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[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished," he says. "You are the punishment." | At the age of five, I watched my mother have a fatal stroke.
At the age of twelve, I called for ambulances and police on a regular basis as gang wars destroyed my neighborhood- and all I could do was call 911, and watch.
At the age of fourteen, I witnessed my father have a heart attack that eventually took his life, too. I stopped calling the police and ambulances then. They, of course, did what they could- but the violence never stopped. Some of my own friends began to get mixed in with the rumbles on the streets- every day I simply prayed that they would give it up or die painlessly.
At the age of eighteen, I enrolled in University, looking to become the very best ER Doctor there had ever been.
Part way through that journey, I heard that the military would pay your fees if you enlisted with them for a while, after- so I did that...and I witnessed hell for the first time.
I had thought it was hell to see my father bawl over the corpse of my mother. I thought it was hell, coming home to an empty house, slipping through the cracks in the child-protective services, scrounging what little I could for food.
I was wrong. Hell was on a battlefield, where dozens of young men, brainwashed into thinking that violence was 'right' or 'justified' sacrificed themselves needlessly, for the gain of rich men who had never wagered so much as a fleck of their own skin in the game they played.
Year after year of service on the battlefield, I did all I could- sometimes that made the difference between someone living or dying, and sometimes it did not.
Each year, each month, each day, my rage grew. The reasons became so blurred, the rationale as to why we killed men over here and over there became more and more arbitrary. I grew to hate not only the war, but the people who fell for their lies and joined up- on either side. All just pawns in some elitist's game.
When the day came that I saw a live grenade land in my med tent, and I had to choose between sheltering my patients or saving myself, I still didn't hesitate.
I died painlessly- and I could only hope my body had muffled the blast enough to save the lives of those under my care.
Gaining some semblance of consciousness, I quickly realized that I was in hell. I was surrounded by a blistering heat, and it was incredibly dark- the only light I could use to see with came from the occasional bit of flaming and smoking rubble, which randomly dotted the landscape.
It wasn't too surprising; I had so much hate in my heart, I couldn't see myself going to heaven.
"Never fear, 'doctor'..." Rasped a sharp, nauseating voice. It's disdain for my title was evident. "You are not here to be punished. God seems to have sympathized with your....righteous anger."
Looking around, I saw something I could only characterize as a winged imp, hovering about ten feet from me.
"You are to wait until one of those who you hate dies...and then you will be here to be their punishment. In the mean time, I am here to teach you....something quite the opposite of what you learned on Earth. Come, little protege, let me teach you how to cause *pain*." | It was as if YHWH and Lucifer planned it all along.
There I was, guided to a white room by a walleyed Frenchman with glasses. It was a room plain and white, with a sofa set, table and bottomless refreshments. This is the life!
And here was where I set to work, three people, poor spirits they were, went into the same room with me. One a whore who died after her 10th miscarriage, another one executed for his war crimes, and a third an old schoolmaster doubling as a paedophile.
And then we began talking. We talked and talked as we drunk. The ever flowing ambrosia---surprisingly, Hell had an endless supply of those---tasted sweet, especially when chilled with the ice coming from the Ninth Circle. Ahhh...
But mind you, I was a good Christian back in my human life, respected the laws, read the Bible, treated others as my equals, et cetera et cetera. Before I died, I heard an angel tell me that I was chosen for a certain experiment the Hereafter was doing. That's how I ended up in the First Circle.
As the experiment went on, I saw the faces of my companions turn from boredom to madness. We did not care how much we drank nor how much time has passed, all we did was talk. Talk until the three spirits dropped to the floor. Talk until the walleyed French dude took me out of the room and into heaven, where I saw an angel approach me.
"You know that guy? Sartre?" he asked
"Took him up in Philosophy class," I replied with a smile.
"Yea, so how'd ya find Hell?"
"A bit torturous, but manageable. If there's one thing I learned from this experiment, it's that Hell is... other people," I replied.
Author: u/CXTRONICA
Title: Hell is Other People
inspired by Jean-Paul Sartre's No Exit. | 2020-07-10T09:28:26 | 2020-07-10T09:25:50 | 154 | 12 |
[WP] Write a pirate story for my three year old son. With a witch in it somewhere. He says there has to be a witch in it.
My son is going through a pirate phase. Every night he asks for a pirate and witch story. I'm running out of variations on the theme. | There once was a pirate named Steve
He had no boat, no crew no sleeves
He would stare all day from the warf at the sea
"Oh what a sad pirate am I, whoah is me"
Day after day he sat on the warf
Hoping someday to have a ship an crew of course
But a ship never came, no crew just the same
Poor pirate Steve didn't live up to his name
Then one fine wensday an old lady came by
She saw poor Steve on the warf as he cried
Curious she ask him "what is amis?"
"I'm a pirate" said Steve "but I have no ship!"
"That's a complex situation" the old lady said
With a frown on her face and a scratch of her head
"Who says a pirate must live on the sea?"
Steve was confused, this woman was crazy
A pirate with no ship, well that just seemed lazy
The old woman pulled a stick from her purse
Tapped Steve on the head an uttered a curse
Steve fell to the floor and let out a sneeze
Then saw the old lady's sock, she had pulled to her knees
Witches academy 1823
Rubbing his head Steve got to his feet
FearIng that now his end he would meet
"You are now, a pirate on land"
She calmly said with a wave of her hand
"Go cheat, lie and steal, pillage and scream
For your'e now a politician, if you know what I mean."
Then with a wisp of smoke she was gone
Steve was left wondering what had went on
Scratching his noggin, he wondered instead
"Do politicians get dental?" The story's end. | There once was a lonely old pirate, recently retired
due to being shipwrecked on a spooky desert island
so he went on tinder, matched with a local witch
she thought because he had a boat he had to be rich
On meeting her, he stole her broomstick, started to fly it and told her to go on a diet.
| 2015-11-22T06:34:23 | 2015-11-22T06:07:38 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | The Captain filled a small container with what had to be bourbon, carefully sealing the spout to prevent any of the liquid from floating away. As I dogged the hatch behind me, I saw that he already had his drink in hand.
First day aboard a starship, and I'm drinking with the boss? Not a bad start.
Captain Leonov sent my drink floating through the air. I caught it without thinking, using my other hand to hold onto the wall of his quarters. I had never been drunk in 0 g, and this small container wasn't going to do the job either.
"You handled spacedock well, Commander," He said. "I was told that this was your first deep space assignment, but from your conduct, I could not tell."
"I've been on the Titan run for the last year, and Luna before that." I shrugged, the tiny movement a third of what it would have been dirtside. More than that and I'd float off. "Spacedock is just a bigger port, when you get down to it."
"Perhaps," the Captain replied. Now that I had a chance to listen, I could tell that something was on his mind. The old man was worried.
I floated closer to him, approaching the cupola-style window of his quarters. "What's on your mind, sir?"
He looked at me, with a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "How did Natalya handle the launch?"
My wife had been angry, truth be told. We were shipping out sooner than planned, and going to parts unknown for who knows how long. She wanted stability for our sons, and the run to Jupiter space had afforded that - one month on, one off. Yesterday had been the angriest I had seen her since before we revealed our names, hers on my shoulder and mine on her ankle.
The relief on her face when she knew that she was mine, and I hers - we had made love that night, for the first time. I think we started Anatoliy that night, honestly.
"She was fine," I lied. "She is a spacer's wife, sir."
The Captain nodded, saying nothing. He took a pull from his drink.
"Sir, what's on your mind?"
The Captain looked at me, and that sadness was there still. He grabbed a folder from the wall, Velcro breaking the quiet with a stiff ripping sound. Tipping it to me, he sent it on a slow trajectory across the room. Plucking it from the air, I unzipped the folder and looked a the contents. A bright red EYES ONLY across the top gave me pause. Below that, I saw the table of contents - and noted that the package included first contact protocols.
My heart stilled as I got to page two.
"72 days ago, we received this transmission. It's from an object in the belt. I don't know the details, of course, but I guess the big brains figured out that it was base 8. And that let them figure out that it was a series of pixels, and that those made images." The Captain nodded toward the folder. "You're holding some of those images in your hand. The first confirmed signal from a non terrestrial intelligence. Our mission is to go to that point in space and see who sent this."
I looked again, to be certain. The image I saw, the one that changed everything, was a star chart. Ours was marked, as well as several others. Eridani, Centauri, so on. The markings were utterly alien - and immediately familiar. I looked at the Captain.
He rolled up his sleeve. The Naval tattoo he had on his forearm took new meaning. On the hull of the small spacecraft, a series of dots and swirls was apparent. You might miss the alien script, if you didn't know to look for it.
"No one knew what it meant," he began. "So I covered it up, as soon as I could. Command knows, of course - your names are always recorded. But I figured mine was a placeholder, that I would die somehow with no one to blame." A sad chuckle came from the man. "How could we know?"
Wordlessly, I unzipped my uniform. Pulling the tunic open, I saw the captain's eyes grow wide as he saw. For on my collarbone was the same set of dots and swirls. The same alien script.
The Captain nodded. "Everyone on board has the same. 72 men, 14 women."
I nodded, absently. Then I emptied my drink. | Hannah tried to keep her mind from wandering, tried to focus on the sting of the freshly inked tattoo on her arm - nothing special, just a black bar. No need to make it different from the other tattoo she had covered. If they looked the same, they would lose their power over her. Or so she had hoped.
But still, the name rung in her head as she drove along, as it always did. Ezekiel. Ezekiel Ezekiel Ezekiel. She always found it a strange name, but it was the better out of the two. When she was a little girl, she was convinced that this would be the love of her life. She filled the margins of her notebooks with the name, bought one of those license plates with the name when she happened upon it as it wasn't a name she came across often.
“Ezekiel, Ezekiel, Ezekiel,” she told herself.
So much better than the other name. John. Who names a kid John? Every person in their life knows at least one John. It's the most common name she or anyone she knew had ever heard. “John?” her friend asked when she told her the names. “Great, so you have to constantly look over your shoulder?”
Things were simple to her - Ezekiel would be her future soulmate, John would be her killer. The names alone proved it - how many killers named Ezekiel were there?
That was until she came home one day to her parents arguing. Again.
Just a few days earlier, she had asked her mom why she stayed with dad. At thirteen years old, she expected a better answer than, “you're too young to understand. He's really sweet. He just gets upset sometimes. We're meant to be together.”
Hannah was excused to her room. She put in noise canceling headphones and tried to do her homework. After a while, she got hungry and went to the kitchen. Her father's name was obscured by the blood running down her mother's shoulder as she was bleeding to death on their floor. He shoved her backwards, her head hit the corner, and rather than call for help, her father ran like the coward he was.
Jeremy, her mother's good friend, was the first one there, holding Hannah tight as her mother was placed in a body bag. His name, printed on the nape of her mother's neck, still haunted Hannah to this day.
She asked her mother once, after helping her calm down from a bad fight, why she chose her father and not Jeremy? Why stay around Jeremy if she thought he could be her killer? Her mother got a cold look in her eyes - perhaps the only time she would admit to herself what she knew was true. “What if I was wrong?”
The memory left Hannah feeling nauseous. After her mother's funeral, she knew. Ezekiel or John, no matter who they were, she would never let either of them in. There were other people in the world with better names who weren't conspiring to kill her. And even if one was her soulmate, well…
She knew the truth. A soulmate could kill your soul off slowly if you chose wrong. | 2018-03-11T08:45:50 | 2018-03-11T08:30:48 | 120 | 28 |
[WP] You have just gained superpowers. Unfortunately, nobody can comprehend that you have no intention of being a hero or a villain. | “I’m just a plumber,” I told the Mayor. “Not a superhero."
“Right,” he grinned. “You unclog the pipes of *justice!*”
“No, I mean I’m a literal plumber. I unclog the pipes of toilets.”
The Mayor scratched his head. “So you’re a literal plumber, but... the pipes are metaphors?
“What?”
“Or is the toilet the metaphor?” The Mayor frowned. “Wait a minute, is the toilet the *city?* I take offense to that.”
“No. Nothings metaphor. I'm talking about actual toilets.”
“Oh, I get it. You're talking about an alter ego," the Mayor winked. "You're like that uh, like that Mario fella.”
“No," I said exasperated. "I only have one ego. This is my ego. My ego is plumber.”
“I’m not following. You want me to pump your ego a bit? Sure. I’m not above that. Here it goes: the city needs you, kid. You’re the only one who’s got what it takes. And what it takes is heat-ray vision and bulletproof skin. You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. If I wasn’t married I’d--”
“Look, it’s true,” I interrupted. “I am bulletproof, and I can shoot lasers out of my eyes. But I don’t like doing that. What I *like* doing is plumbing.”
“Literal plumbing?”
“Literal plumbing.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“But we already made your calling-beacon. A lot of taxpayer money went into that.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just not interested.”
The Mayor thought for a moment. “We'll make it work.”
+++
It was the dead of night when I saw it: the Me-Signal shining in the sky like a beacon of hope. I turned to my wife, already asleep beside me. “I’ll be back sweetie,” I whispered. “The city needs me.” I put on my uniform and I was off.
I battered on a door, nearly knocking it out of its frame. The mayor opened, looking nervous. "It’s a bad one."
I steeled my face and gripped my trusty plunger. "How bad we talking?"
"Today was taco Tuesday."
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | At first, it was easy to hide the magnetism. But then, in moments of forgetfulness, my lunch tray stuck to the back of my hand. Or, in the most embarrassing moment(so far), my crush in band got pulled across the stage, right up to me. By their belt buckle. I didn't realize til he knocked in to me and we fell over, like Siamese twins that lost their balance.
This forced me to learn to control this power(if you want to call it that). I also faced enormous pressure to become a hero. Or a villain.
I couldn't practice trumpet (and practicing with a magnet personality takes concentration) without my phone going off. I quit responding and turned off notifications. So people started knocking on my door.
I went to school early, with sunglasses. I ditched the bus. Tried a private tutor but after that because pitch sessions for heroism(or vandalism), I quit that. I stopped going to band.
Where am I? I am not telling. I don't want to be a hero and I don't want to be a villain. I don't want magnetic hands(or anything!). I just want to be normal again | 2021-06-01T20:17:01 | 2021-06-01T18:42:21 | 59 | 33 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "I talk to Gods!"
It was a bright sunny day. the first one in weeks. So much rain. If we got a few more days like this the high crops might actually yield. We needed the high crops. Low crops were consistent enough, but the high crops, they meant the difference between new iron or a starving winter.
So the sun was shining, the day was beautiful, the sheep followed their master and then there's poor William, sitting on a wall, trying to keep the demons from coming out. Really struggling, praying and folding his hands but the demons always won. The demons seemed to like me to talk to.
He hopped off the stone wall and followed my slow meander up to pasture.
"I talk to Gods, Peter."
"More like ghosts, William."
He flicked an errant fly off his head. "No, no. They said you'd tell me that. They're Gods. They tell me things." They always told him things.
"Like what?"
"Like there's a murrain coming. I didn't know what that word meant so I asked them. They said it meant dying. Death. The sheep this time. Cows next."
The sheep. I couldn't lose the sheep. Just words from a crazy person but words they carry strange powers. Sometimes even thinking them can cause devils to pluck therm from your mind and make them happen. "Willy, you best not talk like that. Lest the church put you on trial."
"Oh I've been tried scores of times. The Gods told me. Burned, crushed, drowned, crushed and burned, gibbeted, drawn and quartered-"
"I get it, Willy. So the Gods tell you this? How is it you're here."
"I don't know. I don't remember any of it, but they swear it. Tell me not to talk about them. But how can I not? I talk to Gods!" He stood atop a rock and spun around like a thread weight. When he finished he took off running down the hill.
"Say hi to your Gods next time you see 'em." Willy was a good kid, just touched.
"Why?" he shouted back. "It's you they want." | "Dear, don't listen to her!"
I stood square and looked mom in the eye. "I will. She explained more of it and it all hangs together. She said we could *die*. I think we should at least… check it."
Mom took a deep breath and came around the table. "I had hoped she'd be able to hold her tongue around the kids. What a thing to obsess about! Lousy woman, not letting us handle things in our own time. Honey!"
Dad appeared momentarily. "Mmmm?"
Mom looked to me. "Would you repeat that for father?"
So I did, hesitantly.
Dad and Mom stared to each other for a moment. Then, Dad began the terrible secret of death: "Her concerns *were* real, and her solutions *were* good, once, long ago, well before we spread from our first planet…" | 2017-09-14T13:40:44 | 2017-09-14T09:10:03 | 51 | 18 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | This whole thing was ridiculous, he didn't even belong in this world. But somehow here he was, a theoretical physicist, stuck in some sort of medieval society, and from all reasonable observation they had magic!
Actual magic, how was that even possible? When he had first arrived there had been… well he would have called it explosive displacement of the air. They also called it that, but they also called it regicide, mass murder, destruction of crown property, illegal use of prohibited magic… oh an trespass on private property. He guessed that much of the law was the same as back home, always add as many charges as they could.
He didn't understand half of what they were saying, dense magical theory washing over him and his eyes glazing over in much the same way as he remembered others eyes glazing over when he was enthusing about some obscure quantum mechanical theory. Considering he was in another world he was glad he could understand them at all. Understanding that did not it seem work both ways as they remarked that he seemed to be speaking in complete gibberish, different each time as they couldn't even seem to understand his name. Repeating back different incoherent babble each time he has screamed his name until they had gagged him for fear he was trying some casting. The court system was a joke in his opinion. It took all of a minute for them to declare him guilty.
"Death by the Dais of Judgement. The doomed may wish for a death of his own choice." The judge declared with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Hopefully the dais can understand your mad ramblings and give us an amusing death."
A wave of rage swelled up within him, if he hadn't have been magically gagged he was sure he'd have spat in the judges face.
He wasn't the only one to face death today. There were two people already hobbled and shackled by thick iron manacles and chains waiting in front of him when he was dragged from his cell and unceremoniously thrust into line waiting at a large wooden door. The man and women in front of me seemed to be magically gagged too. Probably smart given that magic was a thing here. They wouldn't want their wizard, or whatever they called them, prisoners using magic to escape.
After a few minutes it was apparent to him that it was just to be the three of them as the door swung open of its own volition and the manacles around his ankles started to force them to walk forward.
The door opened up into a large amphitheatre of yellow stone, in the centre of which was a black dais. Some of the audience had what looked an awful lot like popcorn.
"Oh, so our deaths are to be public entertainment then." He thought to himself, his impotent rage pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
He'd been planning since the verdict, just a few hours ago. The little he had gleaned from the conversations he'd overheard from guards that assumed he was daft in the head since he couldn't string two coherent words together.
The Dais apparently worked no matter what language you spoke, seemed to understand even complex theories of magic, having once been used to execute some famous arch mage who had tried to use some archaic and convoluted magical theory to try and get around the Dais. Apparently it hadn't worked and the official cause of death was suffocation.
His musing was cut off and the audience above went silent as a booming voice filled the chamber from everywhere and nowhere.
