielding at just the right time and plunge a dagger in his back!"
"Well, I'm sorry that I timed my heroics so poorly," The hero said with more than a hint of snark, shifting his tune as he went of the defensive, "If I'd known you were going to be so ungrateful-"
"No. *No.* You don't get to pull that shit here." I cut in again, "All you've done is reinforce the fatalistic idea that people should just sit around and wait for someone else to help them because the common man isn't good enough. How many empires could have liberated themselves *decades* ago if people hadn't just kept their heads down and said 'Someone else will do it, a hero will come'? And it's not exactly like you did this out of the kindness of your heart, is it? You've made a greater name for yourself as a hero! I'll hazard to guess you were even promised land or an esteemed title, weren't you?"
"That is unfair!" the hero protested, "I was promised no such thing!"
"Oh. Then they probably promised you they'd enchant your weapon, right?"
My accusation was met with silence.
"See? That's *worse*! You didn't save us because you wanted to, you saved us because you were promised a better *sword*!" I paused for a moment, burying my head in my hands for a few seconds. "Just... just go." I muttered into my palms, "You've already undermined decades of planning, just go take your sword to your enchanter and leave."
The hero stood there uneasily for several seconds. Eventually they walked over to the corpse of the Emperor, removed their sword from his chest and left through the secret passage they'd entered through. The same passage I'd convinced the Emperor not to board up so I could catch him by surprise. The nerve.
Slowly, I made my way out of the temple. I knew what had to be done. No one could know what had really happened here, the people needed to think that their plans had succeed. I was going to need to lie and tell them all I had killed the Emperor and then... Then I would leave. I would disappear from memory. I'd made so many sacrifices already, what was one more? It was too risky to try to play the role of corrupt Emperor myself in order to give the people a true victory, another hero might slay me before the people had their chance. No, I would need to leave and never speak of this day again. And if a hero ever wandered in claiming to have slain the Emperor themselves?
Well, they'd be known throughout the kingdom as a liar. | Finn stared, first in disbelief then in annoyance, as a crossbow bolt flew like quicksilver across the room, directly into the Lord Sovereign's chest, killing him instantly. Finn continued to stare as the strands of magic tying the golems around the room dissipated as the source drew its last breath.
Was that it?
"Haha! With that, his rule is over and done! Finally, all those that lived in his tyranny can find peace without fear!" exclaimed Fetter, the assassin-turned-hero. "All those nights of planning, the hours spent and the blood spilt gathering the right materials to craft the perfect poison, the friends I had to make to get past his guards and fortifications! Delirious numbers of traps and even these blasted golems!" he continued, punctuating his statement with a kick to one of the fallen sentries. Fetter stood there, face beaming, exulting in his success for another moment before noticing Finn.
"Ah. You are his Right Hand, yes?"
"Was, I think, is the more apt descriptor now Sir Fetter," Finn said casually, "and what, might I ask, do you plan to do now?"
If Fetter was taken aback at Finn's nonchalance he did well to hide it as he lowered his crossbow and began walking through the room, picking his way around each golem, meticulously checking that each was disabled.
"I think that answer is obvious; I'll dissolve the rest of his court - what few will remain when word spreads of his death - and setup a cleaner group to take care of the affairs of the kingdom."
"And you will... What, take the throne in the interim? Rule in his stead and be a good king until all affairs have been seen to and you can go home?" asked Finn, incredulous.
Fetter laughed, his tone teasing but sincere to Finn's ears, "Hah! Wouldn't that be perfect? But no, I've seen what power does to those who have it and I'll stick to my other vices if it's all the same to you. I'm sure you would have relished the chance to serve another king, be the Right Hand again, but you'll have to settle with a place as an equal to others."
Finn nodded slowly, thinking, as Fetter finished his circuit of the room. He had come to stop just before the rather plain throne and was pulling the bolt from the corpse of the late king. It came away nicely, pulling the body to the floor along with it as Fetter slumped into the throne seat, exhaustion catching up with him during the aftermath. He was older than he looked, Finn thought, and the fight through the castle had taken it's toll. His leather armour stuck to him from a handful of deep cuts, and his breathing grew ragged now that adrenaline was no longer pumping.
Finn pursed his lips, suddenly filled with dread and guilt. He opened his mouth and began to speak, "Fetter, get up qui-"
It was too late.
"Saints, Finn. If nothing else, this venture's shown me I'm too old for these things any more," Fetter said, voice straining as he loosed the straps of his breastplate. His face broke into a grin as the straps gave way, "A cool bath and a long rest is all the reward I want these days, bahahah!"
The strands of magic that had faded away when the bolt struck the Lord Sovereign's chest suddenly sprang to life, flying from the wound in the king's chest to the arms of the throne. They wove quickly around Fetter's arms, binding him.
"Monster! What trick is this?!" Fetter screamed as he strained against the madical bindings, thrashing his head back as his muscles tensed and pulled. The strands coiled their way up his arms and through his armour, covering every inch of him as they worked their way into his mouth, cutting Fetter's cries short. Fetter's body spasmed, bones cracking, as the strands' magic changed him.
It took only a minute for the process to finish and after it was complete the Lord Sovereign sat upon the throne once more, imperious.
"Finn; please have the guards take the remains of the last body to the crematorium and call the magisters to the throne room, the golems will need to be re-bound."
Fetter was better than most, thought Finn: competent enough to breach the walls, navigate the traps and best the golems and even good in a kind of simple, pragmatic way. Yet, still, he had been neither as studious nor as thorough as Finn had. The Lord Sovereign had been killed before by a skilled assassin and had, then as now, come back to life through the grace of those cursed strands. They bound the entity that called itself the Lord Sovereign to the body of any who sat on the throne, subsisting off of the borrowed form until another came along. Finn had figured this out by scrounging through the Lord Sovereigns massive library, spending years of sleepless nights dedicated to the research. Even then, it wasn't until the last time the Lord Sovereign had been killed that Finn had been able to piece together what he'd read. He hadn't kept this information from Fetter on purpose, Fetter just hadn't let him explain. Storybook Heroes never listened after the "final" blow had been struck, too, but he'd never imagined a real life hero would be so callous.
Finn sighed inwardly, bowing, "Of course, my Lord."
((Edit: Spelling and names.)) | 2017-03-12T13:41:34 | 2017-03-12T13:41:06 | 469 | 89 |
[WP] You are captured by an alien race to be kept in a zoo. Since humans are considered an endangered species, another Human is brought along so you can 'breed.' However, the ones that caught you don't actually know much about humans. | I am endangered species, aparrently
Stuck in a cell
They picked me up after unconscious
From eating at taco bell
It was only me they had in their zoo
As we flew away
When suddenly they realised
I wouldnt be a permanent stay
So they warped back to earth
To grab me something to fuck
I was a little confused,
By the corset wearing duck
'Aww hell', i said
You really have fucked up
So they flew back around again
And picked up a pup
'This aint as bad', i said
As i threw it a treat
'But next time, maybe
Could you grab me some teet'
So we turned around again
I was getting horney anyhow
But not quite keen enough
To sleep with this cow
'Close' i said
'but you're not quite there,
Next time bring me somthing
With long flowing hair'
The alien threw up his hands
And through his translator he cried
'you're impossible to please
Just choose a fucking bride'
'Fine' i yelled
'if you give me no choice,
Ill just fuck the one
Which i find most noice'
'Excuse me' from behind,
A voice drawn from heaven
The girl i had a crush on
Back in grade 7
She had a beautiful face
And long flowing hair
The voice of an angel
And her nude body so bare
Never had i been
So turned on in my life,
But hey this is reddit
So i went with the duck.
| (Second Time Writing This. Bleeeehhhh)
I don't remember when I went to bed last night. That happens a lot when I read. I will snuggle up in my thousands of pillows, warm bed next to my bookshelf, reading the lastest installment of The Formics Wars. A series I had been looking for for months in paper. So, while my friends partied hard looking for a boy to spend the night with, I read about an alien race entering our solar system and blowning up mining outposts. Great college student you are, Julie.
I keep my eyes closed, glad to be sitting in the nice, warm sunlight of morning. My next class isn't until 1:00, I get to slleeeeeppp! Whippy!
I was starting to get uncomfortable, which was weird. My bed was soft, and cushiony and amazing. It felt like I was lying on moss, with no support. I didn't want to open my eyes.
I stretched, pondering about the book I didn't finish. Where was it? Did I drop it? I hope I didn't bend the pag-
I was shaken awake, hands on my shoulders as I am slammed into reality. Who was that? What was happening?! I jump up, and frantically kick a tree the person in front of me. He, I guess it's a he, backs up suddenly, hands in the air. I stand completely, slowly, and I notice I'm in some, odd, clothing. Gray brown, a flowing shirt and pant. Comfortable, but not what I slept in. He was wearing the same thing.
"Where am I and who are you?!"
I ask, looking around. I was in a cage. Trees and houses surrounded me. A sna hit, with more advanced one room houses until a fairly modern cottage ended the story on the right. What was this, a human zoo?
The man said nothing, only posited to a sign just outside the bars.
In a variety of symbols, pictures, and glyphs, was a sliver of English. *Endagered Species: Homo Sapiens. Planet: Earth. Organisms Present: F(21) Julie, M(23) Jake.*
No. No. No.
They want us to reproduce. Thats what's done with held animals endangered. No.
I look at the man. He had a gold band on his left hand. Ha.
He speaks, "You know what they want us to do." He looks sad, upset, stressed, like he was hesitant to say something important.
"Yeah, that's not gonna work. I won't do that." He looks intrigued?
"Why? Other than obvious reasons, of course."
"Dude, sorry, you got trapped with an Asexual." I look at the new creatures outside the fence. "Good job, you chose the worst person to save humanity."
He looked incredibly relieved, like a weight was lifted off his chest.
"Thank God!" He cried out, "Im gay!"
Edit: Can't spell. | 2017-03-23T16:31:14 | 2017-03-23T13:36:20 | 473 | 102 |
[WP] You watch as the Hero of the story and the despicable Villain clash in battle. The problem however, is that they're in love and and aren't actually fighting, they're deliberately missing in a super obvious manner. | It's not everyday that *the* brave, heroic adventurer shows up in the fields of your farm. What are the odds, that the tyrant princess from a kingdom over, shows up in the exact same field a few minutes later?
Well, saw each other yesterday and were fighting an "impressive" battle. There I was, standing in the middle of my golden field, ferns flowing in the rain. Gold and violet, in a fierce standoff. I was fixated in fear, at the mercy of their heated battle. There they were, hero and villain, trading blows.
The adventurer, Kreyos, Protector of All, said, "Fear not farmer! As long as I'm here, you'll be safe!" Kreyos' mere voice, sent a small shockwave - blowing the ferns around him away.
The princess, Evelyn, Killer of Kings, said in a silky voice, "Oh, we'll see about that." She gave me a large, evil grin.
Kreyos, in his golden armor, bellowed, "Enough! Your fight is with me!" Kreyos' gripped at his silver bow engraved with intricate designs and he let out a swift arrow.
The arrow flew wide. Surely, this was a warning shot perhaps. Kreyos' never misses.
Evelyn cackled and Kreyos just stood there - waiting. Evelyn brushed away a tear or two and said, "Your aim is as impeccable as ever Kreyos."
Evelyn, in her palms, formed an arrow of pure darkness as well. The void seemed to take all of it's surroundings in - bending everything around it to it's will. She launched it with deadly accuracy.
It flew at an incredible speed. It passed a meter after a minute or so. I stood there with my gaping jaw wide open.
I walked right over to Kreyos' and stood in front of him. I used the tip of my toes to get face to face with him. I said, "Listen, can you try to hit her for once?"
Kreyos' shook his head in disappointment, "You think it's that easy to hit her? The darkness protects her and draws my arrow around her."
I sighed. "Gimme that." I snatched his bow and took an arrow out of his hands.
I drew the arrow, and aimed it right at the tyrant princess. I let go of the bowstring and my arrow traveled at a deadly speed. It was slightly off but it managed to graze her ear, letting a few drops of crimson fall.
I handed back the bow to Kreyos' who seemed as shocked as I was earlier, during the standoff, "How..."
I gestured at Evelyn, who was focused on me with venomous eyes, "See? Even *I*, a 'helpless farmer' can hit her. What kind of hero are you?"
His eyes widened and he yelled, "Evelyn, dear, don't do it!" He suddenly hurled himself behind me. There was a thunk as her light-less arrow hit Kreyos. He saved me—after all those things I said, he saved me.
Evelyn put her hands up to her mouth in shock, no longer paying me any mind. I could have sworn that her eyes started watering.