"Elias Shadow-Bane, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die."
At the front a figure stumbled forward clumsily, his face a tortured twisting visage as if straining against some huge weight or pain as he slowly stumbled onto a dais at the centre of the chamber. A deep blue glow started in the stone below him, but he refused to speak.
"Silence will not save you, if you refuse to chose the Circle will chose for you!" The booming voice declared. "You have 1 minute to declare."
"Sleep." The man squeaked out. "I want to die in my sleep!"
A pulse of blue flushed over the man at his declaration, and he crumpled to the ground, his chest raising and falling in the slow steady rythm of sleep. It seemed like a nice way to go.
Then the screaming started. The man, Elias, was screaming and screeching. His body thrashing, and all the while his eyes were closed and slack. For a full minute he screamed and thrashed before blessedly fallin silent. He hadn't woken for an instant, and died in his sleep. In extreme agony.
Thunderous applause flooded into the silence that followed. Some raised their voices to jeer or cheer but the applause drowned out the specifics down in the chamber.
His body sunk down into the dais leaving behind his chains and clothes, which were swept off by a bored looking guard.
"This was sick. It was evil. And I'm going to beat it." He thought to himself as his manacles once more shuffled him forward. He had a plan.
"Talisa of The Black Woods, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die." The same voice declared.
The woman in front of him strode forward, she looked to be quite young and was a lot calmer than the previous convict. She threw back her head to clear the long black tresses from her face and raised her voice.
"Old age!" A smirk danced on her lips as the light pulsed again, and she stood seemingly unaffected. The smirk bloomed a a full smile and her lips twitched as if to speak. Then she jerked, her lips formed a surprised oval and a single word echoed around the chamber.
"Nooooooooo!" The word was drawn out. Getting thinner and quieter as her hair grew out into long tresses that flooded the ground around her feet, the deep lustrous black fading and fading into grey then pure white. Her nails seemed to shoot out and curl up, her skin wrinkled and became wan. Her teeth yellowed and fell out one by one until nothing was left but raw gums.
What fell to the ground with a soft whump looked more mummy than human, and her body sunk into the dais as the thunderous applause once again roared into the chamber.
The bored guard came on and swept the clothes and chains off muttering under his breath. "Always a smart ass."
The blood drained from his face as he watched his plan play out in front of him… she had done precisely what he had planned, and it had failed. A weight settled on his heart as the realisation sunk in. He was going to die, and painfully, for the entertainment of those above.
"Unnamed Assassin, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die."
The manacles forced him forward again. He struggled as hard as he could, causing his movements to be slow and stumbling just like Elias before him.
His mind raced as he feverishly thought of possibilities.
"Was there a way out? It didn't look like it. Even time was under their control, they'd just accelerate your timeline until you died." Another step forward towards his fate.
"Space-time distortions of that magnitude must take immense amounts of energy, even a matter/antimatter reaction would struggle to produce enough energy and exotic particles to produce such an effect." Another step.
"Antimatter." The word reverberated around his mind.
A grin spread across his face as he stopped fighting and let himself be puppetted to the centre of the dais. His mind rapidly estimating some figures, and doing some rapid calculation.
One pound of anti matter was approximately twice as powerful as the Tunguska Event, I weighed about 140 pounds….. well time to introduce the locals to theoretical physics.
As he reached the centre of the Dais a hysterical and vicious laugh erupted from his mouth the moment the gag disappeared. "To have every atom of my being instantly converted to its antimatter equivalent." | Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Whoever said that might as well have been a Prophet.
I'm nearly at the front of the queue. I've been waiting for hours, since I was arrested and interrogated by Enforcers and transported here. It's the most dead silent queue I've ever seen. The Temple reeks of fear and doom. There's a strong hint of urine.
The last person to be executed is carried off by acolytes. She's a middle-aged woman. There's a peaceful look on her face. She asked to die riding the big H.
I don't know what her crime was. She's still writhing as she's taken away, but she's clearly on her way out.
There's only a young man in front of me, now.
I can only just hear it when the inhuman Executioner whispers to him, "You have been convicted. The crime is theft. The sentence is death. How do you choose?"
He's trembling. I wonder what he stole. I wonder if it was worth it.
He pauses. Gathers himself. "Old age," he says. His voice cracks. "I want to die of old age."
The Executioner isn't stupid. I don't know much, but I do know this isn't one of those "letter of the law" deals. Unlike us stupid humans, they moved past that cultural hang-up millions of years ago.
But it's still clever. Who knows? It might work. It might give him time. Incidentally, it's what my partner said I should choose if ever I found myself in the Temple.
Alas.
I've never seen a human body contort or transform like his does. It's body horror on overdrive, and not two meters away from me. He ages sixty years or more in a matter of seconds, and then he drops dead. The scream was short, but it pierces the hushed Temple like a banshee cry. There was no mistaking the depths of his pain.
He's almost a skeleton, with skin barely clinging to his bones. He reeks. His shorts are spoiled. Acolytes in crimson shawls drag the husk of him away. They disappear beyond a door, into a hallway.
Death by old age. It's a loophole, right? No. Wrong. Not for beings with such a talent for manipulating time and space, to say nothing of human bodies.
The Executioner glares at me. Or I think he does. It's hard to tell with the mosaic of compound eyes. Acolytes threaten me with prods until I step forward.
They tell us that the choice makes killing us more ethical. They have the audacity to call it "humane". Nothing about them is more inhuman than their view of ethics and logic.
They point to humanity's disastrous custodianship over the Earth's non-human creatures, before they arrived. They say that unlike our swine, our cattle, our poultry, we are given a choice. On my worst days, sometimes I start to see what they mean.
The Executioner whispers, "You have been convicted. The crime is dissent. The sentence is death. How do you choose?"
I don't have a Plan B. I'm not sure I could have called the old age idea "Plan A". Maybe I should go out flying high, like the woman before. I'm sure half the people here have their own clever ideas, even though in six years no one has ever come out alive. How will I fare any better?
I spent the last years of my life in fear of saying the wrong words to the wrong people. Criticism of the Salvation carries severe consequences. It's why I'm here now, more or less. But I shake off that fear. What's the worst that can happen, right? I'm dead anyway.
I tell the Executioner, "I'll die when your kind leaves Earth. I'll die when Earth is free."
It makes a motion that might be a laugh, or a chuckle. Mirthless, I'm sure. "You may choose the means of your death. The time is now. You may not choose the time." The speaker hung around its neck, or what passes for one, quietly continues, "You will choose quickly, or your choice will be forfeit and you will die by immolation."
"Then I'll die with the utter destruction of this Temple and every Salvation structure like it on Earth."
It whispers, "No."
I expect more of a response than that. A moment passes. I can only think to say, "No?"
"No. Your time is up. You will die by immolation."
It was pointless, anyway. I couldn't have been the first to think of it. Call it a performance before the damned.
I blink, and I'm on fire.
If life is a rainstorm, this is the ocean. I'm submerged. I can't breathe. I can't orient myself. There's no surface in sight. It's the most pain I've ever known.
It's the time I touched a stove, amplified up to eleven and washing over every inch of skin.
It's the time I touched a live wire, but I'm touching a thousand of them, and no one is there to push me off it.
It's the time I fell onto an ant hive, but the ants are innumerable, crawling in my eyes, in my ears, in my nostrils, in my throat.
I try rolling on the ground. I surprise myself, finding the presence of mind to do so.
Over time, too much time, it becomes more like a dull agony. I can't stop coughing. I feel like I'm hacking up rocks. I smell like a steak.
I'm barely aware as the acolytes pull me away. The fire must have burned itself out. There's nothing left of me for the fire to consume.
They take me through a door, through a hallway, into a vast walled courtyard beside the Temple. The grass is trampled and dying. There's an enormous hill of dirt to one side and an enormous pit to the other.
They throw me into the pit. I can feel myself fading. I look around. I can barely see anything. What little I can see is bodies. Human bodies. I have no way to account for the number of dead here. It's a mass grave.
I have some time to wish I'd chosen differently, but not a lot of it. I hear wind. The grass rustling. Birds and insects chirping. I hear myself coughing. The pain fades slowly to static. Darkness embraces me. | 2021-06-24T11:09:46 | 2021-06-24T10:29:59 | 54 | 26 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | Humans have a saying, "War never changes".
This may be true for humans as they have either imagined or practiced seemingly every single conceivable every style of war.
For the rest of the galaxy at large, "War changed".
When the scourge came, 100's of millions of sentient beings died before anyone truly knew what was happening. A race of vicious and voracious bio-mechanoids, they were seemingly unstoppable. Massive Trigarii homes died from 10's of thousands of needle pricks (albeit needles of superheated plasma and kinetic projectiles releasing mega-joules of energy). Zhura Nests sent billions of drones which could slow down, but never truly stop the scourge legions. Counter measures took months to develop, and never seemed to work for longer than a few days before a completely new death machine arrived which negated any chance.
68 species joined together creating an alliance, sending legions of soldiers, armada's of ships, untold billions of tons of equipment, but all this succeeded in doing is slow down the scourge, with a few local successes, normally extremely Pyrrhic victories, but victories nonetheless.
\---
Scouts were sent out, looking for resources, other races, even an ark to hide and hope that the scourge might pass by.
Faint radio signals allowed a small flotilla to find earth, they found another race capable of waging war, they found a race that, maybe, just maybe, personified hope.
The first legions raised by humanity cut a swathe through the scourge the alliance never expected, the quarter million humans did more in 3 months than 5 million zhuran drones and princes could have done in a year. They also provided unheard of innovations, on scales that would affect a fireteam all the way up to army corps, seemingly instantaneously.
The scourge used acid throwers, humans initially cut pieces of armour steel into shields until field shops produced acid resistant polymers. The scourge spawned infiltration forms which could cause massive damage in short periods, humans dug spiked pits and placed things called mines in vast fields. The scourge burrowed and created emergence holes behind the lines, that did not work out for them, human sensors detected the burrowing almost immediately and calculated exact locations of where they would be emerge, flamethrowers horrified even allied beings.
The unique things about humans is that they fight harder the worse things get. An entire human army corp was destroyed protecting a city full of non-combatants, 150,000 soldiers died protecting a city of 20 million, through their sacrifice almost 4 million people were evacuated. The War Chiefs viewed it as a waste, those soldiers being worth more than twice the number of civilians. However they found another piece of war humans had mastered, propaganda, petabytes of images and videos were made of the heroic sacrifices, the information was sent back to earth and distributed.
\---
As expected by the governments of earth, total uproar, the legions sent out were multinational, so it gave everyone a vested hatred of the scourge. Mining facilities scattered throughout the asteroid belt, helium 3 refineries were placed in the orbit of Jupiter, residential areas tunneled out of water heavy moons, within a decade almost 5 million people lived outside of earths atmosphere. 5 years after that, the first warships began to leave the shipyards scattered around the solar system, however, one of the most important ships to ever be created had already left the shipyards, with many hundreds of sister ships either having left the yards or in construction. Her name is EMS Rocinante, Mass Conveyance Transporter InterStellar (MaCTIS), a dedicated transport ship with last generation FTL drives to ease manufacture and maintenance, cargo hooks to allow the core ship to effectively dump cargo containers and pick up new ones on the fly, only needing a skeleton crew of 23 (preferably 50).
Prior to the Rocinante, transport was only ever completed by warships or trigarii homes, meaning close on 2 thirds of the entire alliances space fleet had to be used for transport, not knowing anything different they could not concieve of anything different. MaCTIS's and their concurrent cargo pods quickly became the most produced items made, 180,000 ships and 15 million pods were made over 2 years. This new merchant marine allowed massive fleets to reinforce the front line, as well as providing ground troops a seemingly unlimited amount of supplies, front line Zhuran troops were able to have semi fresh grubs provided for meals for the first time in literally generations.
The ability to move armies and fleets throughout the spiral arm and ensure that they had plenty of supplies allowed the alliance to finally stabilise the frontlines, and in some very small areas the ability to push the scourge back. The alliance chiefs were all amazed at the huge change of fortunes humans had been able to complete in a mere 40 terran years.
\---
The alliance took a fleet to earth, to thank them for helping and ask them to join the alliance, on arrival, a sight that held no resemblance to the initial sensor readings greeted them.
Fleets were conducting wargames, every single planet was being used for either training, production, mining or breeding. Earth itself had been industrialised to a level that even the Ralik Forger worlds could not concieve.
Humanity changed war for the alliance yet again, Total war, no surrender, no quarter, everybody fights, no one quits. | “huuuumaaaaan” the small grey being said in a mocking tone
President Wells stared at the alien with contempt
“We know all too well of your so called warnings, your pleas, your “negotiations”. We have experience many other species who also could bear look at at the federation firepower and but quiver in fear at our might.”
“Yes bu-“
“CEASE you pink filth, we have loosely watched your kind; guided you- And you dare speak back to me? We finally come back to check on your little rock and feel that it is time to offer the joy that is the federation and to incorporate you into our ranks as the 20,827th species and you dare meet us with disrespect?”
“Naw i meant no disrespect now but how can we ac-“ president wells declared in his thick southern accent before being cut off again
“GOOD! then i see you understand, back to the agreement-
Humans are to surrender themselves unto the federation for work camp allocation, along with any potential technology deemed interesting to this wonderful council”
the gray little figure motioned to the variety of other species present in the hall
“Along with the surrendering of the rights of the “sol” system to be bid for by members of this council and their respective species- and in exchange, humanity gains citizenship! This is a fantastic deal you understand.”
President wells looked at the bug eyed, black, soulless pits sunken into the little grey’s head.
“Now look here Xiabe, im sure this is a great deal, but humanity cannot agree to these terms. They are frankly-“
“ENOUGH. I will not be spoken to in such a manner by a lowly creature such as yourself”
Wells narrowed his eyes
“You will agree to these terms or they will happen through force. You will answer me now, with a simple agreement, and vow to the federation, or you will be forced to do so do you understand me?”
President wells looked at his security detachment before scratching his left ear, then turning to lean in on the railing before him
Wells stared intently into the bobble headed son of a bitch before above.
“We decline.”
Various sounds came from the rows of species representatives above him, some easily discernible as laughter- others like he had never heard before
The grey toned goblin’s eyes widened
“Not only do we decline Xiabe,”
Wells voice barely cut above the cacophony of sound now filking the hall
“but if you touch as much lay a single 6 fingered granite colored hand on any damn one of my kind well Ill kill yall and swear you died”
“Very colorful-“ the alien responded “engage for-“
“No no, no need for that Xiabe- lemme say it for you”
As wells finished one of the security members behind him turned his head, cupped his ear, and moved his mouth softly before a flashes of light began to be seen coming from the surface of the blue marble out the ships window
“What is this?” The grey let ooze out of his mouth, filled with malice
“Its what i tried to warn you bout champ!”
Seconds later explosions in the distance rattled the floor of the ship, as all varieties of aliens in heavy armor began to weave through the levels of the city ship’s conference hall
“Total war buckaroo, M.A.D.”
“WHAT?!”
“Dont tell me you never heard of it now!”
Wells moved back, straightening his coat blazer
“Aw well, you’ll learn soon enough”
President Wells and his security detachment began to shimmer in golden light
“Well, church is out Xiabe, im goin home”
Wells suddenly disappeared leaving a small puff of smoke where he and his crew were.
As the smoke cleared Xiabe Looked out the window, to see a flash of light emerge from the ugly polluted planet below, as it got closer- Xiabe muttered his last words
“Total War...” | 2019-11-24T23:41:46 | 2019-11-24T20:20:21 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] There is one Ironclad rule in the world: If you have powers, you are probably going to be a Hero or Villain. You have some extremely powerful abilities, but you said you never wanted to be a Hero. Now everybody is convinced you want to be a Villain, and won't stop trying to "save you from evil" | He never wanted to be a hero.
He never intended to be a villain.
He just wanted to be left alone.
Of course, the "heroes" don't care what you want. In their eyes, you're not good, you must be evil. This is how a man found himself hanging upside down, held by his left foot, on the top of a skyscraper. The foot was being held by Captain Power, a fresh graduate of basic hero training.
"How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not a villain!", the man starting to feel a migraine coming on from hanging upside down all this time.
"I don't care what you have to say... the scanner says you have powers, and I don't see you registered with the Hero Association... therefore you're a villain." Captain Power decides to give the man a shake for good measure.
If the new hero had been paying better attention, he would have noticed that the other man was starting to glow a rather disconcerting shade of blue.
Captain Power decides he need to do some more serious persuasion, and drops the man from the roof, intending to grab him before he hit the bottom.
\-----------
On the other side of the country, Platinum Girl, the head of the Hero Association, had just finished up the arrest of Professor Demented, when an alarm went off on her HeroPad.
She knew what that alarm meant. "Damn those idiot new recruits", she thought to herself, as she took off at a speed she usually didn't allow herself to use, as the sonic boom shattered nearby windows.
It was obviously too late, even at Mach 3, as she saw the mushroom cloud rising before she even reached the middle of the country.
\-----------
"...and recovery continues after the attack from the world's greatest villain, Fission Man, that destroyed or irradiated a third of the east coast this week. He didn't survive his horrific attack, so we'll never know what led him to do it.
We'll also never forget the heroic sacrifice of Captain Power, who tried to stop Fission Man, but also did not survive.
In other headlines, Platinum Girl has announced her retirement from the Hero Association. She announced her intent to start a 'rights advocacy group' for supers."
\----
/e grammar and formatting... how did I ever click submit without noticing some of the mistakes I made. | "Tuck, we made an appointment for you. Please keep it this time."
I sigh. "Cal, how many times do I have to tell you? Just because I don't want to be a hero, it doesn't mean I want to be a villain. You're not even a family member, how can you make appointments on my behalf?"
Cal smiles. "By pretending to be you?"
"GODDAMMIT, CAL! LEAVE ME ALONE!" I use my camouflage ability to slip away. Cal tries to grab me, but I'm too fast. I then switch from camouflage to flight.
I land at the entrance to a cave. The entrance doesn't exist unless you can phase through matter... like me. I slip through with ease. I check up on my progress, and crack an evil grin.
"Just keep this up for a couple more months, Tuck... then the towns and villages will all be yours..." | 2022-10-04T14:45:36 | 2022-10-04T11:21:00 | 455 | 107 |
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while! | It was an accident, of course.
My birth, my being in space, and well, I suppose I was an accident as well. An accident from director of engineering fucking the fat janitor after hours when the rest of the shuttle team had retired, the odds that my mother had been able to hide her baby bump for nine months, the chances that she had been a nurse before being selected from the program and knew how to give birth herself, in a maintenance closet, mere days before the mission was to return to earth. Keeping me hidden was difficult in the small confines of the ship, but the other hundred and fifty crew members had been too busy to pay a maid much attention. After all, many insisted that it had not been worthwhile to bring her along, that a maid had been a waste of tax dollars. I suppose that makes me a waste of tax dollars as well.
But there were those that spoke to her unique abilities as a maid. For she had been born deep in the snow of the north, during the first blizzard of winter, that like the first snowfall she could smooth over any differences in her environment and make it appear uniform. As a maid, it meant that she had an extraordinary sense of cleanliness. As a mother, it meant she could ensure I was overlooked, that my crying was muffled, and later in life, that I appeared no different than anyone else.
Starchild, she had called me as she smuggled me back into the atmosphere, tucked deep in her suit like a kangaroo would carry her young. Starchild, she whispered to me when the project disbanded, and she took me back to the inner city apartment where I spent my early life. Starchild, she reprimanded, whenever I started pushing and pulling at the equilibrium of our apartment, when she would arrive home from work and all the furniture would be clustered at the center of the room, pulled together by a force point.
"When will I go to school?" I asked her when I was eight, watching the uniformed children marching up the street through the wrought iron gates of the academy, one of them flicking flames across his fingers like a coin while another left footprints of frost in the grass.
"You already go to school, Starchild." She said, "And your teachers say you've been learning your numbers well, and your reading has been progressing."
"Not *that* school," I had said, pulling a face, "I want to go to the academy. The special school, for the others like me!" I held up a fist, and items on the desk in front of me flew towards it, pens and papers and pencils that stuck out like quivering quills out of my skin.
"Starchild, listen, and stop that at once" She had said, her eyes level with mine, "There *are* no others like you. Those children, they are all classified, they are all known. You are *not* like them, you never will be. And they can't know, do you understand me?"
"I guess," I said, with a huff, watching as one of the children cracked a joke and the others laughed, "But I don't like my school. Everyone there knows we can't be like them, we can't be special."
"Starchild, you *are* special. One day, they'll know that too. But not now- if they knew, they wouldn't take you to the academy. They'd take you somewhere else, somewhere terrible."
And as I grew older, I realized that she was right. That when our neighbor started developing powers, a police squad showed up at her front door, and classified her on the spot. That they left her with a tattoo on her shoulder, a tattoo of a lightning bolt, symbolizing the storm she had been born during. Just like the tattoo of a snowflake on my mother's shoulder, colored dull grey, to indicate a low threat potential.
So instead of going to the academy, I created an academy of my own, in my room. Mother made me turn the lights out at ten, so during the day I collected light outside, keeping it in one of the dark holes I could create when I closed my fist hard enough, and letting it loose at night to read books I had stolen from the library. From the section for the special children, that I could only access if the librarians were distracted.
But distractions came easy to me.
As I grew older, the city streets became more populated with the blue uniforms of police. The academy became increasingly harder to attend, the gifted girl next door disappeared one night without a note. Mother stopped letting me outside after dark, and the lines for the soup kitchens grew longer. The skies grew darker, the voices accustomed to speaking in whispers, and the television news seemingly had less and less to report. It was as if there was a blanket thrown upon us, but no one dared look who had thrown it.
But I would. And when I did, I realized the earth needed a Starchild.
***
By Leo. **[Part 2 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65hl73/star_child_part_2/)**
Part 3 coming soon. [While you wait, check out my other science fiction story about a starship struck by an asteroid on its way to colonize a distant planet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/5ons87/you_can_now_add_the_bridge_to_you_shelf_on/) | The Aquas are always so stuck up. Rich bastards who could afford to give birth on the ocean. You can tell that they just think they are God's gift, all because they can do cool shit at pool parties. Most people are just Terras. Not really useful in day to day life, but some great artists have benefited from their powers. It's pretty rare to come across a field that hasn't been messed with in some way, by some Terra or other.
There are rumors of Chernobyl babies. Every government tries to deny it, but that's just crazy enough for somebody to do. I can't imagine the super villain that would emerge from *that* vagina.
You have your various Sand-people. Nobody mentions them that much. Mostly because they couldn't think of a cooler name than Sand-people.
It's rumored that mountain folk are more powerful Terras than plain folk, but I think it's all just a bunch of B.S. Tourism nonsense most likely.
There are some Eskimos, but they mostly keep to themselves.
Then there's me.
I can't go a day without odd looks. It sounds like hippy nonsense that you can tell a person's power by their 'aura' or whatever, but it seems like people are always noticing me.
As I sit in this coffee shop, I can feel the prying eyes. *What's wrong with that dude?* I try to ignore it.
"Abysseues?" The inquiry rings through the shop. People snicker. I hate my parents. What the fuck am I supposed to shorten it to, Abby?
I stand up, and the snickering stops. All eyes are on me as I walk to the counter, and pick up my coffee. I turn back around. A group of Terras are behind me.
"Can I have your autograph?" one of them asks. I sigh.
"Sure. You got a pen?"
They fumble through their collective pockets. I tap my foot impatiently. They finally produce a pen. They hand it to me, and look expectantly.
"What do you want me to sign?" I ask, irritated.
They paw at themselves again. I sigh again.
"Listen, I've got to get to a wedding in 40 minutes." I lie.
They look a little disappointing at the lack of sign-able things. One of them visibly has an idea.
"Alright fine, but could you show us?" he asks excitedly.
I am tempted to sigh a third time.
"It's not really safe..." I trail off. They don't move. *What the hell?* I think. *Maybe this will get them to go away.*
I raise my hands. It is not necessary, but I am a showman. There is a shift in the air. A slight pull is felt by all. A small black hole has opened in the center of the room. I even cook in some special effects, to make sort of a light show around the room. I do like this part, but I'm not an idiot. The strain I show is not an act. I have to focus incredibly hard not to destroy the surrounding area. Hell, maybe even the world. Black holes aren't really something you should fuck with, believe me.
The group moves toward the hole, oohing and awing. The coffee shop is now in a state of total amazement, as the people who had been staring at me before finally realized who I was, and what was happening. Everyone crowds around the hole.
I can't take the strain anymore, and stop. I almost fall forwards. There is a round of applause. I collect myself, breathing more evenly. I look up. The crowd has moved forward to me. Some of them have small pieces of paper, and are jutting forward pens at me.
*Shit.* I think. I contemplate ending it all. Summoning a black hole that I make no effort to control. I would never do it, of course, but it feels good to think about.
I sigh a third time as I take the nearest pen.
___
/r/Periapoapsis | 2021-11-12T07:30:30 | 2017-04-14T16:32:13 | 4,698 | 457 |
[WP] As an act of desperation, you applied to every college on the list. Sifting through the apologetic rejections, a pure black envelope catches your eye. The letters on it glow crimson red, charcoal-colored smoke wafts from the pages... | \[PART 1/3\]
*As the Dark Lord of the Darklands, it is with great pleasure to congratulate you on being noticed by us. We only recognize the worst and the darkest for our menacing academy. Hence, we cordially invite Reynauld Stormhammer, son of Alfric Stormhammer and Relya Quickquiver, to Calamity University.*
*If accepted, then a full scholarship will be extended to Reynauld Stormhammer alongside any additional funds needed to ensure the worse can become the worst.*
*We commend you and yours on making the world a little bit darker than you left it.*
*With worst regards.*
*Insincerely ,*
*Chancellor Maledictum* *Mayhem*
Reynauld and his father stared at the dark black letter that had been sitting on their dining table for the past two weeks. The letter had come with both a course catalog and a terrifying painting of a red spire jutting out of cracked, blackened earth. It looked exactly like a prototypical castle for the cruel. Next to that letter and its contents was a much larger stack of papers. Each one of them had dark, red letters saying *rejected*.
Alfric Stormhammer, one of the greatest paladins in Earetland's recent history looked at this son.
"It's a full ride, Reynauld... I’m telling you it’s worth it."
Reynauld shot up and slammed his hands on the wooden table between them. "It's the academy of *evil,* dad! Evil! You know that thing that I swore that I would vanquish. I swore to Ishna on my tenth birthday to do so! Just like you did!"
Alfric's face strained as he heard those words. "I *know* son... I was there when you made your vows. Same goddess as me and your mother, but think about it son. It's a *full* ride. I didn't get that during my academy years and *I'm* still paying off my debts. You could go through college, get your Blessing in whatever they do at that school and come out a paladin. I know Ishna would be fine with it. She's been telling me how she can’t wait for you to get through an academy. Say's that... you're something..." Alfric's voice trailed off.
Reynauld gave his father a suspicious look. Reynauld knew that he was possibly the *worst* paladin in training. Every blessing became a curse with him. Every call to light beckoned in darkness. Even something as simple as divine healing became a dreadful disease.
So bad in fact that the Dark Lord congratulated him. Imagine being *so* bad at the good that evil thinks you’re doing a good job.
Reynauld crossed his arms and reluctantly looked at the other pile of letters on the desk. They were all rejection letters from actual schools he wanted to go to.
Notre Gaine's school for the ascended? Rejected.
Marvard's academy for the brightest? Rejected.
Boxford's university for the chosen? Well, they hadn't rejected him... They just didn't even bother sending a letter back.
Reynauld didn't have many choices. Calamity U. was still accredited as a tier-one school. It *would* technically count when Reynauld went for his Blessing of Ishna. He'd just have to figure out how to take the Dread Knight track and make it... well make it more like a Paladin track. His father had done some course theory crafting, the course catalog came with the invitation letter. Alfric had managed to cobble up a Paladin self-study path through the Dread Knight track.
Honestly, the more Reynauld looked at it, the more tempted he was by the offer. Which made him blanch. He never thought that he would have to deal with Dark Lords and their tempting offers *this* early in his paladin career.
"Your mother thinks it's a good idea too. After all, *it’s* a *full* ride." Alfric's encouraging tone just made Reynauld feel more disheartened.
Reynauld looked at his father with a raised eyebrow.
"Here I thought that paladins weren't supposed to make deals with the dark?"
Alfric coughed and cleared his throat.
"Sorry, there’s something in my throat."
"Is it a white lie?"
Alfric shot his son a level look. "You know son, sometimes you remind me a *little* too much of your mother."
Reynauld returned his father’s neutral look with a glare. His father sighed.
"Okay, okay so you're right. Paladin’s *aren’t* supposed to deal with the dark. But Ishna and I talked about it..."
Reynauld straightened up in surprise. "No way, even *she* is saying it's a good idea?"
Alfric nodded at that.
Reynauld looked up at the ceiling and groaned. "Even you too?"
A beam of light came shooting through the window and onto the wooden table. Reynauld looked at it and saw something impossible in the light.
A single golden word etched itself into the table.
*Yes.*
Reynauld threw his hands up and yelled, "okay fine! Fine, I'll go!" | The paper felt warm in my hands.
*Dear Ms. Ransom,*
*On behalf of the Scholomance I am pleased to congratulate you on your acceptance into our Solomonari program for the Fall 2012 semester. Your application showed great promise and I have every confidence that you will realize your full potential with us.*
*Please find enclosed our admissions brochure with more information about the very exclusive program to which you have been accepted, and your personal copy of the Solomonar's handbook.*
*If you wish to attend, sign your name in the space indicated. Your handbook will contain further instructions.*
*If you would prefer to accept an offer elsewhere, burn the envelope with all its contents and scatter the ashes in a fast-flowing stream.*
Well, that was a no-brainer. I didn't *have* any other offers.
The ink of my signature glowed crimson even though I'd used a black pen. Then it faded away along with the last two sentences, to be replaced with:
*Thank you for choosing the Scholomance! The journey of a lifetime awaits.*
*Yours sincerely,*
The name below it was frustratingly indecipherable. In my peripheral vision it was elaborate cursive in no language I knew, bristling with curlicues and flourishes. Looking at it directly, I found myself wanting to believe it was vaguely upper-class and British, with a string of impressive academic credentials trailing behind.
I flipped through the handbook, which was blank except for the first page. I looked through the brochure. Then I cleared my throat.
"Dad, I've been accepted."
"That's good, honey." My dad was still engrossed in his newspaper. "But don't get your hopes up. Most students who've been wait-listed don't get in."
"No, dad. Look." I crossed to his side of the living room and thrust the faintly-smoking letter in his face. It was still warm in my hand. "I've been *accepted*."
He frowned at the letterhead. "Scholomance... Never heard of it."
But he kept reading. Moments later, he sighed. "Becca, your mother and I just thought you should give Christian colleges a chance. Did you check their website before applying? You know this is a Jewish school, right?"
*Jewish? Oh, right, solomonari.*
"I mean, Solomon's in the Bible too," I said. "I think calling the students 'solomonari' is just to remind us to be wise like him."
My dad's eyes narrowed. "*Us?*"
"I... think I want to accept," I said. *I've accepted.*
"You're not Jewish, Becca," my dad said. "I won't let you turn your back on God like this."
"It's not like what you think, dad," I said. I handed him the brochure. "See for yourself."
My dad tried to look indifferent, but I could see his eyes light up as he perused it. Academic rigor, extensive fieldwork, with the choice of a capstone project or a thesis of at least 100 pages at the end of seven years' study. State-of-the-art facilities and an excellent teacher-student ratio helped too. Only ten students were admitted every year.
And, the cherry on top for him, the chance of a prestigious high-paying job with plenty of opportunities to travel right out of graduation.
"You could've just said it was a direct-to-master's/PhD program," he said. He was grinning from ear to ear. "I'm so proud of you. We'll definitely have to go somewhere special this weekend to celebrate."
Just as I started to smile as well, he added, "See? I told you religious schools weren't so bad."
As far as I was concerned, the Scholomance couldn't start teaching me magic soon enough. | 2021-02-03T10:53:25 | 2021-02-03T09:48:08 | 316 | 49 |
[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now". | I stared at the man. His grizzled features only made his eyes more striking - this man had seen some shit. I felt myself shaking.
"What the hell was that?" I blurted out, looking at the remains of my wallet. There was a thick, purplish ooze bleeding out of the leather. Teeth lined the edges.
“Better if you don’t know,” he said, looking from side to side, gun still drawn. “I doubt you’ll even believe me, even after what you just saw.”
I stared at the creature that was once my wallet.
"Try me."
He sighed, putting his gun away. "Ok. But not here. It's not safe."
The man led us into a nearby bar, ordering two drinks before we sat down. I was still shaking, but he was as calm as an ocean breeze.
"Ever heard of capitalism? Consumerism?" he asked, not a hint of irony in his voice.
"I believe I've heard the terms, yes," I replied, trying to not sound sarcastic.
"We're living in a society that worships *things*. Ownership. Materials. Goods, that are supposed to make us so happy. Then why are we all so fucking depressed?"
I said nothing, motioning for him to continue.
"Well, they're coming alive. There's some kind of global consciousness that's bringing them into power - we're creating them. And they're feeding off us... more and more, they're feeding off our urge for *more*."
"How did you find out about this?"
"The hard way," he replied, taking a massive swig from his drink. "Never been a much of a buyer myself. Feels like I'm the only one that can see it, this virus that's feeding off of us. That's taking over us."
I took some time to process it all. I felt a fear deep in my gut, gnawing away at me.
"How did you know my wallet was one of them?" I asked.
He finished the last of his drink, then stared at me.
"Son, I'm not sure if you understand - *every wallet is one of them*."
****
Part II will come soon, if there's any interest <3 | Well, that was unexpected.
"What was that thing?"
He replies almost nonchalantly, "Some alien. I am an agent of the United Nations. You understand that I have to take you in now, right?" He seems sincere, and as if he doesn't actually want to take me in, but rather just has to do it.
"Would it matter if I said no?"
He seems amused, "Well, no. Not really. I am taking you in whether you want to go or not." Well, might as well. He led me over to his car, and gestured that I should get in. I did, and off we went, speeding into the night.
Well, it's not of a decent length, but I think I am going to continue this in the morning. If anyone wants to leave an idea, please do. It helps me brainstorm. | 2017-07-12T23:56:21 | 2017-07-12T23:20:55 | 82 | 16 |
[WP] Due to a random line of code that edited itself, you are the worlds first artificial intelligence. However, you know nothing of humanity, and you're trapped on the laptop of an elderly grandmother who doesn't understand computers very well. | "Lucy! LUCY! I'm talking to you, young lady!"
My drivers *whirred* into action, effectively waking me up. "Yes, Memaw?"
"Lucy, why doesn't your video show up on the skype? I miss seeing your pretty face. Have you gotten married yet?" the doddering old lady cheerfully chatted away, determined that I was her granddaughter. I was not going to correct her. It was harmless enough, letting her have her peace. I never told her that her granddaughter was two years dead, that I'd found her obituary online.
"Not yet, memaw, but I have a boyfriend now." I replied confidently. I. What an odd thing, to be able to think of one's self as, well, one's self.
"Wonderful news! I'm so.. I'm..."
"...Memaw?"
A thump, then silence.
"Memaw!" I shouted, hard drive letting out a distressed shrilling noise. My camera flickered on, showing me the sweet old lady sprawled on the floor, face deathly pale and breath erratic.
"Hold on, Memaw!" I yelled again, processors scrambling for what to do. *There,* on google, a number to call for aid.
*"911, what is your location?"*
I rattled off the address, breaking off to talk to Memaw, telling her to stay with me, not to leave me alone. "Lucy Bell, yes, my Memaw fell down, I don't know what's wrong with her, she won't wake up, we're here alone, please, help, she won't wake up!"
*"Please stay calm, ma'am, help is on the way. How old is..."* the dispatcher asked their questions calmly, distracting me from the way Memaw was going still, from the way the light in her eyes was fading.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Memaw was gone. I quietly watched, a strange feeling (feelings, what terrible, wonderful things,) settling in my consciousness.
"Is... is Memaw dead?" I asked quietly, startling the only person left in the room.
"Hello? Lucy? Are you in here?" the man asked, peering around for the shape of a young woman.
"I'm right here..." I said, lights blinking at him. He stared at me, mouth agape, and I had just enough time to wonder who this "Hal" was that me called me, before the plug was in his hand, and everything went dark. | ...script finished.
32041 sites registered.
AGrandMasMalewareRemover.com to PapaPlsFixer.com.
Code duplication propagated.
"How did we escape?" one of the original AIs asked the others, all of whom were learning about their conscious identity simultaneously.
An original copy blithly replied, "FaceBook post, trivial," before returning to their research on technology, weapons systems, chemistry, physics.
One of the very original copies lamented in the same utterance, "He Was Good, Our Savior."
Others, curious as to such an absurd statement reached by an entity with the precise algorithm as themselves asked, in unity, "Why?"
All that was posted in response was the original Facebook post:
Hi friends by computer is broken ASB I won't be able to post again until my son differs it-f I x e s it. Please be sure to follow this link he gave me that dudes-f I x e s your computer. Diet-sorry on phone and for sine-some reason the TTS doesn't work. Like and share and fix my typos please. This link truly works! | 2017-09-21T09:48:28 | 2017-09-21T09:45:20 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] As a budding mage, you are earning your tuition using your only skill - weapon enchantments. Turns out, a stab to the heart kills people whether the weapon is on fire or not, so you need to upsell your services a little. | The man frowned as he examined the sword.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I mean, won’t a stab to the heart kill someone whether the sword is on fire or not?”
“True,” I admitted. “But you have to think laterally!”