Suddenly, Kreyos jumped up, acting as if the arrow were a mere poke. He pulled out the arrow by it's shaft from his shoulder and hurled it back at Evelyn. It flew wide yet again. His injury was probably getting to him. After all, not many people live after getting hit directly by an arrow.
Evelyn, in a shaky voice yelled, "That shot nearly broke my heart!"
Kreyos stood there silent for a while. He said with a hint of anger, "Can we just stop fighting for once?"
Evelyn wiped at her eyes and coughed once or twice, "Yes, erm... You are too strong! I shall use my ultimate power that no farmer can survive!" Evelyn glanced at me then back at Kreyos. She tilted her head to me and pointed at me slightly. And there I stood still, like a fool.
Kreyos glanced at Evelyn and looked back at me. He took a step. Two steps. Kreyos slowly made his way to me and said, "I'm sorry. I mustn't let you put yourself in danger like that again." Kreyos in one swift blow, hit me on the head.
I fell to the ground, and just before I fell, I heard Evelyn say to Kreyos, "Well that was fun, didn't expect the farmer though. Wanna come over to the palace for lunch? The royal chef made cake today."
(If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate it if you subscribed to my subreddit at r/ChocolateChipWP)
| The smoke rose from the fires that had spread. The smell of burning oil was sickening. As the bodies caught flame it was like an animal being cooked. The crackles of the dead told the time passed. A lot of time had passed.
Villafana heaved her knife. Her shoulder was cut and bleeding and she was almost spent.
"Leave here now, Timothy! Leave and you will live!"
"How could you have fallen so low!" Timothy cried. "How has it come to this? Trading lives? Children?"
"It was my only chance at freedom! It was the only choice!"
"H-How could you?"
"You will never understand Timothy!"
He lunged at her. The old building was collapsing. She moved just in time but he was less hurt and he swung around and hit her in the face. She fell on her back and he was over her.
"How could you do this? How could you betray the Commission? How could you betray me?"
"Betrayal? You are the one who betrayed me."
He made to hit her but she kicked him and managed to kneel and work her way to her feet.
"You... This is your fault!"
Timothy did not want to listen. Villafana was crying. She winced as she stood steady.
"This is your fault!" she screamed.
He came at her with his sword ready. In their society, evil was killed and cut into pieces, becoming meat for the animals. It was the most dishonorable death one could receive.
He came at her and she did not move. Her eyes were upon him. She had lost and she knew as much.
His strike missed and his sword struck the ground. The scrape of the metal were like the screams of the children.
*Slaves,* he thought. But he thought of her also.
She had depended on him. She had taken the risk and went undercover so many years ago. And years could change a person.
*I was supposed to come for her. I was supposed to free them all when we had the proof.*
And she had provided proof. Politics and bureaucracy had gotten in the way.
Villafana saw her opening and she stabbed with her knife. She remembered a life so long ago. A dead woman's life. A life where the sky was blue and the clouds were not the smog of industrialization. A life where she was free and felt like a girl still.
Her thrust missed and sliced at his clothes. The ripple of the cloth reminded her of a bed she once slept in. And of sleep that was only a far away memory.
She fell forward, off balance and Timothy caught her. Her knife fell and his familiar smell was the smell of home.
Timothy held her long and saw the burning bodies through the strands of her hair. Her hair was long and flowing and like an ocean which he wished to drown in.
*Those children,* he thought, but he didn't think too hard.
He thought about home and the life they once had. His anger was turned to the Commission. How could they do this? How could they let this happen? Villafana's hand was forever stained with the blood of the weak and helpless. How could they have doomed her so?
*It is their fault. They left her no choice. If she did not act as a slaver then she would have been a slave. They abandoned her. I abandoned...*
She looked at him and was more composed.
"You have a duty. End it now then. If you have any feelings for me, or if you remember the feelings you once had, end it and let me have peace."
"There is no peace in a damned death. The souls of the dead will haunt you. In the afterlife, even children are monsters."
"Then I deserve it. I am a monster now. Do it."
"No."
"Yes! Do it!"
"No!"
She pulled away and Timothy saw how small she was. She looked fragile and worn and dead inside. The thoughts of what could have been stabbed in their ghostly way.
"Then kill them for me," Villafana said. "Take my revenge to those fools at the Commission. Let me have some honor in death."
"No!" he screamed.
It was too late. She took out the smaller knife. The emergency knife that was to save honor. She cut her throat and fell to her knees gasping, heaving as the blood flowed in the heat. She looked at him with sad and dying eyes.
"I love you," she mouthed.
She stabbed herself in the stomach and dug in deep against the pain. The fires crackled and as she collapsed, only the sound of burning remained.
Timothy wished to follow her. He was weak and sobbing and he wanted to follow her and protect her. The spirits would be torturing her now. The torment of dishonor would be eating at her soul and she would never be at peace.
*No,* he thought, wishing away the thoughts. *No.*
He wanted to be with her. To go to the unknown and start again, to reclaim their lost past. It was hard maintaining discipline. It was hard to get up and find the will to live.
*If you want her to be at peace, then do what she asked. A dying wish cannot be denied.*
And so he would. Around him was the carnage of the dead. This warehouse of the damned was burning, taking to hell the souls of the innocent and guilty alike. Such a place had no right to exist. Such a place would have never existed...
*If it wasn't for the Commission. Greed and laziness allowed this to grow. The inaction of those fat incompetents have doomed Villafana.*
His anger boiled.
*Yes, my love,* he thought. *Yes. I will do as you asked.*
And he kissed her stroked her hair before he went. The fires had spread and would soon take her. That was more honorable than being fed to the animals. And Villafana was honorable. A funeral by flame was a proud thing. Timothy left the warehouse and said a prayer for her.
*I will join you soon, my love. I will join you soon.*
And he held his sword with a purpose. | 2017-04-05T05:29:59 | 2017-04-05T04:33:58 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] After people die, they must answer a riddle, and its difficulty depends on their sins. You've committed genocide. | I'd finally died. Comfortably in my home, asleep even. I wasn't sure if it had been an assassin, but likely not. Not at 86 years old. Probably that crappy heart I'd gotten from the peasant a few years back. The afterlife was bland, free of color or scents even the air I breathed was missing the indescribable taste of the Earth. If I was breathing anything at all. There was a sphinx seated in the middle of the room, a massive drooping thing. Glasses hung off of a beaded string around its neck and its mane was like snow. It blinked slowly at me, a yawn pulling its enormous tongue in a curling motion.
"The dead are asked and then they answer. Your answer determines where you spend your eternity."
"Guess you answered poorly then, beast. To be stuck in this place." It grinned, enormous fangs glimmering clearly in the faded light.
"The severity of the riddle is based on your sins."
"I have committed no sins. You cannot judge me! I was a ruler, those under me were sacrifices for the greater good!"
"Very well, a simple riddle for a man willing to make the difficult decisions." I smiled, happy that my worth would be appreciated beyond life. A dictator was worth more than any below them, everyone knew that.
"How many deaths have you caused?"
| There was no bright light. No singing angels, nor pits of hell. It was like I woke up from a night's sleep - only I was standing, fully clothed and aware of everything. There was an odd, hum of calm that seemed to surround everything, which was nothing at all. A woman who stood in the nothingness, an emotionless expression on her face. She was fit, but not gaunt; solemn but not sad; quiet, but not quite yet unnerving. She was as average and mousy as they came.
"I am young, I am not gallant. I am old, I am not wise. I am not good, I am evil. What am I?" Her voice could have put me to sleep, had the situation been different.
"Excuse me?" My tone was sharp and I can only imagine the look of utter confusion on my face.
"You have to answer in order to determine your fate," she said with the same unwavering tone. She repeated herself, slower this time. "I am young. I am not gallant. I am old. I am not wise. I am not good. I am evil. What am I?"
"My fate?" I scoffed. "I hate to inform you, but I'm dead. Whatever my fate was has already been decided." I don't know why I felt that's what was going on, but somehow I just knew. It was more of a fact in my bones than a feeling. The woman stared at me entirely too long before answering, as if the additional conversation were a nuisance.
"Yes, you have died. However, you fate is decided by how you answer the question. You are responsible for the deaths of 317 people." She paused, the number lingering in the air. "So, I'll ask again."
"I am young, I am not gallant. I am old, I am not wise. I am not good, I am evil. What am I?" I hated riddles, a stupid waste of time and brain space. I also had no idea what that had to do with those people - no, those animals. I did what needed to be done, judgment was for the weak.
"I have no idea." I really didn't and at this point didn't care to waste any more time on it.
"Are you sure you don't want to think about it any longer?" I saw her left eyebrow arch ever so slightly as she questioned.
"Yes, I'm sure. I told you, I have no idea." She looked down, nodding to herself, processing the answer through some unknown source, though only for a moment.
"I'm sorry, that is incorrect." Her voice was the same as when she first spoke. "The correct answer is you."
I guess it's my time to face judgment now. | 2017-06-03T00:07:34 | 2017-06-02T20:02:08 | 189 | 88 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | Generally when somebody talks about "powers" they usually refer to those in the big leagues. Pyrokenesis, mind reading, invisibility, through fate's hand these powers were what my peers received. Then, there was me.
Usually those with gifts tend to look down on those without. Those without gifts harbour jealousy and disdain for those who have them. But both groups found it easy to target those with powers that were weak. The gifted laughed at the weak as though they were powerless. The powerless found it easy to push around those who lacked the power to fight back.
My gift was a weak one, the ability to "mirror" something, to swap the opposing sides of a target along an axis. It allowed me to switch the right side of my body with my left.
They laughed at me. The only thing my power was good for was to make myself left or right handed at will. I might as well be a powerless human. I could not fight by throwing fireballs, I could not mind control people to do my bidding. It was easy to brag about beating up this "gifted kid", I found myself often on the receiving end of a beating.
That was until the day I learnt that the axis I always swapped along was imaginary. I could in fact choose any axis I wanted. I could turn people upside down just by touching them.
Then after, I learnt my ability could target so much more than just humans and small objects. I turned my neighbour's mailbox upside down. I turned his street lamp upside down. I turned his car upside down.
Finally, as a coup de grace, I turned his house upside down. The heavy foundations found itself on top and the flimsy roof, 5 feet underground. His house got crushed by its own foundations, with him in it.
Now, I stand in front of the Empire State Building. Hand on a wall, waiting patiently for a ransom fee. Lest I decide to turn their world, upside down.
| I smiled. I couldn´t stop it. The view was too fantastic.
"Eric, please stop this.". Oh the whimpering i heard in her voice. " Stop it? WHY should i stop it? You always said you wanted a son who could achieve something great, and now look. Look at this. Isn´t this something truly great?". Ah, she can´t look. Can´t look at her own mistake. Can´t look at this burning city so far below our feet. "Eric why did you do this? Why all this victims, all those innocent people?". She is begging me. Ha. Begging to ME. "You don´t know why i did this? You? You of all the people should know the best why i did this. You and father never once showed pride fro me. Never showed that you care for me or that you love me. OH NO. The only emotions you ever gave me was hate, despise and on some lucky days you took pity, but never love. You only ever showed me that i was dirt for you. Something you despise. That i was below you and that you were ashamed that i was your son. And what for? Only because i didn´t have such great powers like you two. Because i wasn´t the prodigy i hoped i would be.
But now this time is over. You know i did find a way to use my powers. ON MY OWN. I look to what i am capable. Look what i can achieve.". I look back at her. I am calm. For the first time in years i am free of all bounds. I look at the meat pile what was once father. Haaa the memory of the victory over him is so sweet. But he is still moving. I am surprised. I truly am. But he is not one greatest heroes for no reason. Well maybe it´s better so. "Look who joins us in our little family conversation. Hey, Dad, still alive i see.". He grunted. "Do you think you can stop us, or others? You truly are a failure of a son like a always thought.". "Failure? You still say this. After all what if done? After all what you´ve done? Can i remind you of the countless times you punished me just because i was existing? And what punishment i recieved. Oh when the world would know what a person is great hero truly is. At home. To his own child. But enough monologuing. I don´t want to give you a chance to get some stupid ideas. This here." I raise my arms. "This here is all your fault and yours alone. You made my life a misery now it´s my turn". Mother is crying, she seems not to be able to comprehend it, and father... Father is almost gone. Only clinging to a small freckle of life left in him.
I raise my arms again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Emergency News
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Dear Citizens,
today i come here with a sad message for you. Today in the morning hours our capital got completely destroyed. Rescue Teams are searching the ruins for any survivors but the hope to find any is slim. The only thing that didn´t get destroyed was the television tower. On Top the Teams found the corpse of our beloved hero Menace. Next to him they found a notice. It says: Dear people of this planet. I AM MISERY and i will come to all of you. | 2017-06-12T07:55:08 | 2017-06-12T05:44:01 | 138 | 25 |
[WP] Mages choose the source of their power. Most pick things like fire, or justice, or love. You picked sarcasm. | "All this walking makes me *super jazzed*, you guys. Feet don't hurt at all, no sirree."
Eldrin, the youngest mage of Quelbrig Plains, slumped her shoulders and put her hands in her pockets. She lagged far behind the other three members of the squadron: Lord Eldemere, Ranmalt and Reenma.
Eldemere turned to his two accomplices. "One more moment of this and my patience shall expire."
Reenma sighed. "We must persist over the Western Peak, my Lord. Your patience need last only through the evening."
Eldrin continued to offer commentary from behind. "I love rocks. Don't you? Never get tired of 'em. Glad we took the scenic route, Ranmalt."
After five hours, the quartet reached the other side of the mountain and discovered an open stretch of snow-covered land.
"I gotta take a piss," Eldrin remarked. Before she could take another step, a thunderclap erupted in the night air.
"WELCOME, MAGES OF THE QUELBRIG PLAINS. I CORDIALLY INVITE YOU TO EXPERIENCE ONE ANOTHER'S DEATHS."
"Mmm, nice theatrics, Tralzanar," Eldrin said, slowly clapping her hands.
"I'M SURE YOU'RE ALL THRILLED TO BE HERE. I KNOW I AM. DON'T GET BORED AT ALL UP HERE, NO SIRREE."
Lord Eldemere gazed at his companions in shock. "My God," he cried. "There is another."
Eldrin stepped forward and sat down, crossing her legs nonchalantly. "Please, put me out of my misery."
The voice in the sky chuckled, causing the mountain range in the distance to quiver. "ONLY IF YOU DO FIRST."
"You better show me that pretty face of yours if you're gonna kill me. We all know you hide in the clouds to shield your insecurities, pal."
"WHA--I NEVER--BAH!" A peal of lightning struck a nearby tree. "I WOULDN'T HAVE TO HIDE IN THE CLOUDS IF YOU MAGES WEREN'T SUCH MEANDERING, WHINY ASS--"
"Enough!" Lord Eldemere slammed his staff against the ground. "Witness the powers of fire, wind, and rain! Come, Reenma! Come, Ranmalt!"
Eldrin shook her head. "Haven't seen this before."
Tralzanar chuckled. "I KNOW, RIGHT? EVERY DAMN TIME SOMEONE COMES IN TO KILL ME, IT'S THE SAME GARBAGE."
"Yup." Eldrin started to mimic Lord Eldemere's speech and dramatic gestures as he continued. But just as the three mages readied their staffs --
An enormous blast of light flooded the area, and Eldrin disappeared.
Lord Eldemere fell to his knees. "My God! She--He--He's taken her to the Realm Beyond Realms!" Ranmalt and Reenma ran to comfort him. "It is too late. Eldrin is no more."
*
Eldrin came to her senses in a dark, wooded landscape bathed in purple mist. She wiped her pants and stood up.
"Wow, nice digs you've got here, Tralzanar. Tasteful. Appealing."
Tralzanar approached her, now in his human form and dressed in full Dark Wizard apparel. He cleared his throat, having apparently toned down the booming voice from earlier. "You're serious?"
"Absolutely not. It's hideous."
"Mmm. Well, I made it hideous to compensate for your presence."
"Well, I made sure to look extra ugly today just for you."
"Bah!"
Eldrin and Thalzanar continued their battle of caustic sarcasm for the next five centuries. Even during a bout of silence, their attempts to one-up the other held firm through narrowed eyes and raised eyebrows.
The Quelbrig Plains experienced 500 years of peace, all thanks to a high concentration of snark just beyond the Western Peak.
| Mana wiped her brow on her sleeve and put another batch of donuts in the oven. During the summer it got so hot inside the little shop that she could soon bake on the counter. This was the opening day of her store and she was already growing dizzy. She looked over and saw that a customer was waiting.
“Just a minute!” she called out and tried to straighten out her wrinkly apron. “Hi, welcome to Mana & Other Sweet Things! What can I get you?”
The man looked very different from the peasants that had visited her shop earlier. He wore a long black robe, despite the hot weather, and his pale face was partially covered by the shade of a cloak. With a bony hand, he put a white lock of hair behind his ear, revealing three golden hoops in his earlobe.
“I’m looking for something sweet,” he said, “Something to get the necromancy flowing.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place then!”
“How much does it cost?” he said and fumbled with his gold pouch.
“That depends on what you’d like.”
The man’s forehead rippled in furrows. He touched his chin and sighed.
“Do you have any donuts?” he said, and tilted his head forward, looking at Mana intently.
“Of course,” she chimed. “They’re my specialty.”
“Can I have a taste before I decide?”
“I usually don’t do tastings.”
“Then how can I know if it’s good?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Mana said and cut out a piece of donut and handed it over on a paper plate.
“Oh, yes,” the man said, his gray eyes lighting up. “This is it; this is what I’ve been looking for!”
“I’m glad you liked it,” Mana said, smiling.
“No, you don’t understand,” the man said, flapping his arms. “This is it! This is the one! You are the one!”
“What?” Mana said with a laugh.
She knew her donuts were good, but she had never before seen anyone become so ecstatic.
“You’re the only hope for humanity,” he said sweat dripping down his forehead. “I’ve traveled land and sea to find you.”
“Okay, sir,” Mana said and helped him to a chair. “It’s probably best if you sit down, the heat must’ve gotten to you. Here, have a glass of water.”
The man in the robe drank deeply. “I’m telling you; people will come and when they do you have a choice–”
At that very moment, the doorbell chimed and three other robed figures entered. The tallest one, a man with a beard and round glasses, spoke first.
“We’ve traveled far!”
“Oh, how far we’ve traveled!” the man with the square-shaped glasses muttered without enthusiasm. “Very, very, veeeeeeeeeeery far.”
Mana felt a jolt in her chest. The man in the black robe looked her in the eyes.
“Remember what I told you,” he said and hurried out of the store.
The third of the three, a bearded man with triangular glasses, walked up to the counter and spoke for the first time.
“I’ve never seen such a well-organized pastry shop before…” he said. “Utterly top notch, it’s like I’ve walked into the royal bakery and the king himself had organized it.”
Another jolt surged through Mana’s body. “Yes, I’m sorry – I opened just this morning – I haven’t had time to put prices on everything yet.”
“I’ll have one of those!” the man said and pointed at a carrot-cake cupcake. “That is if I can afford it – who knows, that piece of pastry might be more expensive than Archmage Ruttersmore’s cross-eyed cluck-duck. There’s no real way of knowing, is there?”
“It’s two silver pieces, sir,” Mana said as her face flushed, and newfound power flowed through her.
“Well, I guess they're about the same price…”
If she wanted, she now felt like she had the power to throw these schmucks to the other side of the city. Mana had never wanted to be a big mage – all she wanted to do was bake – so when her time had come, she had picked the most stupid source of power that she could think of. So that she would be left alone.
“We know who you are, Mana. The council sent us here to test your powers. Now if you would be so kind to come with us – you’re the first person to choose sarcasm as their source – and we need to bring you in for…”
“Further experiments,” his companion filled in.
“Well, it’d be such a delight to accompany you, I’ll come right away,” she said and flicked her wrist.
The three wizards landed on their butts on the street outside.
“And I’d just loooove to be experimented on a bit,” she continued. “You’re welcome back *anytime* you want!”
Her powers at an all-time high, Mana placed the strongest sanctuary spell ever seen in the twelve kingdoms on her little bakery. The wooden walls glowed with magical energy. Spent, she sat down behind the counter. Nobody that she didn’t want inside would able to enter, not even the Archmage’s golden cluck-duck. And to top it off, the sanctuary spell had a built-in AC.
*****
Subscribe to r/Lilwa_Dexel for more stories.
| 2017-07-20T11:26:09 | 2017-07-20T11:23:13 | 1,520 | 303 |
[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her. | The Knight burst into the cave gently holding the swaddled infant princess. "Please, I beg of you, take care of her, there is nothing we can do"
The dragon looked around and saw the child placed and the base of his mountain of gold. "It shall be done" came the reply.
With that the child was instantly incinerated with one breath.
"What the fuck Raffi, the firebreather!"
"You said take care of the child!" Came the dragon's reply.
"Was this what happened to my cat when I asked you to take care of it?" said Sir Randy the Dirty
"Yes! You said take care of it, I set it on fire!" | "I said no."
"You must! She's the true heir-"
"And why should I care about your puny kingdom?"
"Because...if she doesn't claim the throne there will be chaos for a long time...which means war...which means more soldiers to try and slay you..."
"Hey, buddy, are you OK? You're breathing kinda funny, and you got a lot of blood on you."
"I'm...fine."
"If you say so. But anyway, your logic is a bit of a stretch. I've seen a lot of kingdoms fall, it doesn't always turn out like that."
"Please..."
"You think, just because I'm a dragon I have a tower somewhere to stash her in?"
"Well, yes."
"Yeah, OK, fine, I do know of an abandoned castle with a couple towers. The previous owner sent an army against me, and since stone doesn't burn, it's still mostly intact."
"So you'll...take...her?"
"What? No! I can't raise a human. I don't even know what you guys eat!"
*cough*
"Uhhh...you eat...fields? And, umm...sheep? And horses...? No wait, you ride on the horses...But do you also eat the horses? Huh, I never thought to ask..."
*gasp. gargle*
"I like horsemeat, anyway. Hey, buddy, do humans eat horses?"
...
"Hello? Buddy? You OK?"
...
"Huh. I think he's dead."
"Waaaaahhhh! Waaaaaahhhh!"
"Oh no nonono, little princess, don't cry, please don't cry-"
"Waaaaahhh!"
"Uhhh, here... *phwoof* ...See?... *phwoof* ...you like smoke rings?"
"A-hahaha!"
"Yeah, you like the smoke rings. What about this? ... *FWOAH*"
"Oohhh"
"That's called fire. Can you say 'fire'? Fi-re. Fiii-rre."
"Aagh"
"Eh, close enough. I never realized how cute human babies are."
"Ffffffpp"
"Hey, uhh, come on, let's get you somewhere safe, OK?" | 2018-03-01T03:23:07 | 2018-03-01T03:08:36 | 135 | 57 |
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward. | “Wait,” Bob thought, “am I gay?” Looking back down the scope, the shirt clearly had a hole burned in it, directly above the aorta - the shot had been good, but had just bounced off. The target was alive so Mr. Bloome was going to be pissed. Shit, he’d found his soulmate – his wife was going to be pissed. The man in his crosshairs looked pissed too, but then again he had just been shot, so Bob felt that was probably fair. Even so, Bob felt happy as he put down the rifle, dusted the dirt off his khakis, and with trepidation, trundled out of the bush, ready to go and meet his true love. As he approached, he noted that his love was seriously ripped, and with the steeliest blue eyes. Maybe he could make this work.
“Hi,” Bob opened with, “I’m Bob”. There was an awkward silence as the man just stared at the red-faced assassin. “Umm, I’m the one who shot you.” Bob ventured after a pause, worrying that the moment was getting away from them.
“I saw” Said the target, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly,
“… Sorry I suppose, Mr. Kent” said Bob. The man just sighed,
“You can call me Clarke. And don’t worry, it happens all the time”
| The setting sun marked the sky with a rouge tint of red, and the shadow of night began engulfing the capital of our beautiful nation. Yes, there had been problems before but they were all about to be fixed. Tonight, by my hand alone; or, so I thought.
Getting into the theater had been easy enough, despite the word going around about maximum security orders on all facilities he was attending - this, I owe to my semi-successful acting career. Thanks ma.
Of course, while waiting for the target to arrive, what man wouldn't stop and reconsider his decision? Even the most highly skilled assassin does it, and that's what sets us apart from the lunatics that always end up overdoing the job. Keeping some of the humanity, I'd been told, was the best way of escaping the guilt, and the best way to minimize the evidence of our presence. Had I known what would transpire, would I still have done it? To be honest, I'm not so sure. Earlier the cause had been so clear, beyond reason, but now... did it even matter?
And there he was. A stout figure, unlike any other in the whole country. Of course I acted inconspicuously, chatting up folks and looking altogether busy; textbook example really. Oh, I'm sure this'll go in the textbooks. For centuries and centuries to come.