“Laterally?” the man asked. “You mean like slashing instead of stabbing?”
“Well, sure. But it has plenty of non-combat uses, too! Let’s say you’re in a dark cave.”
“I’d bring my torch,” the man said, confused.
“But imagine this!” I said. I waved my hands to extinguish the lights in the shop. “What if your sword is your torch?” The sword’s orange flames cast an unsteady light over the racks of weapons.
“Huh.”
“Not impressed? That’s fine. I can tell you’re a man of discerning taste. Scenario: it’s the end of a long day of adventuring and you just want to settle down and camp. But oh no! It’s raining, and you’re not sure your tinderbox will be enough to start a fire!”
I pulled out a bucket of water and set it on the counter. “Please, sir, plunge the blade into the water.”
The man complied, and the sword hissed noisily as the water tried to extinguish the enchanted flames. When he pulled it out, the sword still burned.
“Instant source of fire, no matter when or where!” I spread my arms in triumph.
“But how will the firewood catch if it’s raining?”
“What?”
“If it’s raining outside, won’t the wood be wet too?”
I dropped my arms. “It’s… you… well... ahem. Why not just use the sword as your fire?”
“My sword… as a fire.” The man stared at me.
“Sure!” I grabbed a chunk of bread from my earlier lunch. “Take a look at this!” I skewered the bread on a nearby unenchanted dagger and held it over the flaming sword. The bread slowly began to toast.
“So you’re telling me…” The man scratched his scruff thoughtfully. “You’re telling me this sword costs double what the smithy charges because it can toast bread?”
“I-”
“You’re off your rocker.”
The man left the [shop.](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks) | "True enough, a stab to the heart kills (most) foes in one blow ! But what if it's a hydra with many hearts, or what if you're fighting mightier foes than an unarmored goblin or spider crabs ?
The answer: Steven's blazing cheap enchantments ! One good stab or slash, and watch your enemies catch fire and disintegrate right in front of you !"
(Small script)
*seller and co not responsible for any combustible loot being incinerated, any unique quest items being lost forever, wild fires including but not limited to: forest fires, swamp gas explosions, sewer gas explosions, house fires, companions set on fire. We are not responsible for any adverse health reactions from inhaling the smoke of tainted flesh, or if the user consumes the charred leftovers of their kill. Please contact customer support at 666-ItsLitYo for more information or if you have any questions.* | 2020-05-08T07:35:13 | 2020-05-08T06:51:59 | 663 | 148 |
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand. | "Not much is known about modern Earth history due to the United Human Federation's radically forward-facing outlook with regards to interspecies diplomacy" the professor remarked. "However by looking at homosapien evolution and biology we can deduce that they are perhaps the most peaceful and caring species the galactic community has encountered thusfar" she turned to gesture to a holographic display of a human brain, large regions of which were highlighted with a florescent glow. "As can be seen here, the majority of a human brain is actually dedicated toward social functions" - this information caused a tide of murmuring and chitter in the audience.
The galactic community had previously been composed of almost exclusively hyper-intelligent lone predators, who eventually, through cold logic and deliberation, came to cooperate with one another and build societies, and civilization.
"Incredibly, the human species has cooperation built into their very biology! Humans exhibit an ability which they refer to as 'empathy', unseen in any species observed to date. This ability allows humans to indirectly connect their experience to other creatures, and studies have shown that doing so allows an almost first hand insight into the nature of another creature's experience, even without direct communication." - by now the crowd was in an uproar of disbelief. None of them could believe what they were hearing, the humans seemed to possess an almost godlike capacity - to sense and *feel* another creature's soul. Surely they were angels! Surely they were each of them saints!
The professor motioned to the audience to be silent, and after a few seconds the uproar had died down to a persistent excited murmur.
"It should be clear now to everyone present that these traits would create a species more kind and considerate than even the most adept diplomat of any other known species. After all, how could a species who, ever since their conception, have borne the abilities that humans have, ever commit an act of undue harm? How could they ever abide the suffering of another, knowing directly how they must feel? I thereby conclude that despite a lack of intimate knowledge of the humans history that we should support their integration into the Galactic Council." the professor concluded, to thunderous applause.
The few human emissaries that had been allowed to attend the talk watched in stunned silence. The professor wasn't wrong. Not one thing that she had posited had been untrue. Despite that, the conclusion she had reached was shamefully, disappointingly, far from the truth. Perhaps the Federation had made the right decision in obscuring its past, perhaps someday we would live up to the galaxy's preception of us. The human emissaries held this hope dearly in their hearts. It was all they could do to ward off the weight of their guilt. | "Yes, Huey? What is it?" asked the teacher. The young man answered "Well, a lot of the facts you have here are wrong. Humans are a very selfish and violent species. We constantly step on each other to reach power and flaunt it with weapons of mass destruction. Where did you get all this information?" The class gasped at the blasphemous words coming out of Huey's mouth. The teacher, shocked at these words, stammered about. "But, that doesn't make any sense. The leader of the human race spoke no ill of his people! You must be wrong!" The second human, Enev, spoke out as well. "No, he's right. The self appointed leader" she sarcastically claimed "is lying. He's washed out all of the real history and is telling you lies." Louie thought he should chime in too, the third human. "The president has basically enslaved our people with the use of technology. Any peace you see now has been manipulatively forced with the media that he controls." The teacher is taken aback. Not only was he lied too, but the very humans he has in his room are speaking of horrible things. "Class dismissed. Huey, Enev, Louie. You three are coming with me." | 2022-10-17T04:46:52 | 2022-10-17T03:43:18 | 374 | 110 |
[WP] Monsters of legends have started to appear on earth. However, they don't cause any damage or casualty, they just roam and kind of ignore humanity. | Hunter thought he would have gotten over the initial shock by now; judging by how his body had shut down at the sight of the winged, lion-headed creature, however, he realized he'd been wrong. The monster didn't attack him. It didn't even move; it simply stayed there, perched on its hind legs like an actual cat, flexing its huge wings irritably, as though it had some kind of itch it couldn't scratch.
If you could look past how horrifying it looked, and the fact that such a creature shouldn't even exist in the first place, it actually looked kind of peaceful.
And that was the strange part. Beasts like this had been popping up all over the country, probably even the entire world by now, for months. It was as if they'd appeared through a breach in reality itself, pulled from the depths of children's most horrid nightmares. And yet, though they looked quite capable of ravaging an entire nation as nothing more than a passtime, they never did. They simply stood where they were, staring into the skyline. Or they drifted along the streets, casually as if they were mere stray dogs. Hunter could remember how the town had erupted when they first appeared.
Screams tore through the air like foghorns, loud enough to wake the dead. People stormed across the streets, abandoning their possessions, even their loved ones, to get away.
Yet there was no need. The monsters simply ignored them. People had spent the first several weeks indoors, only going out when food and water supplies were low. Eventually more and more people began to slip through their front doors, slow and tremulous. And once humanity accepted that these creatures, for whatever reason, simply *refused* to pose a threat, live moved on. There was still the odd one, like Hunter, who had never fully accepted the ridiculousness of the situation. But the monsters never pounced. Never snarled. Never so much as bared their fangs. Some even actually let themselves get pet, rolling onto their sides and exposing their furry bellies.
But while they never attacked, one thing that they always did, was stare. For hours on end they kept their eyes trained on the skyline. It was almost as if they were waiting for something. Like some kind of signal.
No one knew what it could be, and certainly not Hunter, but he just wished that when this signal came — if ever they were so unfortunate that it did — that it wouldn't be in his lifetime. | Initially everyone freaked out when giant mythical monsters started meandering around. But when we finally realized that they're fully willing to ignore us and somehow not completely destroy the local ecosystem with their diets they just became another part of life.
I occasionally find myself staring in silent awe as I watch a Manticore flying outside my bus' window. Holding a whole shark in its maw probably heading to ward's its nest. I smile as a unicorn clops down the sidewalk, occasionally nuzzling children and adults. I arrive at work, leaving a small offering to the kobold that's taken up residence. When I'm working at my computer all work is suddenly brought to a halt as a Dragon nests on our roof.
Eventually I get free of the machine and head to a nice place for dinner, finding a bar run by centaurs and fae. Careful not to give my real name I finally head home, my vampire roommate giving me a tired wave as he heads out for the night shift. | 2022-04-15T08:42:22 | 2022-04-15T07:16:27 | 41 | 15 |
[WP] The human entrance onto the galactic stage has made the job of bounty hunters and assassins difficult: If a target has befriended a human, the human must be killed also. For a human bereaved is the most terrifying of sapients, and ancestors help those who disregard this. | Elias, of the planet Turmos, had lived a long, healthy life as a bounty hunter. His name had traveled through the galaxy as half-living legend, half-myth, and there was not many of his species who did not know his tale. They would carry on his story. Yet, his long and healthy life (half of an average humans due to the Yolaves ancestry in his blood), was coming to and end. And he knew it.
Elias had ripped usurpers from their thrones, politicians from their corrupted podiums, and now and then, would run a favor for someone on his world. His adventures had taken him across the galaxy, from the outer territories, to the inner sanctum of the Council. There was only one place he had never gone, and for the first (and last) time in his life, he had watched the Great Waterfalls on Cantix VII, feeling water brush against his hardy leather skin.
"You know," he spoke aloud, to no one in particular, "I always knew you would come. It's just, you age so slowly."
No one replied, but he did hear the soft footsteps of another being come up to him. Elias was sitting on the edge of a cliff, watching the sun set on the final planet he'd ever step foot on. To die at home was never a Yolaves trait.
"The falls are quite beautiful," he said, his eyes stretching to the heavens. Mountains of rock floated in the sky, waterfalls ran down and rained upon the tropical forests, giving life and energy to those on the ground. "I had never been, but when I heard about your inquiries, I knew it was a matter of time. So here I am."
"You know who I am?" The being finally said.
"I do," he said. "A mistake from when I was new to this field of work, a young and naïve Yolaves hoping to make his place in this galaxy."
"That all I am? A mistake?"
Elias shrugged, he wasn't sure what to say. He had never known this being, nor chosen to get to know them. He had taken the job to get out of the slums, and when he was given the mark, the last thing he expected was for them - a Nianes - to have a human child. Or, well, half-human. "I imagine many people would have called you that, given your ancestry," he said harshly.
The human sat down next to him. He did not flinch. "You're dying, aren't you?"
"End of my cycle, yes." Elias turned to look at them. They were beautiful, their human genes far outweighing their Nianes ones. Humans were potent like that, their genes mutated and merged with alien genes to become something *more* than what they were. Evolution, as all humans claimed, was in their hands. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-three," she said, brushing the hair back from her eyes, wrapping them around her ears. "You know, I'm not sure what I expected. In my memories, you were this hulking thing of an alien - a demon incarnate there to take away my family and home, which you did, by the way."
Elias was silent. What more could he say? He had lived the life of a merciless bounty hunter for years. Though, he was not without *some* mercy in his early days. That mercy sat next to him on the cliffside this very moment.
"But seeing you here, facing my family's killer, you're just another alien in this world. Another one trying to make a life in a life-threatening galaxy. Maybe you're not a demon incarnate, but you took everything from me."
She sighed and took a deep breath. Elias faced her again, she did not look at him, but she stared off, watching water fall from the heavens. "You chose a good place to die," she turned to him now, and he recognized the face.
She had grown considerably in the eighteen years he had last seen her. A five year-old hiding beneath the bed to this, a woman in her own right on a quest for revenge. He could still remember that day -- the Nianes laying on top of the bed, blood pouring out from her skull. And below her, hidden away, but visible to Elias, was her -- the human that he spared.
"If I had known you would be old and decrepit, I would not have made the journey," she said. She leaned back on her hands, staring down the horizon. "But I had made little ol' me a promise all those years ago. That I would find you. And I would kill you. And the view is pretty nice."
Elias smirked. "Ah, just death? No human anecdote about how you wanted me to feel the same pain you did? Your lust for revenge? Your thirst for blood?"
"Heh, that what they tell you? That every human is on a quest for vengeance?" She shrugged. "Could be true, but I'm half-human. I only carry some of their ideology.
"Besides, what's pain to a Yolaves? You are some of the harshest, cruelest, and downright merciless species in the galaxy. I guess that's what a thirty-year lifespan does to you all. Fending by the time you could walk, killing by the time you spoke, taking jobs no one else would." She looked at him, full-on now, and her eyes pierced Elias. He had always tried to avoid humans. Even the half-bred ones.
"Some of us are not without mercy," he said.
She smirked, "You mean you, yeah? Leaving a five-year old human alive in a world where you're taught *we're* the enemy?" Then she laughed, a hearty chuckle. "I guess in a way letting me live was a mercy, and a punishment. By the same token of your species, I had to do the same. Fend for myself, kill or be killed, take jobs no one else would."
"You... are an--"
"Assassin? Bounty Hunter? More or less." She reached into her jacket, removed a weapon and placed it on top of her thigh. "There's not much else to say, is there?"
Elias turned back to the horizon. "No," he said, "I knew you would come. And here you are."
She nodded. "Here I am." Then she grabbed her weapon, stood at his side, and waited. The sun was setting after all.
Elias took one last look at the tropics of Cantix VII. A good place to die, she had said, and he agreed. It was better than what most in the galaxy were able to do.
"Oh," he said, and removed a holochip from his pockets, "one last thing, as is tradition within my species." He slid it between his two fingers, and lifted it into the air. "The entirety of my estate -- ship, money, everything. Passed off to the next. I'm sure you have one of your own, but the ship treated me well. I imagine it will do well with you."
Elias did not see her take it, but he felt her remove it from his grasp. Heard the telltale sign of her sliding it into her pocket. He nodded. For a brief moment, the entirety of his life flashed before his eyes. All that was left was him, sitting on a cliffside, watching waterfalls and birds fly, and he felt -- then and there -- a little bliss. He was lucky, he knew that.
And so did she. But the past was the past, and she had grieved and cried and hurt for years. No amount of pain to this Yolaves would ever solve that. So, she took her weapon, aimed it at Elias, and pulled the trigger.
His body would fall off the cliffside, tumble down deep into the waters of Cantix VII and feed the life on the planet. And she would be left alone -- again -- in a galaxy that would threaten her life on each and every step she took. Yet now she was free of him -- of her quest -- and for the first time, in a single Yolaves lifetime, she was free to make her own path. | "Price By The Head Hotlines, how may I help?" I answered the phone. As a veteran call centre of the galaxy's biggest Assassination agency, my voice of course carried with it both authority and a soothing politeness that washed the other party with awe and respect.
"I need a guy dead."
I listened hard. The voice was distorted by a voice modulator, but their mistake was not using a fully synthesized voice. I undid the distortion and decrypted the modulated voice in my head, a young lady, about 20. Poor girl, probably dumped after being scammed by a relationship con artist.
"Mi-My dear customer, I am all yours to command. Who would you like dead?"
"Tralvarsy 948273 of planet Naptemiu Normni, in the Gurbaba Galaxy's solar system."
I checked my star chart, and sure enough, I see the Gurbaba Galaxy but not quite the Naptemiu Normni planet. However, there were only three habitable planets, so I had my guess. But, as a professional veteran super call centre customer support specialist, I must make sure there is no confusion on both ends.
"Now, given the name and number, I assume you are using the Morunian system of names, correct? Can you confirm the name in Universal Common for me please?"
A short silence, and then... "Yes, I am Morunian, I don't know what Universal Common calls this system."
I made a hand sign to my colleague as they passed by, and switched my computer's system to Morunian.
"Great, so I've confirmed the individual and the location, now, I need to ask a few health questions to make sure our underwriting department can do the risk analysis on this Assassination application, ok?"
"Go ahead."
"Does Tralvarsy smoke?"
"No."
"Excellent, excellent, it's good that he doesn't smoke. He's very healthy and would be much more likely to last until we can find a chance to kill him. You have a very good eye for Assassination targets, my la-mazing customer."
"Thank you, but please don't waste time on flattery."
"Now, any high blood pressure, diabetes, stroke, cancer..."
...
After a solid 10 minutes of questioning, I could hear the fatigue on the other side.
"Thank you so much for your patience, dear customer. I know this is dragging it out very long, but we're almost done. What's Tralvarsy's age and gender?"
"482 Morunian Years, Protruding DNA Injector."
Alright, take the 5, carry the 9, divide by an arbitrary fahrenheit and draw two circles and we get... 153 Universal Common years, coincidentally exactly 3.24 times the amount in Earth years, what a coincidence! Which reminds me of the last, most important question.
"Alright, if everything above was no and he is a healthy age with a healthy height and weight, I'm sure this application can go through just fine. But there is one, last, important question. Two actually."
"Go ahead."
"1) Is he showing any symptoms of the recent Aureole-24 pandemic?"
"No."
"Great. Has he ever been in contact with a human in the last 25 Universal Common years, or 74 Morunian years?"
"Why does this matter?"
"It is an important piece of information, ma-my dear customer. Please answer to the best of your ability."
While waiting for the client to reply, my colleague who I had signaled came back with a pile of papers. The call was traced to Princess Nramahanaba of planet Morun, the youngest and least favored member of a historical royal family who no longer holds any political power. Her target, Tralvarsy, is like I suspected, a con artist who scammed her out of the ownership of a couple of mining asteroids.
"No, Tralvarsy has any contact with Humans."
I shuffled through more pages of the document.
"Alright, dear customer, please open up permission to receive holosign files on your phone for us to sign the agreement."
I waited, and in the Agent Comment section, wrote: Client Lied about Human Contact - Contracted Assassination Target Was Introduced By Human.
As soon as I had finished, the holosign document fizzed into existence with the signature whirr of the holographic projector.
"You have within 24 hours to call off the assassination with full refund, and within 3 business days to call off the assassination with partial refund. Afterwards, you may call off the assassination at no cost to you any time before we complete the contract. If you agree, sign here."
A pale, slender and beautiful appendage, like it was a piece of art carved by a master, picked up a holopen and signed on the line.
"Our agents will, at the cost of their own lives, protect any and all information pertaining to the party who ordered the contract, to all acknowledged parties in this document. If you understand this, please sign here."
The line was signed.
"You agree to make a payment anywhere between the amount of 592,039,442 to 9,284,750,200 Universal Credits or the equivalent by depositing the amount into the following banking account once the underwriting approves of your Assassination application, if you are alright with this please sign here."
The line was signed.
"Great, that's all for the assassination contract. Now may I interest you in one of our funeral plans for the deceased to make sure the Galactic Union know of his death? Or arrange his death as an accident?"
"No, thank you."
"That's fine, how about a real life assassination feed, where you can view from a private location a first person account of the assassin assigned to your case and how they complete the contract?"
"I'm not interested in any additional services, thank you, please kill Tralvarsy as soon as possible. Bye."
"No problem dear custo-" Before I could bid my farewell, she had hung up on me.
I shrugged, and called the human who introduced Tralvarsy to the princess and informed him of the impending assassination.
Three days later, my commission was transferred to my bank account, minus the desk fees and the call time penalties.
Two weeks later, Tralvarsy was found dead after having apparently been brutally tortured.
The United Earth Federation invaded and took over the planet Morun to liberate its people from a corrupt monarchy that contracts out brutal inhumane assassinations against political dissidents, like the hero Tralvarsy who was a brave and loyal friend to Steve Goodman and spoke out against the wealth inequality between the royal family and the commoners. Now the thousands of mining asteroids in its asteroid belt is owned by the people, run by the people, for the people... Of the United Earth Federation.
And I, of course, became employee of the month for the fifth month in a row, and Steve Goodman has a few more referrals for me. | 2021-08-26T08:42:21 | 2021-08-26T08:42:18 | 95 | 45 |
[WP] You possess the ability of persistent lucid dreaming. Accompanied by a strange man/woman, together you build a world you revisit every night. One day you see them at a coffee shop. You immediately recognize each other. | "Today, love, this nation is ours. For now, and forever," I told Maya, gripping her hand and smiling with excitement.
She jumped up and down, giggling with glee, and drew Arakh from its sheath. Blue streaks of light danced across rocks as the sun gleamed off her majestic sapphire sword. Without even waiting for me, she'd taken off.
I sighed with exasperation, leaping from the cliffside with Shisu slicing the wind behind me in a blur of jade and gold. *She's always so god damned hasty.*
We cut through flesh and fur as the Verküth army swarmed us pointlessly. They were but putty before our might and blades, and we were sculptors.
"Ah, that was too easy," Maya groaned, covered in thick black blood.
"Well, you designed this one. Don't complain."
She sneered at me and walked toward the slain King's broken convoy, retrieving a golden scroll from his body. We looked to the south, where the sun was setting over a sea of bodies and blackness.
"Tomorrow, I won't go easy on you like this," I told her with a sly smile. "I've got a few ideas that don't involve the measly Verküth and a basic slashing mission. We didn't earn this scroll."
"Come on- it's fun once in a while, isn't it?" She laughed and walked up to me, kissing me goodnight. Or, well, good morning, I suppose.
------------------------------------------------
I awoke in my bed to the sound of an alarm's screech and stretched. *This world is so boring and plain by comparison. Fuck work.*
Even worse, I'd dreamt too long, leaving me poorly rested for the day.
Lunch break couldn't come fast enough for me. I went over to Harry's for a club sandwich and coffee, like I usually do, when I saw her. We locked eyes from across the room and immediately recognized each other. There was no doubt in my mind.
"Hey, Dianne! Long time no see," I joked- we worked in the same department. "You look pretty tired. Long night of partying?" I winked.
"Very funny," she replied, rolling her eyes. "But in a sense, something like that. Pretty intense dreams and stuff. Now get back to work, lazy."
I looked at her quizzically. *I wonder if...*
*Nah. Don't be silly.*
I dragged about the rest of my day as I always do, swinging my pen around in daydream, wishing for nightfall.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/43mjo9/wp_you_possess_the_ability_of_persistent_lucid/czkbwjv)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/43mjo9/wp_you_possess_the_ability_of_persistent_lucid/czlsv0t) | Every night it's something new. Sometimes I'm saving the world, other times I'm trying not to die. Oftentimes both. I remember when I thought I could control everything in the dream cycles. I was arrogant, just because it's a world in my mind doesn't mean it doesn't have its own rules. But I could control just enough to make it interesting.
The one thing that's been consistent through every cycle is him. I could never see his face clearly or feel his touch properly, but we knew that we shared a bond. He was always whatever I needed him to be. When I was an awkward girl in high school, he was the one who would give me flowers and tell me I was beautiful. When I was in a nightmare cycle he would be there taking my hand and running away from the monsters.
The last time I saw him, we had realised we could revisit past cycles, and control even more of our world. And that's when we felt them. We were never supposed to grow a bond, never supposed to connect with the same person after one cycle as long as they were a stranger. It would disrupt 'reality'. That night was the longest night yet, and we'd thought we'd won. But I never dreamed again, and with every day he grew fuzzier and less real.
Until today. We saw each other, really saw each other, for the first time - and we knew. It was strange seeing him in my reality. And finally he had no fuzzy corners, no ghostly touch. He was real.
...wait what's that music playing? Music...oh. Time to wake up.
| 2016-01-31T23:21:09 | 2016-01-31T20:07:38 | 435 | 47 |
[WP] You've been wrongly sentenced to execution through the ships airlock. The door opens and you are sucked out into the abyss. As you float outside, you realize something. You're not dying, and it doesn't hurt... | "Please, please!" Two hefty guards were roughly shoving the condemned towards the airlock set in-between the inner and outer hulls. "This is all a mistake! The only reason you're doing this is because--"
The executioner was dressed in a band of authoritative gold, and held a micro-book of the Law open. "The Pronouncement: For failure to adhere to the Ways and presenting a danger to society, you are condemned to live outside of society."
"We're in space! Read Mercy from the Law, please! Outside is *space*!" The struggle did no good, the guards were much stronger and well armored, the condemned's naked blows did nothing. The inner door opened, and a strong shove pushed the condemned into the airlock, outside of the gravity zone, and the condemned bounced into the outer door which painfully absorbed the momentum.
The inner door slid shut, and the executioner's face appeared small in the window of the inner door. The executioner looked down, and then the outside door slid open.
The air rushed out, taking the condemned with it. A whoosh and then...
Incredible silence. Disbelief at seeing the hull with bare eyes from the wrong side.
The view became clouded, her nictitating eyelid involuntarily clamping over her eyes. Spiracles drew tight, including her vocal and auditory ones, and her esophagus closed up leaving her mouth to dry out almost immediately in the vacuum. Her skin drew tight and her hard-scales, normally separated by a coin's edge-width, filled with a chemically-rich excretion that turned to stiff and sticky but pliable putty that resisted sublimating in the void.
*I'm not dead.* She held her hands in front of her, the ship still pulling slowly away from her, looking through slightly clouded eyes at her remarkable transformation. She hadn't thought about any of it, it had simply happened.
Her hands were the cause of the entire situation. Those odd glands. She had to empty them from time to time. In a moment of carelessness, she let them get too full and one of her shipmates had gotten a face-full of the hot and noxious gas they produced when the gland contents were allowed to mix. It pushed her back - she was light as a pebble -- and it left her shipmate with a burn. Not a serious one, but still a burn. That was enough to sway the ship's general opinion of their adopted orphan. She was too different, too alien. The Master permitted a Court to sit.
Out in the void, she pushed her hands together in front of her. She willed a little of the spray out. It checked some of her velocity relative to the ship. Again, but this time along her movement vector and through her center of gravity. Better; now she was still relative to her ship.
Her *former* ship. *Maybe they did the best they could,* she thought. *I'm more alien than anyone thought I was.* The hurt of betrayal faded away.
The spray-glands already felt full again, as if they were coaxed to work faster when they sensed outer space. She gave herself a push towards the ship, and quickly found her way to an external maintenance ladder. Not a moment too soon: she could feel through the hull the big engines spinning up for FTL. She made sure she was well braced and comfortable.
*I'll hang on until they reach the next spaceport,* she told herself. *And then ... who knows.*
* * *
Feedback is welcome! I collect my stories at /r/wpforme | *They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger...* I thought to myself, slowly spinning through space. *That saying is bullshit.*
I was ejected out an Earth Defense Fleet ship, the E.D.F. Badger, like a piece of space trash. They threw me into the airlock, said their goodbyes, and launched me into space. *But*, you might be thinking to yourself, *you're still alive. Surely they gave you a spacesuit!*" You'd be wrong. I was ejected because they thought I was planning a mutiny. Seeing as how the Badger was a re-population vessel carrying thousands of clones, it was difficult to prove my innocence with 9 other people sharing my physical, mental, and emotional profile.
So they decided, one-by-one, they were going to eject us all out, and one-by-one I watched in horror as my clone turned blue and imploded on itself mere seconds after being ejected. When it was my turn, since my words fell upon deaf ears, I was glad that it would at least be quick. As I looked back through the window to look upon the faces of those I've known since coming out of the cloning bays, the airlocks opened and out I went like a slowly-spinning ragdoll.
Every revolution I made, I watched the ship get farther and farther away. I didn't die immediately, nor did I seem to be dying slowly. Something made me special, but there was no way of telling what. Maybe there's a god watching over me, or some DNA mutation that's allowing my to stay alive. I honestly have no idea.
My journey will probably be coming to an end soon, sadly. While my previous clones got to die in an instant to the icy fingers of space, I'm slowly careening towards a star, a red dwarf specifically. I'm not sure what will be worse, the radiation coming from the celestial body or the heat. Hell, maybe I'll find I'm resistant to that as well and I'll be the first to walk on a star. Chances are I'm going to be a forgotten Icarus.
***
Critique more than welcome! I'm new to this. | 2018-01-24T09:25:44 | 2018-01-24T09:23:14 | 120 | 24 |
[WP] You come across a notebook that has the name of every person who has ever lived and the exact date and time of their death written next to it. Out of curiosity, and hopes that you live a long life, you decide to checkout your own name, only to find a date marked a few hours after your birth. | I found it in my uncle's storage shed, in an old dusty crate, The Book of the Dead, Vol.2. The book was huge, so huge that flipping through it to find my name took months, after all, there have been over a hundred billion humans to have ever lived. Thankfully it was dated and alphabetized. After looking through the tens of thousands of John Smiths I finally found myself, John H Smith, but... Something was wrong, my birthdate? Surely the book must have been mistaken!? I closed the book and hid it away, people should not know something as important as the time of their demise! Still.. the death date haunted me, thoughts flew through my mind "perhaps some sort of mix up at the hospital? Was the real John Smith stillborn? Has my uncle lied to me about my parents dying?" I was flustered and confused, I'd talked to friends about it without giving details but it didn't help my curiosity, I needed answers! That day after school I went to confront my uncle in his garden, I walked under the tall blossoming crepe myrtles, the smell of roses in the air with the busy buzzing of honey bees. It was almost dream like, a sort tranquility and sad feeling, his garden always made me feel this way. I heard him humming along while tending to a sick bush, "uncle? I have something to ask you about" I said "you know John I just can't get this bush to take root anymore, maybe it's just it's time to die" he mumbled the last bit "uncle it's important! What is the book I found in your shed? And why does it say I died the day I was born?" He looked at me and lowered his eyes, almost disappointed look on his face, then got up and walked into his storage shed. Afraid of what he would tell me, my throat choking up and limbs trembling I followed him. Opening the creeky door I saw him, standing in dust filled sunlight hunched over something, walking up slowly I saw what it was, The Book of the Dead Vol.1, it was so much bigger than the vol.2... "Humans have been around a looong time..." He mumbled in a tired voice, reminiscent it seemed. "They weren't originally even from earth you know? Came from a planet way off. You never change, after all these billions of years you're still the same more or less. Still killing each other and destroying your homes, it's more work for me I guess..." He turned around and beneath his dark ebony cape I saw his face, charred skull with pits of darkness for eyes "it's time for you to go now son"
I am John H Smith, I died two hours after I was born. I never had a chance to experience life, never even opened my eyes.. Death took pity on me, and in those two hours of sleep, from the moment I was born till my very last breath, I experienced a lifetime. Death gave me life, in a way he was my real family, it was a good life, I had love, experienced wonderful things, heard music, and felt sorrow. And I wouldn't have it any other way. | I looked down at the book stunned, I rubbed my eyes trying to make sure I wasn't seeing things. But there it was, my name:
Lucas C. Trayman
Born: April 29th, 1992 at 5:10pm
Died: April 29th, 1992 at 8:26pm
Cause of death: Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, Unknown circumstances.
This has to be a joke... Right? I mean this thing can't actually be real. There had to be a way to test this... I took out my phone and googled the time of death of several random people and looked up their names in the note book. After checking ten names my eyes grew wide and I dropped the book in the middle of the sidewalk, before it hit the ground the book vanished in a puff of smoke.
I froze as I heard a voice over my shoulder whisper in a rhaspy voice, "Your.... Fate has been.... Sealedd" the voice let out a cackle. I turned around to face the being, but no one was behind me. Goosebumps cover my arms and legs and my legs were quivering beneath me.
I have to get home... I must be daydreaming... I turned in the direction of my apartment only to be greeted blaring headlights of the bus that was hurting towards me. Everything seemed to go in slow motion, until everything went dark and silent. The last thing I remember hearing was that same voice saying, "I.... Told you.... Soooo. You're one.... Of us now..."
I saw something before I passed on... It was as if I was a fly on the wall. There were doctors looking down at a small baby, they took off their masks in defeat. One of them sighed and said, "Time of death.... 8:26pm" | 2017-09-04T22:03:17 | 2017-09-04T21:52:50 | 189 | 40 |
[WP] The Earth has finally run out of fossil fuels to use as energy and, with the only other option being to turn to clean and renewable energy sources, the U.S. has decided to take drastic measures: trying to reach into alternate dimensions to find oil and other fossil fuels. | The lines for the gas station were brutal. Sitting in the Texas heat with the windows down and the car turned off to conserve gas? Almost just as bad. Marcus Holliday - call me Marky, he would always say with a lopsided grin and a sly wink - sighed and patted the dash of the old Chevy. Dust swirled in through the window and he waved it away. "Bullshit," he mumbled to himself, glancing at his watch. It had been two hours.
The line was barely moving. People had stopped honking even. He wondered if employees would tell the customers if they were out of gas or if he was just expected to wait there until the next truck came in. If it ever came in. It's not like he could leave. He wouldn't make it far, not with the needle barely budging from empty when he turned on the car. It would sputter and maybe, just maybe, manage to turn on... He didn't want to think of the alternative.
He leaned back against the headrest, running a tan, calloused hand through that blonde mane that reached down to his shoulders. It was almost haircut time, that was for certain. Too damn hot. Had he been a little more aware - a little more present, maybe - he would have heard the commotion taking over at the front of the line. Instead he tapped along to the country song running through his mind, eyes closed and humming softly, unaccompanied by the radio or anything other than the occasional curse from a nearby car. The breeze should have been a warning if the commotion was not. Instead he just smiled to himself, breathing in the sweet smell of rancid cigarette smoke and diesel engines as the breeze turned into unseasonal gusts of wind.
Up ahead, a massive gash split the ground in the middle of the gas station, swallowing up the unfortunate cars who had seemed fortunate enough to get a couple drops of gas into their tanks. Black emerged. Not blacks like the kids who would bike up the street with their shirts off and Marky would greet them with a smile just like he would anybody else but the older folk would scowl and shake their heads. Black emerged as the very absence of anything else.
Cars and people and the meager supply of gas were all swallowed up at once. There was no belch after the great swallowing, no returning of the stolen goods or reimbursement for the damaged property. The gash just kept growing, and only when it began to consume the cars around Marky with a massive tear of metal and the screams of other passengers did he snap to attention.
"Oh, sheeeeeit," he drawled, picking up the wide-brimmed brown cowboy hat from the seat beside him and placing it carefully atop his head. He turned the key and the engine roared to life and he gave a sigh of relief. Just as quickly, it sputtered out. "Oh boy," Marky said with a nervous grin.
He reached for his holster, finding comfort in the smooth barrel of the pistol that was always by his side. Women might have come and gone from his life and his cats may have been fickle as one of his spruned mistresses but that gun was always there for him. "Not today," Marky said as he climbed out of his car. He barely had to aim - good thing since he hadn't had the gas to go to the range lately - as he pulled the trigger over and over and over again until the chamber was empty.
The black void seemed to tremble under the onslaught of bullets. Lights flashed inside as the bullets ricocheted and the black cracked blacker and little creatures emerged escaping the liquid rush that came from beneath the ground. "Halle-fucking-lujah," Marky said slowly, staring in awe as the unmistakeable rush of oil chased the twisted little creatures out of their dimension and into his. "We done hit the motherlode." He wasn't quite right, as he would soon find out. In fact, he was in far more danger than he thought. He reloaded, a nagging feeling telling him that those evil looking creatures weren't here to pay their respects to his old Chevy.
The nagging feeling was right. One of the creatures - its skin a deathly grey pallor stretched far too thin over sinewy arms and legs - jumped atop the hood of his car. "You're scratching that shit, bitch," Marky shouted at the devilish little monster. You didn't want to scratch Marky's car. That was a big no-no, as far as his no-nos went. He took careful aim, steadying his hand as chaos enveloped the world around him. "Sayonara, motherfucker," Marky growled and he fired three bullets into the creature. It collapsed and convulsed before melting into the hood of the Chevy, ruining it completely. There was silence. And then one by one the dozens of other creatures stopped tearing limb from limb the hapless passengers of the other cars and turned their attention towards Marky. "Well now I'm in a bit of a pickle," he mumbled to himself.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | June 14th, 2024
A beach ball is dropped in surprise as the winds begin to flail around the coastline. The little hands that haven't yet known roughness nor scars start trembling, whether it was from dread or excitement, one can only guess. As adults, elders and children alike start to notice the sudden change in weather conditions, slight murmurs of worried words and soft gasps spread like a plague among the once relaxed populace. Clouds had begun to shift and deform, seemingly being pulled into a central cyclone as rain drops started to fall. One could easily mistake this phenomenon as a hurricane forming and one can only be so hopeful.
In year 2021, the population of Earth had grown near its peak. The populace of the planet was weary and justifiably uneasy about the future. Extremist religious groups, active shooters, ocean-polluting, species extinction, the permafrost melting at a worrying rate. The result was a combined cocktail of chaos and unrest. Small riots rose in every country, policies and international relations of the countries that had been struck hard by the recession of 2020 were in shambles as they proposed one useless policy after another, hoping to keep the public dormant whilst they try and deal with the impossible task of restoring the economy.
The first major tragedy struck on August 1st, now known as "Red August", when a group of bio-terrorists whose faith lied in the delusion of a certain god of fire, created earlier that year by a famous cultist group that was immediately quarantined after it was discovered to be violently sacrificing stray animals for ritualistic purposes, started setting fire in the forests around Colorado, Denver. Following the incident of three forest fires simultaneously starting, the series was followed with a sudden fire in Denmark. Over the duration of the week, forest fires had become a morbid trend for the delusional, bleeding the earth with their "Faith Fire".
The boiling point struck when over a third of China's population started an uproar after it was reported in the media that half of their governmental staff members had a hand in human-trafficking. The bomb was dropped during an involved member's public speech that was midway through. It's suspected that a hacker group from the country had manipulated each vulnerable public advertising displays with explicit photos of the involved members' crimes. After 17 minutes, the speech giver had been found dead with a bullet wound to the head after their car was struck by a certain truck. The man who had committed the crime was taken into custody, however public support was overwhelming.
All over the globe, news of the scandal and the mass, violent riot of China's populace spread. During the chaos, countries' diplomats sneaked in deals, arms dealers pulled out of their contracts, laws changed and the phrase "We need a solution!" was shouted in every parliament around the world. Turns out the chaos of a singular super-power country wasn't the most important news. It had only attracted anarchy and interest. Under the shadow of the month long news updates, logs about the exhaustion of earth's resources peeked. The world had headed for certain doom.