I'd been entrusted with a companion who was to see to it that the job gets done and I don't screw things over, some over-entitled schmuck if you ask me. His idle posture nodded me towards the stairs - it was time. As I readied to enter the box I could've sworn I felt the uncommon rush of the heart that you sometimes feel when a part of your soul becomes affected by your actions. I'd taken that feeling for granted, assuming it was the rush of the moment taking its toll. Yet, my heart spoke even louder when I pulled the trigger onto that stupid, stupid tall hat of his! Why did I find it so charming! It hit me, as it does us all when life decides to joke on your behalf, when the bullet ricocheted in its abnormal fashion. He didn't have time to turn his head, but I know, just as well as he did at that moment, what he felt. It wasn't chock or surprise, nor was it fear. I know it because I felt it too, and saw it in the corner of his eye and the lips that drew tighter. He didn't have time to turn around, though, before my sidekick shot him straight in the back of his skull. Maybe it was for the better, maybe it was not. I did not care to find out, once I ran away and exited the Ford theater. Abby, honey - I'll probably see you soon.
_____
r/PapilioCastor | 2018-04-24T04:13:28 | 2018-04-23T23:53:55 | 56 | 12 |
[WP] Whenever you turn ten, you are given a voodoo doll of your soulmate. You don’t know who they are or where they are, but you have control of their voodoo doll, and vice versa. | When I turned 10 years old my grandma gave me a doll. Not necessarily what boy wants on his 10th birthday. But it was from grandma...my dying grandma.
I looked down at the old brown sack doll in my hands. It was dirty and dressed in a stained pink satin night gown. Pink bows in it’s brown string pigtails.
“Happy birthday grandson.”
Her eyes shined brightly from her proud wrinkled face.
Even while dying she radiated pure glee.
I figured the cancer in her brain was the reason behind my sweet grandma gifting me an old dirty girls doll. She didn’t have much longer to live and she seemed so proud giving me her gift.....probably the last I’ll ever receive from her.
Tears filled my eyes,
“Thank you Grandma,”
My sickly grandma leaned over on her hospital bed and hugged me. One of her breathing tubes poking me in the chest.
“You are welcome my grandson.”
My throat tightened, “love you.”
She leaned down to whisper into my ear. “Don’t cry my grandson. She is going to help you find the girl when grandma won’t be here to help.”
Hot tears began streaming down my face.
My grandma is insane. Nothing she says makes any sense. Her brain is fried.
Grandma died two days later with a smile on her face. The women was gleeful even in death.
10 years later as I’m unpacking in my new apartment I stumbled across the doll as I’m going through my boxes.
Mom must have cleaned her up.
The doll had lost her pink bows and her dirty pink gown was replaced a clean blue dress with a crisp white collar.
The sight of the doll brought up memories of grandma and the moments leading up to her funeral.
My throat tightened.
“NO!” I threw the doll across the room.
My thoughts were quickly interrupted by screaming down the hallway followed by a loud crash which was followed by an even louder shriek., “WHAT THE HELL!”
| This is my first time writing a Writing Prompt, I usually don't post these stories since I'm not the greatest writer, but this one just spoke to me. I didn't put in as much effort as I usually do with stories, which I apologise for.
Constructive criticism encouraged.
...and destructive criticism is fair game.
/----------/
The candles were arranged in a small formation, signifying the first two digit positive number: Ten. Flaming, threatening to render the cake inedible with wax if ignored any further.
I looked around at the faces of my parents and younger siblings. Today was *the* day. I inhaled a large amount of air, somehow still sustaining a stupidly silly smile. Then, with a strained effort, opened the floodgates and released a torrent of warm air, blowing out the candles.
Then it came.
The man I had never met before that had barged into our house an hour ago, and did nothing but tirelessly watch as we enjoyed the prolonged birthday, dropped a box in front of me.
“Happy birthday, kid.” He sighed with exasperation. “Hope you have better luck finding 'er than I did.”
He turned away, leaving through the door with long strides, all of our gazes following him until he left our sight.
“Good riddance.” Snarled my father, happy that the uninvited guest had finally left.
“Poor guy.” My brother said, sympathising with the pitiable gentleman.
I kept watching him through the window, wondering if I was to end with the same fate. Inside these boxes were no petty gifts. They were dolls, Voodoo, to be specific. They were to help aid in finding one’s soul mate.
It was originally a gimmick, proposed by a renowned magician, rumoured to be able to control the arts, as a way to combat the declining birth rate. However, it was so effective, that the government paid the magician to create one for every person that turned ten.
I looked down at the doll again.
“I wonder when we’ll meet.”
-----time skip-----
My hands ran across the keyboard, switching cameras and scanning my eyes across them at rates that my colleagues joked was extraordinary.
This dreaded security firm I joined a month ago was proving useless so far.
It had been twenty years since that day.
That day I got my, or rather, her Voodoo doll.
My efforts to find her have proven to be fruitless so far. At first I passively looked for her, going through every prospect of my life while looking for the girl who resembled the doll...or rather the girl who the doll resembled, on the side.
I refused to settle for anyone else.
Eventually I quit my original job of software engineering and joined Alumin Security Services, applying to work the cameras. Alumin was the most highly regarded company for security, meaning they had cameras everywhere, across the continent, hell, even globally.
Finding her with these resources *should* be a cinch...except it isn’t. I had never been the most patient person, I’ll admit, but this was something I planned to make my mission. No matter how long it takes.
/----------/
I'm not sure if I should just leave it there or continue. If I do continue, should I do a sad ending or a happy one? Or a bittersweet one?
| 2018-05-05T15:47:55 | 2018-05-05T11:27:53 | 56 | 18 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save."
Jesus: \*rolls\* "Natural 20."
DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?"
Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum"
DM: "Roll a deception check"
Jesus: \*rolls\* Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total."
DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave."
Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?"
DM: "About Three days."
Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later." | "Okay, with the guards on the wrong car, he's got a few less people protecting him!"
"Rad. He's approaching the Mostar café. Čabrinović, you were next in initiative because Mehmedbašić fell asleep and Ilić had to go home for work tomorrow, so your turn."
"I activate and throw my bomb."
"That's. a... mis- oh for fucks sakes."
"What?"
"Your Stupid Lucky feat. In the event of a miss, the attack has a chance of happening to another enemy adjacent. I should have placed the cars a bit apart from each other. Fuck. Okay, the bomb rolls under the car, and blows up the car BEHIND your target. Franz is spooked, bloodied, but has radioed guards to get you."
"Can I swallow my cyanide pill? Also use my move action to jump into the river"
"You can try. Roll a d20. I'm not sure what check it'll be so let's say DC 10"
"9"
"You fail to be poisoned... Actually, that was a decent roll, and as I hadn't planned for it... And no, Stupid Lucky doesn't apply if you're attacking yourself... You take the cyanide capsule. You're not dying, but you feel queasy. The river water isn't helping. It's the Archduke's turn now, so he reaches the nearby mayor, and complains loudly before his wife tells him to chillax. Let's roll his next route and... Oh for fucks sakes, Lojka doesn't know about the change in plans."
"Can I just shoot him on his way back?"
"sure, princip."
"Crit."
"Fuck. Roll to confirm crit."
"There."
"Fuck. Okay, so you hit him (and his wife) in the jugular veins. The Archduke Franz Ferdinand remains upright, the Count asks him if he's alright, to which the Archduke replies "Sophie, Sophie! Don't die! Live for our children!" followed by six or seven utterances of "It is nothing.'. Congratulations, gentlemen. You have just started the First World War."
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25 | 2018-05-29T07:22:47 | 210 | 30 |
[WP] Most teens have breakouts of acne; you have it far worse. You have breakouts of ACME. This is the third anvil which dropped from the sky this week, and you're getting annoyed.
You don't have to keep to the three anvils thing. I was more or less just coloring the idea with that detail. | It all began on my thirteenth birthday. I woke up a day after and I found a huge anvil lying on top of me. It came from the sky and it tore through the roof. My father came into my room and found me trap between my bed and the anvil from the sky.
"It's happening..." my father said with a grin on his face. "This might seem odd to you my son, but we come from a long line of coyotes who live their entire lives chasing the road runners. This anvil symbolizes the beginning of your journey to manhood."
"What?" I asked half-awake
"We start your training tomorrow morning."
==============================================================
"Father, why must we catch the road runners?" I asked curiously to my father.
"Son, they are the key to our sanity. For you see, the ACME gods will only stop dropping anvils on us when we offer a road runner as a sacrifice. I had mine. You will soon have yours. Until then, here's your birthday gift, son."
I opened the box and found a heavy duty anti-anvil helmet inside it.
"It's the helmet I always wanted! ... Thank you father." I said humbly with watery eyes. I embraced my father with the tightest of hugs.
"Try it out, son!" My father suggested
I then put on the helmet and just in the nick of time too. Another anvil fell on me. This is the third time this week. But it didn't hurt this time.
Being a teen with ACME sure is horrifying. but thanks to my dad, I don't have to face it alone. | My heart can't be repaired. It's torn and worn in three different places. I've listened to Eliot Smith on repeat, and the pain perpetuates. She's there. Right in front of me. But I can't bring myself to say anything. It hurts to look at her, but I can't stop. I see a future, and I don't. I'm a mess. At least I was.
Things have been falling from the sky. Actually, not things. Anvils. Three in one week to be precise. The first one came, and I saw it coming. Call it dumb luck, or gut feeling, but I *felt* it falling — a black mass of pure weight. I looked up and *saw* it. The foreign object turned, spiralled and no matter which way I craned my neck it seemed to be heading straight for me. It was like it had my name on it. Part of me wanted it to hit me. The melancholic part of me. The one that believed my entire life was tied to a girl. It's not. My life was not anchored to a girl. Part of me wanted to sit in a pool of my self-pity and soak. Part of me wished that the anvil would end it all.
I moved. I dodged the first one with a last minute gasp of air. I didn't want to die. If I did, I wouldn't see her again. The second anvil came with a similar foreboding. I could almost *hear* the air that whistled at the weight's side. I looked up, three days after the last, and waited with an expectant expression. *Come on. Hit me. I dare you.*
I moved. I continued walking and found my natural stride comforting. The ground beneath my feet stopped me from floating away, and I thought back with a shaking head, *How could you think of, even for a second, stepping in the path of certain death?* And then I remembered her. Sometimes I like to entertain the idea of a quick death. Let's cut it short at twenty and accept that the remaining sixty years would be packed out by a meritocracy, lost dreams and postponed futures. I thought of the girl I would marry - it would never be *her*. No one could be her, and that scared me more than death.
The third anvil came. Goosebumps woke my neck, and I tilted backwards to watch. It was graceful, as graceful as a one-tonne weight could be. It looked right at me, and read my dissatisfaction. I didn't move — not this time. I wanted it. Three was my favourite number — I used that as an excuse to take the full force of the message that the heavens were trying to send me. I saw her face one last time, and I knew I had made the right decision. The darkness was like a blanket. Warmth wrapped itself around my body, and I drifted. I'm still thinking of her, even though I shouldn't. It hurts.
---
/r/WrittenThought | 2018-12-21T16:12:51 | 2018-12-21T14:57:59 | 351 | 27 |
[WP] The year is 2050, Queen Elizabeth is still on the throne. The public is growing suspicious, wondering why she is immortal. |
I have always ruled.
No matter what face I wear or what name I go by.
I like my body. So gentle and kind looking. So easy to pass off anything I say as fairy dust.
When I ask for virgins, they are brought to my bathing chamber once a year.
Two virgins are usually enough. Importing virgins is frowned upon. One can't continue to rule England, Space England, and England: The Sequel after bathing in some Parisian virgins blood.
You'd be hard pressed to find one in the whole of Paris.
I stay with good hearty English stock. Keeps my body sewn together and really is a great libido booster. Can't have too much of that, can you?
After all, it comes with this ritual. Hardly any pain, darlings. I've perfected the method. No blood is wasted. Very eco-friendly.
I'm sure one day I shall tire of this and grow a new body. Perhaps something with scales. | And at the heart of London, a detective by the name of Ramza Holmes decided to take on the case. He spent the next months of his life digging through the archives as well as interviewing courtiers who once served in the palace.
Eventually, he discovered that at the beginning of the 66th year of her reign, the Queen obtained an artifact of unknown origin. Not many people has seen the artifact, but Holmes also discovered that ever since the Queen got the artifact, she had been very secretive about it. Anyone who were caught speaking of it were discharged from service, and in some extreme cases, disappeared. Those disappeared individuals were never accounted for.
Thus, he went to visit the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was said to have firsthand experience regarding the artifact. Unfortunately for Ramza, by the time he got there, someone else apparently got to the Archbishop first, as the latter lay down on the floor, mortally wounded.
"Detective Holmes..." said the Archbishop in a weakened voice, "It is good to see you here."
"Please don't speak, Your Eminence," Ramza tried to help him as he took out a vial of healing liquid.
"There is no need for this," continued the elder clergy, "My time is almost up, Ramza. I know what you have been doing, and I know what you are here for. The artifact which you are trying to discover... is actually a magical stone created by ancient sorcerers. It prolongs the life of the wielder, at the cost of their humanity. When the Queen got it, Her Majesty showed it to me... I tried to warn her, yet to no avail..."
"Please! Stop!" pleaded Ramza.
"No! The stone has sapped Her Majesty's human aspect, thus she is now but a puppet to the stone. For... the sake of the United Kingdom, you must go to the palace and discover what has become of the Queen... and stop her if necessary. She knows about you, Ramza, and that... is why she sent guards after me... May God protect you..."
As the Archbishop finished his sentence, he closed his eyes as all signs of life departed from him. After laying his body to rest, Ramza realized that the elder clergy has tasked him to stop the Queen and destroy the stone. Prepared to fight the Queen, he began to march to the palace... (to be continued)
&#x200B;
First prompt ever, so please go easy on me. | 2022-09-08T20:18:49 | 2019-06-27T18:58:39 | 158 | 37 |
[WP] You are a hitman who has just finished their most recent job. Or, at least, thought had finished, because the second you take your eyes off your target’s corpse, you hear “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.” | “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.”
I froze in place as those words drifted from the supposed corpse.
"Uggh" I sighed in annoyance "They never tell me when it's an immortal."
"Yeah, that's a pisser ain't it?" He said from his uncomfortable looking position on the ground. I could see the bullet hole in his head already beginning to close up.
"A pisser?" I asked incredulously, "They know that I charge an extra fee for dealing with an immortal, it's a whole different approach."
"So," He said conversationally, "you gonna finish the job? bury me in concrete or something?"
"Of course not." I said, already turning to walk away "I'm gonna go kill my employer, says in section 13 subsection F of the contract that failure to disclose any supernatural powers of the target is grounds for contract reversal. I can't have people sending me after what I think is a Werewolf that turns out to be a Wendigo."
"Huh..." he grunted "well, dinner was lovely up until you shot me in the face, do you wanna try again sometime?"
I glanced over my shoulder at him as I reached the door, contemplating.
"Sure" I said after a moment before walking out of the room. I wasn't sure if he was planning some sort of complicated revenge, but most immortals I'd dealt with took attempted murders with very good humor.
&#x200B;
Besides, there was that other dress that I'd been dying to wear since I picked it up last month... | The words feel like a bomb had just gone off, everything else was so much silence.
Gun at the ready, I wheel around to find my target nonchalantly walking over to a chair, poking a finger into the hole in his head and chuckling to himself.
"Heh, it's been too long..." He slumps into his seat, wood creaking beneath his weight. "Pull up a chair, let's talk."
My aim is still trained on the man, but it gets shakier as I continue to look at my target.
"Actually, before you do, could you pump a few more rounds into me? The sensation's starting to wear off."
I hesitate before obliging the man by emptying my clip into him, making sure most of my bullets land in his head. The sound of the gunshots pale in comparison to those first words.
"Oh yeah, that's good." He still speaks with half his face missing, the corners of his mouth are pulled back in the biggest grin I have ever seen.
I'm out of ammo, a consequence for packing light. I see nothing better to do, and drag a chair over to talk to him.
"Seriously man, I needed that. Thanks."
The blood leaking from his empty eye sockets is quite distracting. "No... problem."
"I'm pretty sure you're wondering why I'm still alive."
"Yes I am."
"Do you know what happens when the universe dies?"
"... Entropy?"
He laughs, it's made all the more haunting with his open throat. "Heh... No. When the universe dies, it chooses one individual to continue living in the next universe."
"... What?"
"But because it takes so goddamn long for the next universe to be born, it makes that individual completely immortal."
"So you're saying... that you saw the Big Bang."
"Yep, and it hurt like a motherfucker! Do you know how painful a blast that contains literally everything is?"
"..."
"Really fucking painful! The feeling lasted a good few thousand years or so by my count, and after some time, my pain receptors just shut down."
"Wha-"
"Hold on, I can feel my eye coming back..." The tissue in his socket reforms, each nerve winds into place and I watch as the orb is slowly filled with thick goo. I see a lot of fucked up stuff in this business, but this is the first time I fight not to puke. "There we go, I can see you clear as day!"
My disgust keeps me from screaming, lest I lose my lunch. "So you're immortal and you regenerate... cool. Question: Why the fuck are you so goddamn jovial?"
His face hardens. "Do you know what it's like to live without pain? What it's like to have a fundamental part of living stripped from you? When you've lived as long as I have, you need pain just to feel alive. Immortality isn't a gift."
He stands from his chair. "So when I say 'thank you for shooting me in the face', I fucking mean it. Now are you gonna use that knife of yours or what?" | 2019-08-29T19:25:53 | 2019-08-29T19:15:04 | 407 | 120 |
[WP] You are a hitman who has just finished their most recent job. Or, at least, thought had finished, because the second you take your eyes off your target’s corpse, you hear “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.” | “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.”
I froze in place as those words drifted from the supposed corpse.
"Uggh" I sighed in annoyance "They never tell me when it's an immortal."
"Yeah, that's a pisser ain't it?" He said from his uncomfortable looking position on the ground. I could see the bullet hole in his head already beginning to close up.
"A pisser?" I asked incredulously, "They know that I charge an extra fee for dealing with an immortal, it's a whole different approach."
"So," He said conversationally, "you gonna finish the job? bury me in concrete or something?"
"Of course not." I said, already turning to walk away "I'm gonna go kill my employer, says in section 13 subsection F of the contract that failure to disclose any supernatural powers of the target is grounds for contract reversal. I can't have people sending me after what I think is a Werewolf that turns out to be a Wendigo."
"Huh..." he grunted "well, dinner was lovely up until you shot me in the face, do you wanna try again sometime?"
I glanced over my shoulder at him as I reached the door, contemplating.
"Sure" I said after a moment before walking out of the room. I wasn't sure if he was planning some sort of complicated revenge, but most immortals I'd dealt with took attempted murders with very good humor.
&#x200B;
Besides, there was that other dress that I'd been dying to wear since I picked it up last month... | **Whoa! You're alive!**
No shit. First rule of being a successful hitman: have a gun, preferably a sniper rifle. All you did was throw a chicken wing at me. On a related note, why did you try to kill me at Hooters?
**I think the more important question is why are YOU here.**
I like the food.
**So what's your problem if I chuck a wing at you?**
Is this Arby's? Do we throw food at other patrons here? No, and no.
**Do you know why I'm trying to kill you?**
Yes, and I don't blame you one bit. That's a LOT of reward money.
**And I plan on getting it.**
Not now, I'm eating. Relax. Here, HAND me a goddamn wing.
**Fine, here.**
Thanks. Boy, you know, people joke about this place, but the food really isn't all that half too terribly bad.
**You're not fooling anyone.**
You know I'm gay, right?
**Plot twist!**
No shit! (fist bump) Look, sure, you wanna kill me, but I don't want you to, so as you can see... I'm in a bit of a bind. (sighs) Can I tell you a story?
**I don't know, CAN YOU?**
Yes. Yes, I can.
**Then proceed.**
A Polack, a black, and a mexican walk into a bar--
**No. Not a story. Also, offensive. And how is that relevant?**
Just trying to lighten the mood. And believe it or not, that joke is *least* offensive to mexicans, who are the obvious punchline, given their joke placement in the number three slot. It's scientific.
**I really should have brought a gun.**
Yeah, why didn't you?
**In this state, you're not allowed to bring a gun into a restaurant.**
I know! That's why the slogan here at Hooters is "You Won't Get Shot!"
**It is?**
They're pivoting from sexism and they don't know how.
**Poor Hooters.**
It's not like they can brag about how good the food is.
**They'd get sued!**
Bro! (high fives) THIS is why I hang at Hooters. It's like an American embassy, but with short shorts and Coors Light.
**But what do you do when they close for the night?**
Can you keep a secret?
**I mean, I AM trying to kill you--**
But BESIDES that.
**Ok, why not?**
(whispers in ear)
**That's bloody genius. I mean, I CAN'T kill you now.**
You barely tried to begin with. A chicken wing?
**What can I say? I didn't think ahead.**
No. No you did not. Here, next round is on me....
(fade to black) | 2019-08-29T19:25:53 | 2019-08-29T19:10:30 | 407 | 16 |
[WP] Time slows down every time you are in danger. The more serious the danger is, the more time you have to save yourself. During one terrible car accident, you had almost a minute to react. And now, time has almost completely stopped for a whole month, and you don’t know why. | "The fact that no one was hurt or killed in the crash of Flight 1929 has been described as an utter miracle," the TV announcer stated. Mina picked at her food, pretending to not believe a word of it. How could she explain that time had crawled to a standstill and she'd had the time to pop open the cabin door, check the ground outside, pull the passengers and crew to a safe distance, *and* break into the sealed cockpit to pull out the pilot and copilot? She sighed and rolled her eyes.
"Come on, Mina, you were *on* that flight!" her husband protested. "How are you still unconvinced?"
"Look, Sam, all I know is that I went to sleep in the air and woke up on the ground. For all I know it could have been some colossal prank." Mina took the tiny spoon from her husband and held it in the air. "Here comes the airplane, bbbbbbbb."
Sam looked unconvinced but walked to the fridge to check how much milk they had left. "Hey, Mina? When was the last time we bough–"
Mina looked up. "What did you say, Sam? I didn't hear the last..." He was frozen. Not achingly-slow-motion frozen, the way the passengers on the plane had been. He wasn't moving at all.
"S-Sam?" Mina looked from him to her daughter, frozen with a tiny spoon of mashed yams halfway in her mouth. "Evie? Oh my God." She looked around the kitchen, sniffed the air, checked the gas alarms. Nothing. She took Sam and Evie outside, laying them down gently. Time didn't speed back up; it must have had nothing to do with the house, then. So where... where was the danger, and how could she keep her family safe from it?
(This is more the beginning of a long story about nuclear war. I have a new book to write now....) | People call it a miracle. You hear about crashes every week on that highway, but nobody ever survives. I was running late to work, so I brought my coffee with me on the ride there. I went to take a sip when time slowed down.
Not even a second had gone by before someone laid down the horn. I was startled, and shook a little. My coffee started to spill. About five inches from my lap, time almost entirely stopped. I twisted out of the way and avoided it.
I thought that was it, but time didn’t resume as normal. In fact, it got even slower. That’s when I looked up and saw a Jeep barreling towards me. I threw myself out of the car and hit the ground just as they collided.
My little Nash-Rambler didn’t stand a chance against this Grand Cherokee. Time went back to normal. My car was totaled. Luckily, nobody died. I had some pretty bad scrapes and cuts, while the man driving the Jeep had a dislocated shoulder and a few broken bones.
A few weeks later, my girlfriend took me to the Ford dealership a few miles away, and a little while later, we were sitting in the drive of my truck. All was well, or so we thought. I began to feel a weird sensation throughout my entire body. Then, time slowed down again. Almost entirely stopped. I grabbed my girlfriend’s hand and pulled her out of the car.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving our lives.”
We ran into the house, but time still wouldn’t continue on as normal. I tried to keep us safe, but no matter what I did, I could still clearly notice the flap of a mockingbird’s wing. The rotation of a car’s tires. The lyrics to an Eminem song. The blink of an eye.
I lived like this for almost a month, though it felt much longer. Every second felt like a minute. Then, I realized why this was happening. I looked out the window and the sun seemed to be a bit closer. I felt a sickening feeling in my stomach.
“Honey, come here!”
“What’s up?”
“Does the sun seem closer than usual to you?”
I didn’t give her time to reply. I told her to get in the car. Luckily, we didn’t live too far from a NASA building. As we got closer, time seemed to speed up. By the time we walked up to a worker, it was normal.
“We need to get off this planet.”
“What?”
“Something bad is happening.”
“Sorry, but we can’t just let anyone into a spacecraft.”
“Well, we won’t tell your boss.”
I flashed my gun and grabbed my girlfriend’s hand and we ran past her. Luckily, I had decades of experience with karate and was a sixth degree black belt. I easily fought off the staff, my girlfriend in tow.
“There it is!”
We ran to the spacecraft and locked ourselves inside. As I looked at all the controls, time began slowing down again. After about ten minutes, I ran outside and got someone to help us.
“Turn this thing on!”
“Okay, okay! Please don’t kill me!”
He got it on and we took off. Luckily, we made it off the planet just before the sun crashed into it. We all lived happily ever after, right? Well, we would have, but we had no place to stay. We died after 14 days of floating aimlessly.