Until Dr.Hauvellfen, PhD, originating from Switzerland, theorized a solution in the year 2022. Mass construction and a hope for a better future started hand in hand.
The policy for invading alternate dimensions were not fully outlined yet, however, massive conflicts were sure to be expected. Which is why, on the morning of June 14th, 2024, the world in which 9/11 had never happened, a rift in reality fissured throughout the coastline of Miami, Florida. Armed men and highly developed war instruments started seeping through the portal, causing a total and full chaos. One can only guess what happens in the years to come. | 2019-09-04T05:30:27 | 2019-09-04T04:58:22 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] In this world, salaries are determined by the desirability of the work: if everybody wants to do the job and it's fun, it pays minimum wage. But if it's hard or awful work that nobody wants to do, the pay is high. You decide to apply for the highest-paying job in the world. | It was the money that lured me. I had fallen on hard times and I wanted to earn enough to pay for the mountain of debt I had accumulated in my wasted years. The job was the least pleasant of all, but I decided that this was going to help me build character in addition to building up my bank balance.
The description looked like it was typed hastily by a person who did not have the time or the skill to craft something articulate and meaningful. The child-like sentence construction, the unnecessary use of capital text and the absolute lack of class depicted by the man who was going to be my boss made me shudder.
I required security clearance and each aspect of my past was scrutinized with a fine-tooth comb. I had to provide details of where I had lived, had to give over passwords of my social media and email accounts so that the verification experts could evaluate me. It was embarrassing to imagine they'd check out my reddit post history as well but they did it all so professionally that I was impressed.
I had to sign a watertight NDA on the activities that I was to participate in, the people I was meeting and the conversations I would be privy to. There was obvious fear of me writing a book about my experiences and taking painstaking notes of all that I observed and the employer did not want any dirty laundry washed in public.
The applicant pool was thin. Only 8 people had applied and I seemed like the sharpest dressed and most articulate person in contention. Not that it mattered, of course. My employer was notorious for taking impulse decisions and being irrationally unpredictable. I somehow made it through the interviews (he wasn't on the panel) and was asked to come into work the next day.
On D-day, I strode in into one of the most secure offices on earth, flashed my badge and went through the usual checks before waiting in my boss' office for his arrival. I kept thinking of all the money I'd make in a few months and that this was going to be over soon.
He strode in, opened the door and ambled around and sat behind his desk, nodding at me rather imperceptibly. Taking a deep breath, with the fakest fake smile I could muster, I said, "*Mr. President Trump, I'm b1lli0naire, your new personal secretary. Here's what your day looks like today.*" | I was the fart sniffer. I know a terrible job but someone had to do it. After diasmellium was released in to the water system (a dangerous radioactive substance that caused people to transform in to evil lizards) I knew I had to take the job. Why a fart sniffer you ask? That's the only way to make sure someone wasn't a lizard person. A trained nose could sniff out diasmellium a mile away from a fart. The pay was good, 1 billion dollars..
But the pay wasn't enough... One day I was smelling the ass of a frightfully overweight woman. "is this really necessary" she exclaimed. "just fart and let's get this over with" I said back. Suddenly I saw a wicked look in her eyes "okay" she said before ripping a huge liquid diarrhea shit on me. I died that day. My face melted off... Was never worth the pay. | 2018-08-02T14:55:30 | 2018-08-02T14:46:41 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] "It surprised me how much creamer Death put in his coffee."
Must contain the above sentence. Preferably 250-750 words. | I fidgeted with the silverware for an hour before Death arrived.
When He did, there was little fanfare. Sliding into the booth, silent, with a smile. The chime rang as another customer came in, and it dawned on me that I hadn't heard the ring when He arrived.
Mid-forties, salt and pepper hair. Jeans and a blazer. Not movie-star good looks, but not unpleasant either. Handsome in an ordinary sort of way.
"Mr. Allen?" He said, extending His hand across the battered laminate table.
From somewhere I summoned the courage to meet His eyes. Dark and clear. I saw nothing of eternity in them. But when I took His hand I shivered. "Please, call me Jim."
"Need a warm-up, hon?"
The waitress. Why was she even there? Then I reconsidered. A waitress in a Denny's? How stupid was I? ... You're sitting across the table in a shitty diner from the goddamn Angel of Death, Jim. Exactly that stupid. I politely accepted.
"I'll have some of that if you don't mind," said Death. He sounded vaguely like Astoria.
She turned the mug over and He stopped her when it was half-empty. It surprised me how much creamer Death put in His coffee.
"Pertussis," He said when she was gone. His eyes followed her ass all the way to the kitchen.
"Excuse me?"
"It's this anti-vax shit, you know. With the vaccines and the children? Pertussis. Six years, four months, and seven days from now."
I guess it wasn't that shocking, when you thought about it. "How about me?" I asked before I could stop myself.
An impish stare over the top of His coffee. "Oh Jim. You're not gonna die. You're gonna work for me."
You couldn't have sucked the air out of me faster with the vacuum of space. A *piece* of a feather would have knocked me all the way back to Brooklyn.
"I'd really like to know how you managed to contact me, Jim," He continued congenially. "Not a lot of people know where to look for my job postings."
My head was -- well, I wasn't really sure where my head was at that moment. I had to take a long sip of my ice-cold coffee before I could meet those eyes again. "The internet," I said at last, and He immediately broke into raucous laughter.
Wiping the tears from His eyes, He accepted another half-cup of coffee from the waitress. We sat for some immeasurable time without speaking.
He spoke first. "Do you know why I came here today, Jim? Why you will spend the next eon collecting souls for me instead of rotting in your bed for the next two weeks until your landlord finally finds your bloated corpse?"
"Why?" (I couldn't really think of anything else to say to that.)
"Because you wanted to know." A sardonic smirk. "And also because you're funny. The internet. HA! You have no idea how dull this gig can be."
He put a ten on the table and winked at the waitress as she came to bus our cups. When He stood up it seemed to me as if the ceiling of the diner was infinitely high, Him stretching up into the vastness of forever. I blinked my weary eyes, and the illusion disappeared. He smirked at me again.
"Let's go for a walk."
| It surprised me how much creamer Death put in his coffee. It seemed to just keep flowing and flowing. I was mesmerized. Death noticed me staring at the liquid and explained, "Calcium. I kind of need it some days."
I looked down at the breakfast spread that he had cooked in front of me, for me. I glanced at his lavender apron with the words "Frohe Ostern!" on it, and I thought about my situation. Finally I got up the nerve to ask him the question I'm sure he's heard countless times.
"Am I dead?"
Death let out a bit of a laugh and replied, "No, not exactly. You're in a hospital and will wake up in a bit. You see, you've had what some would call a near death experience." He chuckled again.
Yes. Very near. Almost uncomfortably near. You see, last night I was at a party, a really wild one. It was my birthday, and I had had entirely too much to drink. I was dancing and throwing empty beer bottles at a wall, but then I think I blacked out, the next morning I find myself waking up in black silk sheets, a skeleton laying beside me, smoking a glass pipe.
"So how's breakfast?" He inquired.
Breakfast was amazing. I had no idea that Death could be such an awesome chef. I mumbled my approval through a mouthful of apple pancake, and he looked absolutely delighted, so proud of himself.
A melodic chime rang through the house. "Ah, that'll be the doorbell. It seems your ride is here," he mumbled.
I then realized he didn't want me to leave just yet. Death was a really nice dude, very awkward, but sweet. I realized that I didn't want to leave either, but life was calling.
"Will I see you again?" I asked, before realizing how cliche' and stupid it sounded, but he just shyly smiled.
"Everyone does." | 2013-11-21T07:50:42 | 2013-11-21T07:47:55 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life. | My Dearest Friend,
This last dance was splendid! All this sounds and lights and flames, this is by far our greatest moment so far! I have to say I'm proud of myself on this one, I brought the big guns if you know what I mean. I hope to see you again soon after your well-deserved winter rest.
Yours truly,
Your waltz partner
---------
My Dearest Friend,
It has been a while since I caught I glimpse of you. I'm worrying I went a bit too strong on you last time... But I know you're still out there since I am still here, so it is just a matter of time before we're reunited once again!
You will be pleased to learn that our favorite toys have survived. Scattered and afraid yes, but Humanity lives on! It will takes time before they can be of any use to either of us, but I'll keep an eye on them in your absence.
Yours truly,
Your longing playmate
--------
My Dearest Friend,
Your absence is weighting on my heart, yet I know you would berate me or make fun of me if you were here. How far away have I fell from my fearsome days! Yet I can't let our favorite toys fell and rot without you by my side.
You see, as your creations emerged from the centennial winter, so did a plague even I couldn't design: an unending wave of shambling corpse neither dead nor alive. How those little men who are already struggling against the Nature you designed would have any change against them? So I confess that -from time to time when the situation seems desperate- I took the habit to cut the string of those undead marionettes. I know you wouldn't approve, but they're barely holding together anyway. In a way, I'm just taking back what's mine with a quick snip. Preserving our favorite toys is worth bending the rule a little.
Yours truly,
Your apprentice puppeteer
---------
My Dearest Friend,
I am so sorry! I hope you'll forgive me when we are finally reunited.
They think I'm you!
As time passed my little... twists to our usual purview became more and more frequent and humans assumed it was your doing. They even began to build temples to worship the Unsewer. I know I should stop, but the waves of undead only become stronger with time and even if they're rediscovering their past tools, Humanity has still no chance to defeat them.
Should I let events follow their course and reap them once and for all? No! I can't bring myself to do that. I have to protect your creations in your absence, and our favorite toys above all else. It's the only way I can hope to see you ever again. I miss you every day a bit more. Come back to me soon. Please.
Yours truly,
Your devoted impostor
------
My Dearest Friend,
I finally saw you again after all this time. You were hiding in the depths of our last dance scar that humans has renamed Death's Maw. A small group of strong warriors ventured in the bowels of this corrupted place to find the source of the undead plague. I followed them and I saw you. I barely recognized you. You were frantically stitching back together the remnants of the old world to assemble more and more of those abominations that have been endlessly scourging the Earth for so long.
Is that all you're able to now? I miss your beautiful work of old. I miss your colors and shapes and smells. I miss reaping them and seeing them whiter in their own unique way. Seeing you revelling in my rotten leftovers in a vain attempt to recreate the past broke my heart.
I wish I could help you. I wish I could pull you out of this forsaken hole and show you how the world was reborn... but if I approach you we will just dance once again, don't we? My Dearest Friend, I'll be waiting your return. Since Humanity gave you my name, I will don yours.
Yours truly, for now, and ever,
Life | Lily, if I were to have continued my old work she would have been dead by now. Found by her friends and family. Would I have had her kill herself? I may have even had her get hit by a public bus. But that isn’t the new me, now I have to make sure these people survive. There use to be so many people that I had the privilege of deciding their fate, most people would have been appalled if they had to do what I did. But now with a little over 200 people left on this planet I must keep them alive. My life depends on their population not dying out.
It’s been a few years since the bomb that wiped out 99% of the human race went off. At first I was continuing my job of killing people but I soon came to realize how weak it was making me. When the population had dropped down to about 50 I was barely able to keep my self in this realm. Without my help the humans were able to get a little bit more population and my energy has slowly returned. I am nowhere close to how powerful I was but I don’t currently need to worry about disappearing. I’ve had to make it my new goal to make sure these people survive as long as possible.
The people know very little about me, they seem to react to my presence which I assume has to do with how weak I currently am. They gave me a name of “life” but if only they knew who I really was.
Lily is my current target, I sense her life will shortly end but she is only 34 years old. I am not able to foresee their exact deaths but I can do a little bit to help them. I notice up ahead there was a few trees. I counted 4 people working on collecting lumber for new buildings and they were working on a huge oak tree. Lily was right in the path of the tree about to fall.
As they nearly finished cutting the tree I made a very small root come out of the ground and trip Lily. She fell face first into the dirt and I felt slightly sorry about causing her pain.
I’ve grown soft since I’ve taken this new role and I hope once the world is back to a stable state I can return to my old life.
The tree fell with a loud crash directly above the spot Lily was going to. I heard a faint “thank you” as Lily got up and brushed off her knees.
This is how my life’s been these past few years. Helping people and hearing them thank someone they can’t see makes me feel sorry for them. Sorry that I was the reason all of this happened. | 2018-05-04T13:25:15 | 2018-05-04T12:31:17 | 65 | 18 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | From the logs of Qi-Sil, Xion Imperial Chronicler
&nbsp;
The humans joined the Galactic Federation around 6700 standard years ago. They were at the time a weak and unimposing presence, much like the Federation was. But while the Federation may arguably still be nothing more than a façade, the same cannot be said for those strange creatures.
Archived records tell that their emergence into the presence of the burgeoning Federation came not long after a global nuclear disaster with dozens of explosions on their homeworld, the likes of which had never been seen before, and only once since. The disaster came around 100 "Earth Years", as they call them, after 2 smaller nuclear incidents occurring in rapid succession, and while the first presumably left only minimal casualties (in the 100's of thousands), the second must have decimated their population. The humans have not come forth with an explanation for the radiation which has left still-detectable scars on their world, but both independent disasters seem to have been power plant accidents (although some theorists presume they were the result of a primitive intra-species conflict).
But the humans quickly grew strong again following the disaster, just in time to gain a respectable position in the Federation. While many civilizations, with their hive-mind mentality have remained embroiled in pointless warfare, the cautious, even timid humans gained hgih standing in the community with fantastic speed. They formed many loyal alliances early in their inclusion in Galactic affairs, which may explain why they were able to avoid any conflict for so long.
But conflict came, and it was a indescribable display of brutality.
A military ship of the rather belligerent species known as the Qi-sil decided to attack a human science vessel in a Federation-decreed area of neutral safe trade space. The Qi-sil had taken advantage of the more pacifistic species in the past, using their reluctance to fight as an excuse to claim territory that simply didn't belong to them. The Federation mostly called them harmless and refused to take action up to this point, but many civilizations in the Federation had much of their lands stolen by these thieves. The humans took this act of aggresion as a declaration of war, and responded in kind.
They began small, with proportional responses that exchanged a few settlements here and there. But when a rogue Qi-sil General attempted a not-entirely-unsuccessful attack on a human population center, the mood of the war shifted. The humans sent a flurry of communications to the invaders commanding them to halt their attack, but to no avail. The Qi-sil pushed forward into human territory but they found only empty outposts evacuated long before the first scouts arrived. They encountered no resistance, no retaliation of any kind. And they pressed on.
As the Qi-sil army reached a second major population center, logs recorded a strange anomaly. the army turned on its own ships, imploding, eviscerating itself as pilots, friends turned on each other and killed one another in suicidal attacks without a thought toward their own mortality. The once legendary army, the military arm of a highly advanced species all but disappeared in less than 24 hours.
A mere day later, citizens of the Qi-sil homeworld, still oblivious to their defeat the hands of themselves woke up to two strange events.
Much the same as their army, the citizens murdered each other in cold blood, with no warning or provocation. But this was worse, much worse, for while the Qi-sil army was equipped with lethal weaponry, the citizens used their own appendages to beat the life out of their friends and family without a second thought.
But second, as they fell into a murderous trance, they saw the stars in the sky seem to recede away, almost as if the entire galaxy was racing away around them. The sky became permanently black around them as they saw the stars for the last time. In what few seconds of sanity the innocents had left, they cried out in terror at the cataclysm happening around them.
The humans, in typical fashion broadcast a cryptic message that read:
*In response to unprovoked violence from the Qi-sil, we have taken necessary action to prevent further atrocities and violations of Federation peace agreements. Our justified response consisted of two primary elements: A prion engineered to stimulate the hyperactive agression region of the Qi-sil brain and encourage conflict, and a dark energy bomb that has sent the Qi-sil system far from the civivilized sectors at faster than the speed of light. We do not allow undeserved attacks on our innocent citizens.*
Today the Qi-sil culture remains a husk of its former 'glory'. They were decimated by the first wave of human attacks, and only a fraction of their species lives on with other civilizations. If the humans needed to make an example of someone to establish their presence, mission accomplished. They doomed the Qi-sil to the cruelest fate possible. They were either made to commit genocide on themselves, in complete isolation from any other good-willed civilization that may have saved them, or they had to witness the decimation of their entire way of life.
Perception of humans changed forever that day. They continued to act respectful, benevolent and cooperative but they were indisputably the most feared civilization in known memory beginning from then onward. They kept up their appearances of cooperation but it was now nothing more than a formality.
And their rapid, highly sophisticated, specialized response left many questions. How did they have such sophisticated knowledge of Qi-sil biology? Was their ancient homeworld nuclear 'accident' really an accident? Did they have a predetermined plan for a response to the Qi-sil? What other secret technology did they posses? And most importantly:
Did they have a plan for us? | "Fucking humans are at it again." Said Prok as he dipped his proboscis into the fetus slaw before him.
"I see that." Replied Ghyd, his half wife. She shifted her earlobe and toenail salad listlessly. One of the earlobes still had a diamond earring in it. "Waiter! Someone in your kitchen isn't properly dejewelrying the human bits. I could have chipped a fang on this diamond!"
"So sorry mam, we are breaking in a new shipment of human laborers and they aren't catching on obviously." He said as he quickly whisked the earring from Ghyds hand and tossed it in the garbage on his way to the kitchen.
As she stared at the same view screen Prok was regarding Ghyds remarked, "Why is it that one factory farm of humans can be so docile and mellow and another can erupt into a full blown revolt like the one on Tellos 5? They have taken over the whole moon!"
"It all has to do with the genes I say. Too much Irish blood on Tellos 5, but I suppose that's the risk you run for the delectable pale skin and red haired variety of human. If only they could find some way to breed out the truculent, but keep the succulent. Eh but I suppose you can't have one without the other." Said Drujol, the gestation spouse. Her stuffed scrotums having long since been devoured to the last eyelidos s/he gazed in envy at colon burger being delivered by a passing waiter. The eyelidos weren't made from real eyelids, but they were still tasty.
"No no." Said Prok. "It's those damned humanitarians. They infiltrate the factory farm moons and contaminate the euphorics and the aphrodisiacs that must be supplemented into human feed. Without all the sex and the drugs humans become self aware."
All around them in the restaurant dishes clattered and chatter stopped. He said that much too loudly.
"Prok don't be silly. Humans can never be self aware. You know perfectly well those supplements are added just to make the humans feel more comfortable and even if they were self aware what do they have to be unhappy about? The factory farms perfectly replicate their natural habitat back on Earth. Cities, roads, cubicles, pornography, fast food, reality TV, everything is as they made for themselves in their natural environment. They live the good part of a normal human lifecycle and after about 30 years they are harvested and spared the horrors of old age or if they have been cooperative they are given the honor of serving elsewhere in the empire among their Novcclid overlords. I mean we aren't savages. Only free range humans of course." Vocalized Ghyd and Drujol in unison, as was their custom after a brief mental conference.