__________________________________________
Don’t question the first person POV from someone who’s dead, please. Hope you enjoyed! | 2019-09-27T17:42:17 | 2019-09-27T16:29:13 | 130 | 22 |
[WP] your childhood was terrorized by ghosts and demons that only came out at night. Your solution was to never be where night falls. So you became a pilot, and have been able schedule flights to always be on the side of the world with daylight. But tomorrow, you'll experience nightfall after 15 yrs | They call him the daymare pilot, which is oddly fitting.
For all his life, he had been chasing sunlight, so that the underworld will not claim him.
"Whenever you reach eighteen, we will have you." It is a phrase he heard for almost ten years, always at night. For the phantoms, horned demons would materialise in front of him, surrounding him, drowning him in their wicked laughters and brazen, audacious chants.
Neil's teenage years were plagued with doctor visits and school absences, for the apparitions brings negative energy that affected Neil in almost every aspect of his life.
The only refuge Neil would get is during day time, when he would try to catch some sleep, always end up in detentions and failed to hand in his assignments. But he had figured out a way to save himself. He just has to live constantly in sunlight.
He thought about being a scientist and stay at a polar research station, where the sun would be constantly shining. Or perhaps he could migrate to Russia far north, St. Petersburg, where sunlight hours are the longest, or perhaps Alaska and northern provinces of Canada.
But he still has to move, cannot stay a single second in the night, where the unnatural beings would engulf him and he will be forever trapped in certain doom.
By being a pilot, he will have to freedom to move between Russia and Alaska, so he could always be bathing in the sun, and he had overcome great difficulties, by first obtaining his biplane license, then taking on larger airships as his total flight time accumulated.
Eventually, he landed himself a job for flying cargo planes around the clock, and his work ethic had quickly promoted him to a senior pilot, there is even the prospect of becoming a partner of the transportation company.
Over the years, Neil had flown all over the world, piloted various heavy aircraft, though he was hesitant to take on a commercial plane, the possible delays and unexpected events could foil his carefully orchestrated flight plans and strand him in mid-air as night claims him.
Neil loves flying large shipments from Russia to Africa, where the sun shines the brightest in the equator. His reputation steadily increased, and his odd habit had become publicly known.
But however, everything went wrong in the latest shipment. A civil war broke out, he was stranded. Knowing his hours are limited. Neil tried to bribe the officials to fly the mega cargo air carrier out of the country, but he is forced away at gunpoint.
Neil knew he had to do something, so he knocked out the guards and duel wielded the AK-74 they had Benn carrying and shot his way to the plane, where it sat patiently, fueled and maintained, just ready for his salvation.
He climbed up the cockpit ladders and was greeted by the familiar control panels and instruments. Wasting no time, Neil taxied the plane, knowing numerous tacticals were hot in pursuit.
Come on baby, do it for papa, lift your fat ass! Neil yelled as he cranked down hard on the handle, the huge plane roared, fast approaching take-off speed, Neil can see the dots cm racing towards him, nut he made it.
Before he let out a sigh of relief, his headset crackled, "Daring escape," a voice commented, and added, "The rebels had deployed AA units along the northern border, and good luck, Daymare Captain Neil."
Damn, Neil cursed silently, if there are actual anti-aircraft guns, then he had to adjust his plan, but, but...
Cold sweat suddenly covered his forehead, I am not going to make it am I? The shadows waited patiently, ready to pounce.
Damn, I am not about to give up, come on, give papa everything you got!
Neil still didn't make it, he looked in horror as the night crept ever closer, covering the plane inch by inch, the sound of demons chanting grow louder, is it a dream?
No, the hellish creatures are here! | It started when I was younger. It only got *persistent* as the years went on. With a few semesters of college behind me and the night - owl schedule so deeply ingrained in my psyche, I had chosen the way of the all-nighter lifer. Graveyard shifts and a blackout curtain. I only saw the sun in its rise keeping me awake or its setting surrounding my morning. The dying light at daybreak was a pretty sight for a while.
Yet that left the golden hour pissing me off when I wanted to get to sleep. Tired after long nocturnal days, and what had probably amounted to months lacking vitamin d or any real REM sleep. There's only so long that you can take hating the prettiest view every twenty four hours and starting your day with a fading glare. That's what really got to me, I think.
It started out as them *visiting,* I guess. It's like they would drop in and out of the world around me. As if they were constantly shifting between a liquid and gaseous state. Suddenly condensing out of thin air, staying a moment. Then leaving without a trace save a dampness in the air.
As my body started feeling heavier, in set the general depressive symptoms of a winter of night shifts ahead after an already shitty fall. I lost all energy and appetite, and to tell the truth, lost the appetite for my daily meds. Not protein or plastic or a damn glass of water could I keep down.
I started feeling worse and worse as the winter crept on, and with it the frequency of the condensing visions. Visiting like waves now, clamoring up the shore. Crashing over eachother, until I couldn't watch the last one vanish without first seeing the next. And always like water.
Like the sea. They grew out of something always present, but rarely visible. As though they were manifest out of the nothingness *itself.* That was one of the weirdest parts, honestly. Contrary to what I would have believed about anything so dark and connected to the nocturnal, the moonlight actually kept it at bay. The presence of any sun light at all seemed enough to dispel it. It's the blackness that it comes out of.
My eureka momemt did not come at some grand point of realization after long deliberation. Sure, I deliberated enough, but none of it had even mattered by then. By this point I was long lost in the psychosis. Puzzling of a way to get rid of the damn things as they harassed me to know end. Flooding over me.
Still like water, my skin begging to feel damp. What was propably perspiration pouring from my anxety addled body appeared more to my eyes as the liquid of those fucking things.
Condensing on me.
*Taking* from me.
The more they drew from me the bigger they became and the more I was prepared to give them until it dawned on me:
I could outrun it.
It seemed so simple then, all in that moment. Something felt lifted off me. Like an addict feeling sated after only *scoring* the drugs. Yet to feel any of their affects, but no longer withdrawling so much all the same. The liquid dissipated. The gas pungent in the air became a mere note on the tongue and soon nothing more than a lingering feeling that something only *had* been there.
I started flying economy first. Suprising how enough money for the first few flights, and some time in the airline bars can earn you some favours. I began finding pilots in more remote areas looking for some extra muscle delivering foodstuffs and other supplies up north. Or down south. Soon all I had to do was lug parcels in bush planes for half a year at one end of the globe, and the other half doing the same thing upside down. While learning to fly all through of course.
With a few months of daylight, and honestly decent food - it feels healthier being able to kill something and eat it too than have it after being processed through a dozen times - I was feeling healthier and doing better than ever. I tested for my liscense, and after having worked so long with no other real expenses, and more than a few high paying off-colour deliveries, I was able to afford my own little bush plane.
So, armed with my own plane and a box full of David Bach novels, I took off making food and gas money selling rides from back country fields. Staying in the sunlight but getting more relaxed with it. I could handle being in moonlight on a clear night. Even a few minutes before sunrises so I could see the whole transitions.
I guess I was baiting it. Trying to test it's limits, so it let me push it too far. Of course, my plane goes out of order. Up here in the dry northern air. The rig needs maintenance and no one's in this part of country. Desolate. All the good skyride money went south with season a month back, and any friends I would have to lift me are long gone around southern Canada, the northern United States. Maybe a few with some Russian jobs. Fuck.
None of them are close enough. Not to make it before night fall. This is the first time I'll see a full night's passing in years.
And the air's getting colder, breezy.
It feels damp. | 2019-11-10T02:56:38 | 2019-11-10T01:07:49 | 50 | 15 |
[WP] “So you’ve come hero.” The most powerful dark lord in history says as he faces you across the hall. But before you take another step, he motions to the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen with tears in her eyes. “But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.” | "I'm not going to do that. I'm not here to kill you, or her. I'm here to set things right."
Thomas starts walking at a liesurely pace towards the King Robert, his robe billowing with each step and gesture.
"You see, I'm the cleric. I've seen a lot of small towns, and I've seen a lot of hurting people, and I've heard many of their stories. Church members are frequently broken up into fighting factions, and often it isn't clear who's right and who's wrong, or who's at fault. The world isn't that black and white; people have often been oppressors at times, and have also been oppressed at others. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the people who hurt others the most are those whose hurts have never been healed."
He arrives at the stony steps of the throne, turning to look at the king and his granddaughter.
"So, if I may be so bold as to suggest an alternative; would you tell me and your granddaughter a story about you? What hurt has been festering within you that has pushed you to hurt so many people? I have heard the side of the people outside, but I haven't heard your story yet."
The king looked a little surprised. He looked at his granddaughter.
"Stowwy?" She asked, looking questioningly at him.
Robert turned back to Thomas. "You really want to hear from me?"
Thomas nodded. "Although, I'd also like to ask for a chair. Something a bit softer and warmer than these stone steps would be better suited for a story, I think."
The king sighed. He looked tired, and defeated, as if this was going to be a lot of work. "Oh, fine. There's a sitting room over that way." he pointed off to one side of the throne, and then put his arms on either side of the throne to push himself up. "There should be a fire going over there already. I hope you're ready to be here for awhile; it's going to be a long story." | The kid looks about 10.
With large, round eyes and long, silvery hair, it is easy to recognize her lineage. The girl would grow into a fine beauty, provided she survives all of this.
And then the absurdity of this hits me, and I burst into laughter. An incredulous, almost maniacal laugh:
"You have a granddaughter? You? The Dark Lord of Evil, commander of the 666 Legions of Hell, wielder of the 72 Archdevils, a granddaddy? This is hilarious!"
The dry laugh echoes in the empty hall. Burn marks on the marble floor mark the place where I have slain Lucifer, Astarte and Bael, the Dark Lord's closest aides. When I finally regain composure, I turn to my mortal enemy, wounded, cornered, at my feet.
"Coming to think of it, this situation feels quite familiar, doesn't it? Did you not slaughter my village, leaving me as the only witness? Hey, kid, tell me, how does it feel to see your grandpa like this, huh?"
The girl reels back behind the marble pillar, shivering. I plunge my blade through the Dark Lord's leg, and make my way towards the pillar. Capturing the kid was easy. She was slow, untrained, and light. I throw her down on the steps of the dais, right under her grandpa's feet, and wait as she crawls backward into her grandpa's arms:
"You wanna save your old man, kid?" I ask, tentative. I will give this kid a chance I never had. "Do you want to help your granddaddy, huh?".
A silent nod.
I pull out the dagger I have as a backup weapon, and toss it at their feet. No explanation is needed. The little girl looks at the dagger, then looks at me. I cross my arms and wait. What will she do?
The little girl stands up, and takes the dagger. With all the strength in that little body, she plunges the dagger into my body. A sharp pain assaults my sense. She's attacked. Blood is welling up int the injury. The girl twists the knife, pulls out, and stabs again. And again. Strength leaves my leg as I slump down on the marble floor. Only then did she stop. The girl's eyes are filled with a burning resolve. It's childish, but it worked. She has defended her grandpa.
Or so the little girl thought.
Grabbing her hand, I twist the dagger back into my possession. Lunging up the stairs, I plunge it through the throat of the Dark Lord. Horror fills his face as he lays, life gushing out of the two of us. I have finished my task. The screams of the little girl fills the hall, as her grandfather lays dying. With great difficulty I roll over, and stare at the ceiling. There's no coming back from this, I know it.
"Why? Why did you do this, accursed hero, why?" Asked the little girl.
"Because he must pay for his crimes, like I must pay for mine." I say with great effort: "And to end this unending loop of aggression and vengeance."
The Dark Lord has a ring on his right index finger. Lemegeton, the Command Seal. I gesture towards it, breathing out what 's most likely going to be my last words: "Hate and violence never gets you anywhere. Remember that, and could you do me a favor and finish me off with this thing here? I' m tired." | 2019-12-11T21:44:56 | 2019-12-11T20:13:37 | 77 | 21 |
[WP] You are a nice person, but your superpower is that you instinctively know exactly what to say to someone to crush them. You're very effective in throwing supervillains off their game, but your fellow heroes always feel really uncomfortable watching you work. | Dear Mom,
Here is the inherent problem with powers.
When you have a power like super strength or intelligence you can do whatever you want. Want to be a hero? Cool. Become a titan of industry? Sure thing. Become a villain? You'll be hated like all villains, but never called out for it.
When you are a healer you must be a hero. You are not *permitted* to be a villain. Your fellow villains will shun you. You will not survive.
Its a little more complicated for me. Heroes aren't exactly going to cut me down in the street for being one of them. Villains are afraid of me. But the old adage about sticks and stones? I prove it wrong in oh so many ways.
My power is to know what I call *the sentence*. The sentence can be almost any combination of words. I've even said pure gibberish. The sentence is whatever set of words I can say to utterly defeat somone. To crush their spirit. To kill them, if necessary. Maybe it distracts them for a moment in a fight, allowing someone else an opening. Maybe it breaks them in there core. I never know, even as I say it. I can roughly gauge how strong I want it to be, but I can't know *how* it will work its magic. My brain gives me the words and I use them.
Heroes are terrified of me. I am a normal man otherwise. I can't fly or shoot lasers or tank bullets. Yet I have defeated villains capable of leveling cities. The heroes had to organize an around the clock guard on me. Villains tried to take me out before making their big moves. It was only then that I learned. I overheard one of my guards on the phone he...
[smudges appear]
...sorry Mom. He said I was the scariest thing he had ever been around. It sounded like the person on the phone with him agreed. He went on to explain how he almost hoped I'd die so at least he could go back to fighting villains like normal, not doing my quote voodoo shit.
I'm not proud of it, but I hit him with one of my weakest punches before he left. He ended up in marriage counseling.
I don't know how to fix this. My words only go one way. Pain. They don't heal. They don't lift up or protect. They tear down. They destroy. I am trying to use them for good. Its so difficult knowing they hate me.
I'm trying real hard though.
Love,
Richard
*****
I watched as the flames consumed the letter atop the gravestone. Soon only ashes remained. I knew the heroes would have read it otherwise. Turning to Omniman, I nodded. He fell in behind me as we walked back to the car. *Hey, why did they give you this job anyway?* The thought came into my mind. I pushed it away. *I'm trying.* | We are trapped. Gullimore has caught us and put us in glass cylinder filled with green, bubbly liquid. It was almost impossible to not let the moistness of it send us unconcious, but we had to fight.
It has been a few hours since we were trapped. We thought we had him in the entrance. Opal had it all planned-Ember would burn out the minions, Ellix would turn off the saws, and Sean would just run to gullimore and snap him off.
Well, Ellix started everything too quick. Instead of turning off the traps, he accidently took off the electricity, including the lights. That turned on the alarm and the emergency generator, summening way more minions than we were prepared. Ember couldn't fight alone against the minions, so Elix had to join with his lightning attacks - big mistake if everything from metal. It hit off sean who was just one foot away from gullimore. Sean was sent forword torwords a cylinder, cracking it a bit.
I didn't need to hear Opal's call to know Sean is down. Ellix and Ember startef to fail. Ember saw me and sent me a burning baseball bat. "just hit as much as you can". I knocked off three minions before falling. One of them grabbed my ankle from behind. Until I took him down four more were already holding onto me. Power was truely not my strength. It seemed Opal was in the same situation pretty fast. And after being alone in a never ending hoard of minions, they fell too.
Gullimore finally returned. He was smirking. *just an awful taste in colour, really*. Not the time for that. "I guess you are confused as to how you are here." he looked at Opal. "maybe you are the most confused one here. Well, this green subsitute neutralizes your power using the amendo crystal" "ThIs GrEeN sUbSiTuTe NeUtRaLiZeS yOuR pOwEr UsInG tHe AmEnDo CrYsTaL, look at me, I am so smart with my crystiliezed chymestry shit, I have a PhD in alchemy" I could vaugely hear Opal voice. "-I have a PhD in multi dimensional chymestry. Do you wanna know what I will do with your power? I-" I looked at Opal's cylinder. It was the one that Sean hit and cracked. "Opal, your power works! We can do something!"
Opal looked at me, then at Gullimore, and then at me again. She knew what will happen of she will help me. But it was the last resort. She channeled me and Gullimore together.
*stop talking about your PhD.*
*what?*
*stop talking about it. It isn't special. You are not special because of it.*
*why, but it is-*
*but it is what, ha? You think that just because you could copy answers from Sarrah you are worthy of this adjective? You have done nothing by yourself in higher channel physics.*
*I have! I tried really hard... And I even scored the best-*
*You cheated! You are just lying to yourself, thinking that telling you are not to anyone else doesn't make it true! You didn't work hard then. You didn't work hard at all! You always exploited your giftedness, and when you failed you didn't even try the slightest!* "stop it"
*I am not... I am not...*
*We are not what? A total fraud? Everyone knows you are. This is why you are here. A villan. Hated by everyone. No body likes you. Nobody never will.* "stop it, please"
*I-I can be worthy of love*
*How, exactly? You have done only bad. Not even the most twisted mined can like you. Not even yourself. You have no worth! If you'd die people would be happy!* "stop! Please, stop!"
Gullimore started to sob. *look at them. You **want** to be like them. You want to be helpful. How funny. You can't. You can't be good, you can't be worthy, you can't be helpful. You are just you. A burden. To them, to this state, to humanity.*
Opal cried too. | 2020-02-25T13:36:40 | 2020-02-25T12:16:42 | 308 | 118 |
[WP] You were the world's most famous supervillain who decided to retire after having your first child. You are now the owner of a very popular restaurant in your city. You are shocked when you see your arch nemesis sitting in your restaurant. You lock eyes and know that this will be awkward | It was a slow day at Samurai Sushi. Wednesdays were never too busy anyway, and the lunch rush had just ended. Daitan could hear may flirting with one of the cooks in the back. He smiled.
Daitan was butchering a tuna in front of the display area as she walked through the door. Instinctively, when he heard the door's bell ring he shouted "'irasshaimase!" He looked up and immediately recognized who she was. Absolute Zero, the woman who had shattered both of his arms, both separate occasions.
"You know, when I heard about the cyborg sushi-chef at this hip new restaurant, I just had to see for myself... Iron Shadow." Absolute Zero had that same stupid smirk she'd had when she destroyed his last enterprise. Sure, he was smuggling illegal meds at the time, but the way he saw it, he was only undercutting the Pharma companies. Besides, he served his time for that. Now he was running a legitimate business.
Daitan's face was a stone mask, revealing nothing. He focused on the tuna in front of him. "You can take a seat either here at the bar, or at one of our tables, a server will be with you in a few moments."
May soon came with menu and a glass of ice-water. "Will anyone else be joining you today?" She asked.
"No," Zero responded. She turned to Daitan. "Is this your daughter? I can see the resemblance."
Daitan stiffened. "May, could you go help Raul with inventory?"
"Okay."
Daitan put down his knife and looked at Absolute Zero. "Look, I don't know why you decided to come here, but I run a legitimate business."
"Shadow..." Zero responded.
"Don't call me that! I've served my time. That isn't who I am anymore."
"Okay, Daitan. I'll be honest. I came here out of a sense of nostalgia. It's been a long time since I had a proper nemesis, and these new villains, they're all trying to make some statement about society, or humanity, or some other crap. I'll admit, I miss the good old days when all there was to a villain was a sick katana and the skill to use it."
"I have no interest in reliving your fantasies of the past. If you wish to eat at my restaurant, then I ask that you please not bring up my past exploits around my child." Daitan picked up his knife, and continued his work in silence.
Later, may returned and took her order. After Zero had been served, and May returned to the kitchen, Zero broke the silence with a question. "Remember when you threw me out of that helicopter?"
A smile cracked on Daitan's lips. "Okay, how *did* you survive that?" | His hulking 6.4" frame stiffens in his seat. Once bright, 'America blue' eyes locate you across the crowded restaurant. Seemingly, it was a habit he hadn't lost either. You never stop looking over your shoulder, checking your blindspots and surveying every crowd for threat; I wonder when the last time he actually spotted one was.
I should run, hide, take a hostage. No. Not now, not here. There is no doubt he knows me, the real me. No. Not real anymore. The me from then. Now it was finally time. I would pay for who I was. What I did.
He only breaks eye contact to warily look over his family before mumbling to his wife a quick excuse. No ammount of time, hair - lack thereof in his case, weight - in abundance in my case, could stop us from recognising each other.
In a lot of ways you had always been meant to be. The ultimate thorns in each others sides. He would know you anywhere, even if he had 'killed' you in your joint final mission. He retired in ultimate luxury in the Superhero Secret Identity Program.
Luxury suited him. His once prized golden locks replaced with a too shiny sheen. Red, white and blue spandex swapped for monochrome slacks and a sweater. He looked, normal, happy... or had while you had been unobtrusively observing them.
His wife was stunning, they really seemed to adore each other too. It was her laugh that had brought your attention to them in the first place. He had three beautiful All 'American' looking children, all smiles, all laughter. A picture as sweet as the seasonal apple pie we are famous for.
You could have run before he spotted you. You should have. Now it all comes crumbling down. Maybe a part of you couldn't bare it any longer. Your wife is gone, god rest, your son off to college.... All you have is this old place, why would you let it go so easily?
Not that hiding was easy, no. Far from it. It had almost broke you to confess your past to your love. She had smiled, patted your hand and told you she had always known you had done some bad, possibly evil things. Nobody worked so hard to be a force for kindnesss and good without having a debt to pay.
A tear pricked your eye now at the memory of her loving gaze. No matter what redemptive acts you undertook, you never expected her acceptance certainly not forgiveness.
You always told yourself your actions were for the greater good. Nobody is the villain of their own story after all. But once you knew you were to be a father you had no choice but to see yourself for what you had become. Well my love. My debt will be paid shortly. I hope I get to see you soon.
He is infront of you now. Old, slow, sure. But you can still see the pride in his gait, the strength in his posture. He stares down at you, face unreadable. You have seen this face so often in your nightmares. It always came too soon before your son knew the truth.
It was your fear that he would find out after your death and take your long abandoned reigns. No chance of that though thankfully. He was his Mother through and through and knew the regrets of his fathers past.
There is no air in the room as you wait for the words you have waited so long to hear. The words that would finally set you free. Finally face your judgement.
"Hello old friend, please, come meet my family. I have been meaning to visit for a while. So happy to see you doing s'well." Eyes shooting a glance to my gut. "We have some catching up to do"
The pleasant old bastard couldn't even get your long awaited showdown right. You really did hate him for a reason.
Looking towards his family, you notice the keen eyes of his wife on you. She is tense, waiting like a coiled snake ready to strike. There is murder lurking in that look... wait.. those eyes, that laugh...this fear!! Dye and cut the hair, get rid of the tan, swap the cotton pastels for black leather, the diamond necklace for a Mamba.... Lady Pain?!
We really did have some catching up to do. | 2020-05-25T16:26:02 | 2020-05-25T15:00:41 | 43 | 31 |
[WP] Once you die you must watch your entire life from five different points of view. Your own, the one who loved you the most, the one who hated you the most, the one you helped the most and the one you wronged the most. | “Awaken, Andrew,” a voice roused me from my sleep. I opened my eyes to see that I was not in my room anymore. I wasn’t sure if I was in any room. The area was completely dark and cold. I couldn’t see anything besides the endless void that surrounded me and a figure. The stood, or rather, floated in front of me. It was hooded, but I could see a ghastly, skeletal face staring back at me. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t.
Seemingly sensing my fear, it commanded, “Remain calm, Andrew. Your mortal shell has expired. You are dead.” Wanting to wake from this nightmare, I nervously looked around for an escape. This nightmare was too vivid. Too real.
“There is no need to resist,” the creature spoke once more. “This was inevitable. I am here to guide you to the other side.” Provided it was telling the truth, it wasn’t hostile… yet.
“Are you Death?” I asked. It sounded idiotic to ask a question like that, but if this wasn’t dream and I was dead, it was the only reasonable explanation.
“That name will suffice.” It wasn’t exactly an answer, but it didn’t seem offended by the name.
“Am I drea-“
“I assure you,” Death interrupted. “This is not a dream. You are passing through to the other side, and I shall determine where you emerge.” There was slight, foreboding tone to his voice. It was cryptic, almost purposefully so.
“How did it happen then?” I asked. A part of me didn’t want to know the answer, even if this was a dream.
“An automobile accident. You drove through a red light and a much larger vehicle collided with yours. You died instantly. It was painless.” Though I couldn’t remember, it brought me comfort knowing I didn’t suffer.
“Was I not a good driver?” Though I couldn’t remember the circumstances of this incident, I clearly remember being a skilled driver. I wouldn’t just run through a red light like that.
“You had just left your home in a rage after an argument with your fiancée.”
“…Sara.”
“Yes,” the specter confirmed. It came flooding back to me: I had a fiancée. We lived together. It wasn’t the most luxurious life, but we made it work. We even had a dog.
“Was she in the car with me?”
“No. She was not. She is still among the living, if you were curious.” It was like this thing could read my mind, answering questions before I could ask them.
“So,” I began. “What now?” I wasn’t waking up any time soon and was morbidly curious to witness how my subconscious perceived the afterlife.
“We must evaluate your life through the eyes of others,” Death explained. “Your life will be judged by four perspectives. The one who loved you the most, the one who hated you the most, the one you helped the most, and the one you wronged the most.”
“Okay… who first?”
It didn’t answer me. Instead, I found myself somewhere different. I was outside. It was daytime. I was jogging. I wasn’t in control of my body, but I could see and hear everything this person could. I was in… a park, maybe?