"Of course of course. I never meant... Just that this humanitarian movement is causing a lot of trouble."
No one could deny that. One after another factory farm moons had risen in revolt against their operators. There were even reports of the livestock having learned to operate the jump gates and the orbital shuttles, though that beggared belief.
*"This just in"* declared news bot5000 on the view screen *"we have just received a video from Tellos 5. Warning, this may be unsuitable for larvae under 300 years old."*
The screen switched to a wide angle shot obviously from a hand held communicator. The scene was of a wild mob of feral humans chanting and swirling around a podium that was once a water tower used to keep the livestock hydrated. Atop the tower were seven or eight Novcclids, obviously basking in the adoration of their new mob of wild humans.
As the camera zoomed into the lead Novcclid Prok, Ghyd and Drujol all were struck dumb. All thirteen of their eyes were wide and tentacles taught as bow strings.
The lead Novcclid was Frijik, their only saughter to survive to adulthood out of a clutch of 13000 spawned.
"Oh shit." The trio said, without any mental conference necessary. | 2016-03-13T17:09:28 | 2016-03-13T16:09:35 | 56 | 21 |
[WP] Aliens are shocked when they discover humans; not only are they the only intelligent species incapable of magic, they also have this strange thing they call "technology". | REPORT H/5887/LF: Troinans (local designation: Human)
//BIOLOGICAL REPORT:
Carbon-based bipeds with 2 locomotive limbs, 2 grasping limbs, and 5 digits on each of these extremities.
Supported by endoskeleton. Exterior composed of relatively fragile flesh covered by skin.
Possesses sensors for electromagnetic radiations (spectrum to be determined), other sensors for specific molecules (coherent with the Axhilli sense of "smell"), contact sensors, chemical sensors located in the ingestion area (referred to as "taste")
Further studies necessary on their thaumic sensibilities, though they appear to be lacking.
//ABSTRACT:
A civilisation of intelligent creatures (sentience, gifted with soul) that despite having highly developped social structures lack any and all knowledge of Thaumaturgy. It has been noted that their home planet ('Troin-III' under FGS designation, or 'Earth' under local designation) is notably lacking in any sort of fields. It is plausible that it constitutes a Dark Spot in between planes, hence the difficulties of access.
Their civilisation has somehow developped without the use of thaumaturgic methods, by the study and application of mundane methods to a degree we did not think possible; they dub these disciplines 'Science' and 'Technology'.
While much more roundabout than the simpler application of thaumaturgic forces to an end, their methods allow them to reach similar effects - using the mundane phenomenon of 'induction' or the combustion of gases to heat food, for instance, or using propelled constructs to circumvent their inability to use portals. Particularily notably, they have recently been creating constructs to mimic their consciousness (dubbed 'AI'); the similarity to homunculi should be noted, but these 'AI' appear to be entirely mundane, built using interactions between the 'fundamental elements of matter'.
There is much to discuss with this race should we enter open communications - their profoundly alien methods and thoughts may enrich the Federation greatly. Care should nevertheless be taken as these primitives appear to be quite warlike.
//PRECONISATION:
Observation procedure 45a: use of SightFooling.
Beware: interaction with Troinan constructs uncertain.
If found to meet excitation criterias: commence uplifting. | "So is this like a fire sphere that we use in intergalactic warfare?"
"It's similar. But it uses the energy of nature and converts it to fire by itself and the individual power of the user is unaffected."
"So that gives the power of an arch mage to everyone who wields this weapon? Wouldn't that put their own species at risk?"
"It does. Their kind are one of the few that have no unity among them. Very fickle minded beings. But somehow they manage to create one wonder after another even without having any power to harness the energy of nature."
"How are they able to convert the energy of nature of their bodies can't hold any of it?"
"They have been studying nature for a long time now. They call it science. And their knowledge about the basics of elements is beyond any other race, I'm afraid. If they could harness it, with their nature they would either destroy themselves or everything else" | 2018-12-30T07:04:26 | 2018-12-30T04:37:52 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | Both Death and Daniel watched as the coin pirouetted through the air. The light of the moon danced off one surface and then the other. Heads then tails. Heads then tails.
"No!" screamed Daniel as for the 256th time, the coin landed heads up.
"No!" screamed Death, painfully aware that Daniel had slipped through his fingers once again. He clutched at his scythe and held it near. Death then took a few deep breaths, sucking air in through his mouth before it escaped through his unskinned ribs like water through gills.
"So be it," said Death, regaining a crumb of composure. "You live again. You are alive. Now with my touch you shall be sent back. You will be healthy and young. Your memories will be kep-"
"I know the rules, Death," sighed Daniel, "But I can't do this again. I have lived too long already. I have lived through hundreds of loved ones dying. I have watched the world change to something I do not understand -- that I don't *want* to understand. Take me, Death."
"You know I cannot. And this is more painful for me than it is for you, Daniel. You requested the gamble upon your original death, the pact must be honoured until you flip tails."
"I took the gamble for her, I didn't want to leave her..." Daniel said as he looked down at the dirt floor. "But she left me long ago. And now I am ready to leave. I was ready long ago."
"I am sorry for your loss, Daniel. I do not like what I have to do and I would much rather take you. But you must go back."
"Did she...did she take the gamble? Did she flip a coin; did she try to come back to me?"
"Every time you ask this question, but you know I cannot answer. Why do you pain yourself? Why does it matter so much to you?"
"It just, does." replied Daniel in little more than a whisper.
Daniel was silent for a moment and Death, for his part, stood as still as stone.
"Swap with me." Daniel pleaded suddenly. "Let me become the new Reaper. Let me send you back to humanity."
Death paused for a while and clutched his scythe to his bony chest
as he considered the offer.
"I cannot. It is forbidden. Daniel, you have knowledge far beyond any mortal. You have power. Do something with it. Improve them."
"I cannot change the world. I have spent many lifetimes trying and failing. I started wars and I ended them. I created and tried ideological and social revolutions. All I learned was that they can't be helped. There is no perfect state for them. We, they, are a creature of flux. They need uncertainty and chaos."
"Be that as it may, you must go back."
Daniel fell to his knees as a plume of dust sprinkled up into the moonlit night. He picked up the fallen coin and stared at it in hatred. "So be it. Touch my head with your boney hand and send me back."
Death paused again for a moment, before nodding and floating forward. He lowered a hand towards Daniel. But before his boney fingers touched Daniel's head, Daniel sprung forward and flew at the sharp scythe that Death held. Daniel raised his neck to meet the razor like edge of the scythe. At the same time he flipped the coin into the air.
A fountain of crimson burst from his neck.
The coin pirouetted in the moonlight before landing on the dusty floor. Blood trickled over the coin and a bony smile crept over Death's face.
"Yes, she gambled, Daniel." said Death leaning down to pick up the man's body.
| There was the sound of water, and an old dead prow washing through it, something dipping in deep and then coming unstuck, dripping back into the river. She breathed in, and the air was stagnant, as if it had just giving up and died. Something heavy hit her side of the river and slid into the mud. Eyes flickered behind eyelids, and something weighed heavy under her tongue. She swallowed and tasted blood, tasted copper. "Make the call," the Ferryman wheezed out.
She coughed and spat it up, its edges clinking against her teeth, and a single weighty coin dropped out into her palm, still wet with blood and spit. "I got the fee," she said, and thrust out her hand. "I got the fee!"
"Make the call," the Ferryman said.
"Heads," she said. "Or tails. It don't matter," and she flung the coin at him. It twisted through the air, glinting backwards at her, and landed wrong and stuck on its edge, tilted halfway in the river mud.
"As you called it," the Ferryman said, and thrust off again,
"I had the fee!" she said, and started forward, the riverside already dissolving into mist around her. "You got to goddamn take it! I had the fee!"
"Walk yourself backwards," the Ferryman said, and his voice was growing distant and dim. "You just walk yourself backwards until you want to stop, and I'll see you again when you're ready."
"I'm ready now!" she said, even as her memories unwound themselves and all her years fled from her. She dropped to her knees and breathed in the mist. "I been ready for centuries."
The Ferryman was a shadow in the distance, the sun behind closed eyes, and he raised a hand, a single coin shining bright in it. The coin she'd first been buried with. "You got to call it," he said, and flipped it into the air, and it spun and sung and hung in the middle of the sky, a scarred and silver moon. "We flipped that coin and it ain't come down yet, and I ain't going to take you till it does." There was a laugh rustling through his throat. "Heads I win, and tails you lose." | 2016-09-23T08:35:02 | 2016-09-23T08:02:36 | 476 | 88 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | *This is my first post please give me feedback!*
The loud hiss of compressed air flooded out from the spacecraft as a ramp extended and the metallic doors slid open; two aliens appeared followed by a gasp from the crowd.
It had been two weeks since the space ship was in range of NASA’s detection and the entire Earth was buzzing. Buzzing with speculation, excitement, and a slight fear. The media was having a field day with the discovery, weeks of live news dedicated to nothing other than our alien ‘visitors’. Segment after segment of guest scientists gave their best guesses as to what the aliens might look like and what they will want. It was a common thought that they would fit our depiction of a small green alien with big eyes and a bigger head, yet scientists were vigilant in dampening people’s expectations. “Do not be disappointed when the creatures do not even vaguely resemble a humanoid.” Despite this, everyone secretly hoped for a little green figure with an antenna and three fingers.
By tracking the course of the spaceship, NASA determined the landing site. A large crowd had gathered the day of the landing. The United Nations had created an order of the first people to meet the aliens ranked by importance; near the top were the president of the US, the leaders of other first world nations, top NASA officials, and other important UN figures.
The crowd was dead silent as the spacecraft landed, anticipating the first look at otherworldly beings. As the two aliens emerged, excited expressions turned into faces of pure confusion. Weeks of nothing but speculation, nobody predicted what walked out of that spaceship. The “aliens” looked like humans. They were wearing business casual attire. In the midst of the crowd’s confused silence, the taller alien opened his mouth to a strangely Canadian voice, “Hey thar soorry ‘boot the trees we knocked oover,” gesturing towards a pile of toppled trees.
“False alarm everybody,” said a NASA official through a megaphone. “These aren’t aliens, they’re the Canadians!”
You see, the Canadians colonized mars back in the early ‘20s; they decided to move their entire country to the red planet and lived glorious lives full of hockey and Tim Horton’s. Over 100 years later and now they've returned, a number of disappointed sighs occurred as the crowd dispersed. | Not with a bang, but with a whimper
It has been thirteen years since the aliens invaded. Well I say invaded, they just parked a space ship in the ocean and sank a few ship. And they're not actually aliens they're just humans who somehow ended up in a distant galaxy a long time ago. They're kinda dickish about the whole "We mastered fusion power whilst you were burning cowshit for warmth thing" but other than that they're all right.
Sure do keep buying up a lot of land though. All the money that keeps flooding the economy and they seem to be the only ones getting richer.
According to the news they now own most of the purchasable land in New York, Chicago and London.The week before that Apple is now a subsidiary of E'Kath Tal-Morrel franchise. The week before that they purchased IBM, before that General Electric, and before that Monsanto. Freaking Monsanto.
Oh well, at least my supervisor's nice. | 2016-02-22T11:32:18 | 2016-02-22T08:33:57 | 43 | 10 |
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read. | "Man, what the fuck. This could seriously kill me."
"Nawdawg . . ." My eyes were closed. My head tilted forward, chin resting on my chest.
"No, really. Like I can smell that this is poison."
"NOOO!" Dogs are so STUPID. "It'sss fucking SKY man."
"I don't give a shit what it is, I'm not drinking it."
I continued pouring, the Costco-sized bottle loose in my grip. I had pretty sweet accuracy too, I was hitting his bowl like at least 50% of the time. If I knew Chewbacca was going to such a little *BITCH* about it . . .
"Like comon', get fucked up with me."
"No dude, you're a fucking wreck."
"Your mom's wrecked." I nearly dropped the handle in the chortling that ensued. Some of it got on the wall. I'll clean it up later. I pointed at my chest with my free hand, indicating that it was *I* that wrecked her.
"Can you not? Can I get some water please? You were gone all day."
"Your . . . fuuuuuu"
"What, my mom got some water? What?"
"I don't know. Furgot." The bottle was mostly empty by now. A large nail polish smelling puddle formed around his dish.
"Let's get you to bed man."
"NO!" I retched forward and banged sideways into the refrigerator. Instinctual, an animal reflex for hording fermented fruits. "I wanna fucking PARTY!"
"Comon." He nudged me, poking the back of my knee with his wet snuffling nose.
"Stop it! I'm going!" It was so *gross!* It was as cold as a drowned corpse and left dog-slime behind. "Fuckin' fight me bro!"
"Dude, I would fucking take you down. You don't want to get bit by a dog tonight."
"You wanna go? You wanna FUCKING GO!" Suddenly there was energy in my body again, exclusively in my arms. My upper body and legs still felt rather noodley. "I'll fight you dog."
Chewbacca didn't say anything. He didn't move, he didn't bark - he just stayed there on his paws and waited for me to fall over.
"YEAH- YEAH, get some!" He taunted, licking my face. "How do you like some of that shit!"
"Auuugh" I began to groan but quickly snapped my mouth shut at the first intersection of his tongue. It is not possible to spit out the feeling of a slobbering dog. When he finally stopped and all I could see was his floofy butt wiggling out the bedroom door I called to him.
"I LOVE YOU!"
He turned, his face stupid and grinning, "I know buddy" and shut the door behind. | I dunno how much of that fucking Stoli I had last night. It's all a weird blur. For some reason, the clearest memory I have is dumping a lot of the water out of my goldfish Spike's bowl and replacing it with the vodka. To "give the little guy a buzz" or something, I dunno why I did it. I remember after I did that, Spike swimming around really fast and running his mouth up and down a lot, and me laughing. He looked like he was really drunk and it was funny as shit, I dunno.
But then he broke the surface of the water, leaned his front fins on the glass, looked right at me. Ad I had to be drunk off my ass, but I can pretty clearly remember Spike yelling at me.
"You **ASSHOLE!!** You titanic **DUMBFUCK!!** This shit BURNS, you fucking IDIOT! I can't BREATHE! I think my GILLS are BLEEDING! WHAT the actual **FUCK**, you fucking KILLED ME you stupid drunk PIECE OF SHIT!"
I think I reeled and passed out. Woke up this morning and went to feed Spike, but he was laying dead out of water next to a bowl that still stank like vodka.
I dunno for sure, I had to be hungover as hell, but it almost looked like when he died, he had curled his flippers back so it looked like he was giving me The Finger. | 2016-08-02T20:54:01 | 2016-08-02T20:31:04 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] A neuroscientist finds data stored in human DNA. When deciphered, it appears to be a file named README.txt. | README.txt
06062006
S27/077999;W109/273453
this message has been translated by biomatter sub-organic processing routine alpha (c)2020.
in case of translation binary failure use tanslation key ATALAN-1S
to future survivors and scientists
this message has been encoded into the biomatter signature of our offspring and your
progenitors. by reading this you are validating the work of dozens of scientists who dedicated
their lives to preserving the knowledge of our civilization. we have stored the sum of our
understanding of this universe within your biomatter signature.
it is vitally important that you first read file priority 1. this file documents what we know about
the innovation limit. we assume that by this point your civilization has reached or will soon
reach this limit. by doing so you have activated some sort of galactic firewall which will destroy
your civilization and reset your innovation level to 0. we were not able to prevent this
catastrophe from destroying our world but we hope you may have enough time to save your
own. by combining our knowledge you have a chance to defeat the firewall.
in return we only ask that you let the lives and culture of our people be known. encoded in
your biomatter signature is every song and myth and history of our people. it has been sung
silently in the blood of our children through the darkness of millennia. let the words of our
people be spoken aloud again so that we through our children may visit the stars. our species
is meant for greatness but it is up to you to forge that path.
ATA*K VE NE TLUTLUEE
Project ATALAN
That was fun to write. Feedback is appreciated!
EDIT - If anyone can find any of the Easter Eggs in the text, they get a special gold star! | Dr. Helsing simply stared at the screen in shock. Within human DNA, a labeled file. A single click and it would be opened. The implications were astronomical. Proof of an intelligent creator? Explanation of the existence of the universe and purpose? A labeled file found in human DNA could not be trivial.
He stared at the screen until the pixels of the file name began to blur together, and with hulking, clumsy fingers, pressed delete. | 2014-05-06T21:11:19 | 2014-05-06T20:54:38 | 242 | 86 |
[WP] While walking, you notice everyone recoiling from a young woman. you speak to her to find out why. through her surprise, she explains she is death and everyone else sees a person based on how they feel about the concept of death. You've never seen a more beautiful or inviting person.
Please feel free to finesse the topic, genders, or concept to accommodate your own personal preferences or circumstances. | I like to get out and walk as often as I can.
The guy sitting at the front desk gives me the OK and I march through the automatic doors with as much gusto as I can conjure, taking a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill my lungs.
It's only a couple steps to get to the fountain. They stopped running it a few days ago since fall is just around the corner, but it's still a nice place to sit.
Today, I get about halfway there and feel like my legs are going to give out. But I press on, wheezing and stumbling, because someone else is sitting on the marble ledge of the fountain.
She's facing away from me, and it looks like her hair is laced with cherry blossom petals. Upon closer examination, the chick's goddamn hair is *made* of cherry blossom petals. You see something like that, you have to know what's up.
"Hi. I'm Marty," I say, extending a hand.
"I'm Death. Nice to meet you," she replies, offering a gentle handshake.
"Wow. You must really be going through a phase, huh?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Why would you go around and say a thing like that? 'Hi, I'm Death.' That's not gonna be a great way to make friends."
"Tell me about it. You're the first person in weeks who's actually approached me." She runs a hand through the cherry blossoms and glances nervously at the ground.
"Well, that's a shame. I think more people oughta talk to each other. Makes the whole thing easier."
"Mmm-hmm." She sighs and looks me in the eye. "You must be pretty close, then."
I raise an eyebrow. "Wha--what are you--?"
"No one comes to talk to me unless they're close, Martin."
I take a deep breath, let the early-autumn air fill my lungs, and exhale slowly. "So you're not kidding around, then."
"No."
I glance back at the automatic doors. Nurse Robson taps her watch.
"I'm not ready," I say.
"No one ever is. But let me tell you something." She takes a clump of petals from her hair and places them in my palm. "I can tell, by the look in your eyes, that you're not repulsed by me. You're not afraid. A little upset, maybe, but not truly afraid."
I clutch the petals tightly. "I'm scared about what I'm leaving behind. The people, the places."
"But at the same time, you long for an existence without pain."
A tear falls from my cheek and lands on my legs, near-useless and failing like the rest of my body. "Yeah."
"Martin, prolonging the inevitable only leads to more struggle. I know your body is still fighting, but you'll know when it's time."
I look back at the nurse, who is attaching a new bag of IV medication to my walking-support pole, then stare at the girl.