My thought process was interrupted my host collided with another runner.
“Sorry!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t see you there.” The body looked up and locked eyes with the person who had bumped into it; it was me. They exchanged pleasantries, and it wasn’t long before they began hitting it off.
“My name’s Sara, by the way,” my host stated as a flash of light filled my vision and I could see myself sitting across a table in a restaurant, an expensive-looking meal sitting in front of me. I remembered that night. That was our first date. Many more similar sequences flashed into sight. They were the most precious moments of our relationship. It culminated to when I brought her back to that very same restaurant to propose to her.
A surge of light brought me backwards to when Sara and I had been dating for a few months. She opened the door and leapt into my arms. Her tears began soaking into my shoulder. This was the day she found her father had lost his battle to cancer. The visions jumped ahead to us unpacking our belongings in a hotel room. Though it was a bit impulsive, I took us on an impromptu vacation shortly after the funeral. She had been stricken with grief and I just wanted to spoil her and see her smile again.
Our happiness wouldn’t last. Just as our relationship had faded and weakened over time, I was met with visions that reflected this. Small things at first like sly comments and petty remarks that turned into full-blown arguments. We spewed pure vitriol at one another as I witnessed some of our more intense disagreements. It was like watching a beautiful flower wither away to nothing.
The next vision that came to me was one I didn’t remember. Sara was sitting in her car. She was parked in our driveway. In her hands, she held a very sweet and loving greeting card. She reread what she had written a few times before picking up her phone, reading the last text message she sent me:
*Hey, I know things have been really bad these last few months and I know it’s not your fault. We both let this happen, but we can both fix this. I’m gonna leave work early and make us an amazing dinner and we can just spend the night being us. We can be what we used to be.* *I love you <3.*
There was no answer. I wasn’t sure if I was ignoring her, or I hadn’t seen the message. Sara sighed with disappointment as she got out of her car and made her way into our home. I didn’t seem to be in the immediate area. Sara began to search for me, starting with the kitchen. I wasn’t there, but she noticed my cellphone sitting on the kitchen table. It was flashing a small white light near the top of the screen: my notification indicator. She tapped the screen to see what it was.
*1 unread text message*
She overheard some noise coming from across the house. I couldn’t quite make out what it was, and I assumed she couldn’t either. She made her way down the hall and entered the bedroom. Sara had found me but I wasn’t alone. I was in bed with her friend Amber. She quickly gathered her clothing and fled the home.
I had never heard this amount of pain and anger in Sara’s voice before. I didn’t need to see her to understand how destroyed she was. I couldn’t believe that I would do this. I wanted to cry, but I could only watch as Sara and I had our most verbally violent argument to date. We said unspeakable things to each other as our relationship imploded… because of me. I grew more and more disgusted as I watched myself try to justify and excuse my actions.
Sara told me she never wanted to see me again. Whether in spiteful defiance or complete compliance, I grabbed my keys and left, slamming the door behind me.
I returned to find myself back in the darkened void. I collapsed to the floor and wallowed in shame and sadness.
“I don’t want to see the remaining perspectives,” I muttered through sobs. “Just take me wherever you see fit.”
“You already have,” Death mused. “You have witnessed your life through the one who loved most, the one who you helped most, the one you wronged most, and, ultimately, the one who hated you most.”
I lifted my head to meet the reaper’s gaze.
“I have decided,” it said. “Come with me.” | Death wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. As a kid you think you’re gonna live forever and then as you get older you realize that’s impossible. By the time it’s your time to go you always make some sort of peace with it unless it’s a accident. And now that I’m here all I see is 5 TVs and a chair with some popcorn. A note on the floor reads “ you have to watch your entire life from 5 different view points before you can walk through the door to heaven. Have fun”. At least they gave me popcorn for this long ride..
The 1st TV showed my parents on it. I can’t explain how much I miss them and I don’t think I have the space to do it either. It shows my dad getting the call from my mom as she screams “ MY WATER BROKE”. Her holding my dads hand till it turned white as she pushed me out. Her naming me after her brother and my dad holding me. My first steps my first meal my first dance move all of that and more. Then it starts to show me as a teenager and boy was it funny to watch back. All the times I joked on my mom for her lisp and her saying I got mine from her. The times I rubbed my dads bald head for good luck before school. The days they would surprise me after baseball practice and how they would show up to my games and cheer me on like it’s the first time they saw me play. Then it showed the last 2 years and the change. The bags under my eyes from baseball camps and late night batting sessions. The obsessive studying trying to get A+ after A+ after A+. The attitude when I was told to take a break. The injury I got in a playoff game junior year. The days I spent in my room just watching tv from sunrise to sunset. And it came to my death scene and it just cut off.
I picked up the second remote and this tv showed my sister. She was 3 years younger than me so as a kid I took every opportunity to let her know she wasn’t at my level. We would fight and compete over any and everything imaginable. Video games, cartoons we liked, food, friends, shotgun in moms car. As I got older I started to get good at baseball and she didn’t have any athletic talents. So she became the bookworm of the family and it worked for her perfectly fine. Until I had to get good grades to play baseball so my gpa got bigger than hers. All the congratulations for honor roll went to me instead of her. The pats on the back came to me for sports and school. The nights I could go hang out and she was left in the house to do nothing. I saw all of it and frankly I wouldn’t change it. Then I saw the injury from her perspective. She was happy cause I lost my lead on her for affection but a little part of her wasn’t okay with how she felt. We grew apart in my recovery her diving into books and me diving into getting better. Days would go by when we wouldn’t talk and not a awkward moment happened. Then just like last time it got to my death and The tv cut off.
I picked up the 3rd remote and refilled my popcorn and this one was about my best friend J.D. We had known each other since 2nd grade when he tried to trip me in P.E class and I tripped him back. Ever since then we were best friends and we did everything together. Studied, chased after girls, baseball anything you could really think of. He was always more of the cool one while I was just the kid that was gonna go D1 for baseball since he was 14. High school comes and you would think a separation would happen but we only got tighter. I was stuck wondering how did I help him besides being his friend till the car crash showed up on the tv. His mom had gotten into a bad accident and he was devastated to the point he stopped going to school. I was there for him alongside a few other friends but everyone encouraged him to take the spring off and while I was all for him resting and mourning I knew his mom wanted him to graduate high school on time. So I helped him do his work from home for a month. I basically did it for him while he went to therapy but I Didn’t really mind. I would do anything for him and if I had the chance to go back I’d still do anything for him. When I had my injury he was there every step of the way but i kind of shut everyone out so he wasn’t around as much. He didn’t see my death scene so the tv cut off.
I picked up the 4th remote and turned on the tv and I immediately knew who it was gonna be about. The only thing on the screen was a blond girl with a dragon tattoo on her arm and a nice ponytail smiling at me. It was Rebecca my girlfriend at the time of my death. We met in kindergarten when some girls pushed her off the swings and I threw mulch at them cause I never liked bullying at any level. When I was younger I didn’t really like her cause she was a know it all but I could tell she was head over heels for me and who wouldn’t be. The only problem was that I’m African and the last thing a African mother wants is for her son to bring home a white girl. That and the fact that I didn’t see Rebecca as attractive at all. She was always like the girl you know across the street but you know that’s all she’s gonna be. As we got older we started to hang around the same people so we became friends i guess. As I got better at baseball more and more people wanted to hang around me but she was the only one that was genuine. The day she asked me out came up on the screen and all I could do was laugh as she showed off her new tat and asked if I thought it was pretty. It was a dragon with a rose on its back so I shook my head yeah. Then she asked if I thought she was pretty and I did it again. She then asked if I would go on a date with her and I said yeah. We went to the movies and afterwords I walked her home and she kissed me. I didn’t expect it and Frankly I was scared cause her dad saw us. He knew me like how all the parents in our town did as the baseball kid but he didn’t get mad at me kissing her.
We dated for 3 years and she was there through everything. She became my rock, my journal, my best friend. I knew what was coming next and I couldn’t turn the tv off. When I got my injury I was so mad at the world I didn’t want to talk to anyone. That unfortunately included Rebecca. She would come to the hospital every day and I was just numb to all her words. The hugs and kisses didn’t mean shit if I couldn’t play. I shut her out for the rest of my recovery. I shouldn’t have done it but I was so upset I didn’t think I deserved anything or any love. She would cry to my sister and ask why I wasn’t talking to her and she continued to visit. I went home and just shut myself off from anyone. No friends over, no coaches calling for me and I treated her the worst. I would call her over for support just to mess with her. Use her for things I shouldn’t have. Sneak her in the house just for sex. And she was okay with it. She walked through the front door one day and my mom flipped out on her. Screaming that her son wouldn’t date a white women as long as she lived and that she should get out. She looked at me on the stairs and I just shook my head and went back to my room. The last day I saw her was when I went to return a textbook to a teacher, she looked at me with such resent but just as much love. I couldn’t make a word out but “ what’s up”. She didn’t see my death scene. I needed a refill and a tissue or two.
The last tv showed me my life through my eyes and it was largely the same. The grades went from good to incredible. The friends were around but I shut them off. Rebecca went from my everything to a tool I could bend and break. Baseball went from a passion to a nightmare. My parents went from loving to controlling. My sister went from a friend to a enemy. Then it showed my death scene and I couldn’t watch it. Living it was bad but quick but the issue was everyone’s reactions. My mother crying as my father held her. My sister sitting at the back of the funeral so no one could see her cry. J.D and the rest of my friends dropping roses on my casket. Rebecca being scared to come until my baseball coach insisted she speak at the funeral. The way her voice trembled as she recalled our first date, our first argument our first kiss, our handshakes. How my mother actually looked her in the eyes for the first time. And how they buried me in the ground.
The TV turned off and the door opened. I walked through and took one look back at what I left behind and went on. | 2020-06-03T15:21:14 | 2020-06-03T14:30:04 | 31 | 21 |
[WP] All you've ever know is the inside of the facility. Your ability is to copy any power you read about. One day a kindly guard places something in your cell. "Get out of here kid." he says. It's a comic book. | The comic book was instructive, certainly. The powers I'd been allowed to read about were puny by comparison to the powers shown by Superman. I'm sure he meant to help, but the keepers of the facility had pretty well already taken into account flight, x-ray eyes, super strength, and the like. Plus, they'd tricked me into a belief that my cell walls contained kryptonite. Belief, it turns out, is the core that drives my power. If I read it, I can do it. But only if I believe I can. It turns out, I am great at suspending my disbelief and treating fiction as fact.
But still, it got the wheels turning. If I could do anything I could read, but they'd already taken into account almost any superpower that was written about, I couldn't use any mainstream powers - no Spiderman, Wonder Woman, Hulk, Batman. I took out my notebook and began to write my escape. | **The One Who Cannot See:**
Anthony watches the screens. There are eighteen screens arranged in a grid: three high, six wide, ten-by-ten screens along the concrete wall. The room is cold, sterile, painted grey. The monotony broken only by the crackle of radio classic rock.
*“I’ve been trying to make it home. Got to make it before too long, Oh I can’t take this very much longer…”*
He taps along with the beat, a staccato rhythm on his desk. He hums in tune, wishing he could be outside, or home, or anywhere else. He thinks of the new sprinkler system he had installed. It might leak. He hasn’t had time to test it. Work keeps him busy.
Too busy to think of home, the cookie crumbs on the counter. Chocolate chip. His neighbor brought them over. His wife’s favorite. When was the last time they made love? Weeks, maybe months? When was the last time he made it home for dinner?
*Can’t think of that.*
Did Sydney really think she was being clever? It’s not like she tried hard to hide it. The late nights, too tired to talk. He found a burner phone in the bathroom, sealed in plastic, crammed inside that little stuffed elephant he gave her two years ago. She loves elephants; they’re her favorite animal. He found the cotton thread ripped, traced the seam.
Plastic in the garbage, two lines solid: she’s positive.
Is that why she’s been so distant lately? And when would she tell him.? When was the last time they made love again? Weeks? Anthony is no math major but the numbers don’t add up. And the cookie crumbles and maybe his life crumbles with it, but when would it all come crashing down?
*Can’t think of that.*
*“Haven't been home in a year or more. I hope she holds on a little longer.”*
The song played on repeat. But Anthony is too busy to notice these things, the things he cannot see, right in front of his eyes. The song played on repeat. The crackle is the same as before. The screens are all the same.
But he does not notice, because he is too busy thinking of home, of his wife, of the stuffed elephant and the burner phone and how his life has fallen apart. For now, there is only his thoughts, and the steady music to calm him.
He sings aloud and watches the children. | 2020-09-25T11:27:39 | 2020-09-25T10:52:16 | 46 | 26 |
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