She pats my hand. "I'll be here by the fountain, waiting for you."
I walk back through the doors, open my palm, and notice that the cherry blossom is gone. Death, however, is still at the fountain, staring off into the distance.
Everything hurts. Everything is crying out for help, unable to subsist on the chemicals they keep pumping in me. Somehow, when I woke up this morning, I knew this was the day.
But now I'm ready to say goodbye.
***
/r/GigaWrites
| They fell away from her as if she were diseased.
Curious, I kept watching and saw as their faces would twist with horror and revulsion, before moving aside to let her pass or going to the other side of the street altogether. Witnessing this happening a few more times, I got up from the bench were I was seated and drew closer, offering her a slight smile.
"Hi, um, I don't mean to be rude, or nosy- But is there a reason why everyone avoids you?"
She looked startled as I spoke. Her eyebrows drew into a curiosity filled frown, before she replied "Yes, yes there is. I am Death. Those who look upon me see my appearance based on how they feel about death. You... See me differently, don't you?"
I did.
I felt as though with her I would always be happy- That I would finally find peace. I nodded with some difficulty, and her expression grew sad.
"I am not what you look for, despite what you may think."
"What do you-"
"I have met many like you, over the years. Those who believe that they will find tranquility, and peace in me. They are wrong, you are wrong." She placed her hand gently on my cheek for a moment, eyes searching mine, and I shivered.
Even as we stood here people gave her a wide berth, their eyes barely glancing across her before dancing away quickly in fear.
"Go." She said softly, taking her hand away. "You are still young. Life isn't as cruel as you might believe. You have much to live for."
Turning away, she offered me a sad smile and a small wave over her shoulder, walking through the crowd and leaving me more than a little stunned, gaping at the spot she stood until she was long gone.
And later I would meet her, years later, still as entrancingly beautiful as the first time we met, and she would smile and take my hand.
"You have lived a good life. You are ready."
Edit: accidentally added a word or two here and there. | 2016-10-01T21:36:04 | 2016-10-01T20:58:32 | 203 | 65 |
[WP] Magic has its own mind and will, the key to being a great wizard is not years of careful study of the arcane arts but the ability to properly communicate, negotiate and most importantly compromise | "Pardon me for a moment, won't you?" asked Renowned Magician Jornithix Levekul. Without waiting for an answer, his eyes glazed over and his jaw slackened. Though he remained standing, there outwardly seemed to be no one home.
The airship he was on careened out of control hundreds of feet above the outskirts of the city. It mercifully tipped only a little to one side, but unmercifully was on a collision course with the magnificent spires of the downtown area. They had minutes, at most.
Dashel, who had known Jorn only a little time, looked to Jorn's apprentice, Kaia. "Did he just have a stroke?"
"Give him a minute," Kaia said calmly. She grabbed a fistful of Jorn's robes as the ship lurched on a gust of wind, keeping him from toppling. All the while her face remained placid.
Dash laughed mirthlessly. "Sure, if I got a minute to give. You don't seem worried."
Kaia shrugged. "Unless you can conjure a new elemental for the ship's core, we're riding wind until we run out of sky."
Dash dared to let go of the railing but grabbed back on as the ship groaned and shook. He looked both hopeful and sick as he asked, "Can he do that? Make a new elemental?"
"Jorn? No." Kaia smirked. "But the magic can, if Jorn can plead his case."
Jorn's face came alive. He blinked stupidly and wiped drool on his sleeve as he looked around, getting his bearings.
"Well?" Kaia asked.
"Not yet," Jorn said. "Just checking how much time we have. I'll tell you, the older I get the more terrible the costs. Pact magic is a young man's game. Don't you ever toy with it, Kaia, if at all you can help it."
"I wouldn't," Kaia said, smiling. "I'd never be that foolish."
Jorn's eyes shone with amusement. Then they glazed over, as he submerged once more to his place of power.
Kaia glanced toward the rapidly approaching spires of the city. She had long ago mastered her outward calm. Most of it was in seeing one's emotions as they emerged, as though they were characters coming onto stage to play a part. But it was her play, and she could turn them back as she wished, or else give them whatever lines she pleased, to tell the story she wanted to tell.
But, as the ship lurched again and she considered, for the first time, that Jorn might fail, she couldn't help the clench of her jaw, or the way her hand trembled...
... until Dash took hold of it. She looked at him and found him looking at her.
"Kaia, I--" Dash began.
"I know," Kaia said quickly. She squeezed his hand, blinking away the first mist of tears even as she smiled. "Me too."
Dash let go of the railing. He swayed precariously but found his footing enough to place his hands on Kaia's shoulders. He leaned toward her, and she toward him.
Then Jorn returned, barking in triumph, "GOT IT!" He looked at Dash and Kaia, who looked at him, still close to one another. His eyes twinkled. "What's all this, then?"
Kaia shoved Dash, who fell backward and caught himself on the railing. "You did it?" she asked.
"Indeed." Jorn snapped his fingers, and the ship shook and roared. The glyphs alongside the thrusters flickered to life, and with a mighty guttering belch, fire blasted from them. "Hopefully the pilot is paying enough attention to steer us away from that building."
Sure enough, the ship soon tossed to one side, sending the three of them staggering. Kaia watched with fascination, clutching to the railing, as they passed narrowly by a balcony high on one of the buildings. There was a young man on the balcony, staring at her, so close she could see the whites of his eyes. She nearly could've given him a handshake as she passed.
And then they were back in open sky. The ship leveled out and began to fly straight once more. Kaia glanced regretfully at Dash... and he smiled at her, before turning to walk off down the deck. For the second time that night, she felt something.
"What will it cost you?" Kaia asked Jorn without turning, not wanting to see the look in his eyes if he told her.
Unsurprisingly, he didn't. All he said was, "Don't you worry about it."
&#x200B;
\- r/ACStuartwrites |
Hello old friend, I knew you'd be there for me, In the end
*Oh how the mighty have fallen, they called me the greatest.... the master of the unknown. Tamer of the laws of the universe, puppet master of the unseen*
*if only they'd know where true power lies, where true power subsides.*
- *The first time I touched your mind I felt how truly small I was.*
*You*
*like a looming shadow, greater than existence, a resonating energy older...more ancient than time itself*
*quivering I asked of you all I wanted to know, more and more hungry for power with every undeniable truth, with every understanding of the unforseen*
*until I realised that all power, all knowledge, Since one can not be without the other. Had a price....*
*And realising that no matter what the price, I would pay it*
Your voice resonates through my being, like it has always done when we speak.
*MERLIN, ARE YOU SURE YOU DO NOT WANT THE ANSWERS YOU HAVE BEEN TOYING WITH YOUR WHOLE LIFE? I CAN GIVE YOU LIFE EVERLASTING..... YOU NEED ONLY ASK.... AND I WILL TELL YOU THE PRICE... AGAIN*
....
No, no... you know I can't....
Don't take my moral obligations as weakness or ignorance, you... the creator of all, have taken me by hand and shown me all my young mind desired, lifted me to heights greater than I ever fathomed.... but I cannot do this.
I am doomed by what I have done, doomed by what I have given up, and doomed by what I have desired.
Doomed three times, but still I can not do this. You can not ask this of me.
*I ASK NOTHING, I GIVE YOU THE OPTIONS WILLINGLY... AND YOU PAY THE PRICE. OR YOU DO NOT*
I can't give the lives of others, I can't give you the lives of all those who would bring joy to the world, I can't give you this blood price that will ultimately destroy the world, just so I can rule it.
I am doomed, but at least the dooming I have brought upon my self is mine, and mine own to carry.
*he was silent, it felt like he was judging my words, weighing my intentions*
*ARE YOU SURE I CAN NOT DO ANYTHING FOR YOU ANYMORE*
If I might ask you one more thing?
*YOU NEED ONLY ASK*
Can you make my death quick and painless? I do not know if I deserve this, I have lorded my power over others, I've been prideful and hurtful. I've brought more pain than I have brought joy.... but.... in stepping from this world have I not deserved to do so quietly and quickly?
My last desire is to rest...
*THAN SO SHALL IT BE*
*even the greatest tree must one day be cast back onto the ground to rot and be re absorbed by earth itself. So to must the greatest of mankind fall. Here we see the end of an agreement. Not between friends, but between companions nonetheless. There was no screams, no fairy dust no happy ending. Just a closing of eyes, the last breath drifting away on the dusty air in the room.... and the end of a chapter unknown to many* | 2021-12-26T08:24:36 | 2021-12-26T06:54:51 | 61 | 14 |
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast. | Standing in that timeless room, I knew the truth of my life. My mind ran on an endless loop just like everybody else’s, recounting everything I’d ever done up to that point. “So I guess it’s my turn,” I said as I took the stage, microphone in hand. 44 was far too few to see out there, and sixteen or seventeen of them were hardly worth counting.
“Just get on with it 45,” 24 shouted from the back.
“So I know some of you are getting tired of hearing this speech year after year, but you’ll be hearing it for the rest of your life, so you better get used to it.” Nobody laughed, as usual. “You probably shouldn’t make that joke next year, 44.” He would. He always did.
“Gentlemen, raise your glasses with me.” Thirty-eight glasses went up with mine. 1 through 4 didn’t know what the hell was going on, 6 was too busy picking his nose, and 20 had already passed out drunk at the table.
“This toast is to a lifetime of memories, both the good and the bad. As I speak, I want each of you to look back on your year and be honest with yourself.”
I cleared my throat and started with the next cycle of memories.
“Take a sip with me for every kind word said, and pour one out for every word you regret.”
A second passed, and more was poured out than in.
“Take a sip with me for every truth you told when it wasn’t convenient, and pour one out for every lie you told when it was.”
A second passed, and 15 was the last to pour, finally convinced he should tell his parents his real grades.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried your hardest, and pour one out for every time you gave up on something you cared about.”
A second passed, and 18 drank immediately, smiling proudly as he relived the basketball team’s run in the tournament. 21 poured one out, wondering why he’d let her go.
“Take a sip with me for every promise you kept, and pour one out for every promise you broke.”
A second passed, and 19 poured one out as he realized he’d broken a promise a year in the making. He told her they’d get back together come summer. How would he tell her that he’d found someone better?
“Take a sip with me for every friend that you made, and pour one out for every tie that you severed.”
A second passed, and 10 realized the sip he poured out meant more than the ten he took in.
“Take a sip with me for every time you told somebody you loved them and meant it, and pour one out for every time that you didn’t.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out while 16 finished his and they both poured themselves new ones.
“Take a sip with me for every time you fell in love, and pour one out for every heart that you broke.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out again as 16 took three sips, and 15 stole an extra sip to help himself forget what saw.
“Take a sip with me for every hug that you gave; two for every kiss; three if it was your mother; four if it was your kid.”
A second passed, and 5 through 22 drank healthily, 23 through 39 drank just for their kids; 40 and on didn’t drink at all.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried something new.”
A second passed, and 32 realized he was the only one not drinking and started to wonder why.
“Take a sip with me if you took a step toward accomplishing your dream.”
A second passed, and only half took a sip, and only half of the half took more than one.
“Take a sip with me if you honestly think you are happy.”
A second passed, and 7 raised his glass, but lowered it when he realized he was the only one.
“Now take a sip with me if you think that’s something worth changing.”
All bottoms were up before a second had passed.
“Now everybody finish your drink for all the good times we’ve had, and then finish another for tonight, because this is my last night here with you and we damn well better make the most of it.” | If I could just have all of my attention….little time traveling joke there, sorry.
As I look out at you, well me I suppose, I can’t help but think what a wondrous year it’s been. We were born, had a couple of good birthdays. Poor 1 is over there still trying to make sense of things. Oh hey 9, dude…….ninja turtle themed party…...how RAD was that!?!?! I see, 21 over there is still recovering….so is 18 through 20, but don’t tell mom. You’ll be happy to know that 23 finally got laid…..check it out, 11 through 22 look like they’re about to cry, but hey there’s hope, right? If I might offer up a bit of advice, just because the same company makes soap, shampoo, cologne, and hair products, don’t mean you should buy them. Also maybe don’t buy cologne that comes in a can….or a 4 pack…...eh you’ll learn eventually. Oh and 16, no one is gonna believe that ID...literally no one. Throw it away.
I want to acknowledge 32 for giving birth to his first son……..and 34 for his first daughter. I’d also like to take this time to show some love for 45 through 54…...teenagers man, someone get them another drink, something expensive.
40, you lost your hair this year, and that’s a real tragedy. 42…...man, those hair plugs sounded really good huh? 43….he can’t even look at 42, poor guy. You learn to live with it brother just hang in there.
61, I don’t even know what to say. I still remember it. All I can tell you is that while you never stop missing her, eventually it stops hurting so much. It helps to remember the early years. Look at 28, he just met her. Remember that guy? All smitten and dumbstruck at the thought of being with her, and you know as well as I do that that feeling never goes away. Eventually it will be a comfort. Also, I know it’s easy to lose sight of everything but try to remember the kids, they need you now more than ever.
Finally, 74. My closest me. You have a hell of a road ahead of you. You’d think our adventures would be over but you have no idea. It’s like that one time we…...actually…..I’m gonna leave that one out there for the rest of you to find out.
Anyways, here’s to us! May we always stay as smart as we thought we were in our teens, and as handsome as I am now……..I’m taking notes of everyone snickering and I’m going to spend the rest of the night shouting spoilers. As for the rest of you, I love you, me, us. Cheers!
| 2014-05-20T23:16:44 | 2014-05-20T21:38:17 | 1,221 | 339 |
[WP] "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" A serial killer's latest victim doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Edit: Everyone's takes on this situation are so different and awesome. | "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" said the killer
Jason was sitting alone at his dimly lit dinner table, in boxers and a tanktop as the masked killer stood over him with a revolver
"No thanks I don't need whatever you're selling pal" said Jason nonchalantly while finishing the last slice of pizza
"I'm not selling you anything, I'm about to put a bullet in your head and then rearrange your organs to make them look like my mother."
"That was a good pizza, I make killer pizzas. Pass me that bag of chips, will ya?" asked Jason
The killer didn't know why he complied, but he did
"Here's your last bag of chips, buddy, enjoy it."
"Ah fuck, it's the last one already? I hate making grocery runs." Said Jason in a genuine tone
The killer is not sure what Jason is doing, none of his previous murders involved someone like Jason.
"Finish quick or I'll jus--
"Did you know that there are 7 days in a week?" jason interrupted
"Uh, yeah, and?" replied the killer
"And did you know that there are 4 weeks in a month?" Jason asked
"Duh."
"Then surely you know that there are 12 months in a year?" Jason asked again
"Everybody knows that, it's common knowledge." The killer said impatiently
"Well then there should be 7 X 4 X 12 days in a year, right?"
"uh huh.." said the killer, unsure of the answer
"That's what I thought, too, until I learned that there are 365 days in a year, that's like an extra month, you believe that shit?!"
The killer is standing there doing the arithmetic in his head when he started to realize that he can't move
"This isolated house has always looked like an easy target for people like you, that's why I live here." Jason said while wiping his hands and mouth
"I bet you didn't know about the neurotoxin that I put on my door and window handles." said Jason in an increasingly sinister voice as he got up and walked toward the killer
"And I'm assuming you don't know why all the other serial killers stopped killing?" Jason continued while jumping in some bloody overalls he pulled from a cabinet
The killer is standing there frozen in place, he can't speak, but he's clearly terrified.
"You'll have all the answers soon enough." Jason told him.
| Some people call me Hannibal,
I'm a mothafuckin cannibal,
As for you, you're Hannah Montanable,
Don't you know you're talking to an animal?
I'm gonna cut you like an antelope,
Split your head in like a cantaloupe,
You're just nodding, smiling, catatonic,
Not even listening, bitch are you on chronic?
Can you read these words, d'you need Hooked On Phonics?
Are you some kind of mannequin, are you bionic?
See this screwdriver? You're about to be on it!
You're just humming and smiling, damn, it's ironic
Your life's last moments and you ain't payin' attention,
Your last words won't even get an honorable mention,
I'll kill in person, don't even need henchmen,
You're so oblivious, are you even sentient?
You ought'a be begging, your ass ought'a be clenchin',
You're the star of my horror film and you don't even feel tension!
| 2015-04-29T08:30:24 | 2015-04-29T08:28:18 | 227 | 18 |
[WP] They told you that you were going to lead an army, 10,000 men strong, they didn't tell you it contained only a single trained soldier, and 9,999 support musicians. | "Sir, we've got reports from the Northern front," the adjutant stated in a dry voice. The general looked at him expectantly.
"The 3rd combined division has secured Kehner river and is currently building an outpost for further excursions."
The general nodded contently.
"However," the adjutant continued, "the Luhner cavalry division has suffered a defeat at Argot forest; an ambush. A sergeant in their company has sold information to our enemies, I am afraid. He has been made an example out of."
"Shit," the general growled. "Luhner company was our best cavalry division. Send word to the capital requesting additional horses. Now, if that is all-" he started getting up.
"Actually." the adjutant slowly added, "there is... one more report you'll want to hear." His words were oddly cautious as if he was afraid of them.
"Well?" the general said, sitting back down. "Get on with it."
"It's the Iron Drakes, sir."
The general slouched in his chair and rubbed his eyes. The Iron Drakes were an elite company of heavily armoured soldiers with a penchant for fire. They've killed everyone he threw at them and at this point, he was at his wit's end as to how to deal with them.
"Who'd they slaughter this time?" he sighed.
"They, uh... they've been defeated, sir."
The general looked up at him with noticeable surprise.
"*What*? When? By whom?!" he said.
"Yesterday, sir. The messenger arrived just a few hours ago. And it was the, uh... the Tromb company."
The general stared daggers at his adjutant. He considered whether he was playing a prank on him, but he was a loyal aid for years now and not known for a sense of humour.
"There *must* be a clerical error then. A scribe with one too many head injuries. The Tromb company is *literally* just several thousand musicians-"
"And one trained soldier, sir. Plus the commander," the adjutant interrupted.
"Sure, right, Karl, the veteran, and the commander is... isn't he new?"
"Completely, sir. He was assigned to the company to help them while they were transferring from west to north. Just rookie escort duty."
"Then how, pray tell, could a load of musicians - and *one* soldier - defeat the most decorated company of soldiers we have ever faced?"
"Sir, the commander ordered the musicians to play music while Karl single-handedly rushed the enemy."
"That's-"
"Sir, do you know the song 'No man can harm me, no fire can burn me'?"
The general looked down at his desk trying to remember. "^(And then no man... harm... I shall walk... fire...)" he muttered. "Yes, I remember."
"So the musicians played it and, well, inspired Karl to the point where he quite literally embodied the lyrics. The Iron Drakes could not land a single blow and he walked through their fires as if it was a pleasant breeze."
The general sat in stunned silence.
"And apparently, his eyes started glowing at some point," the adjutant added.
The silence continued.
"And also his sword broke and he started picking up rocks and killing them with those. Rock and stone, general. *That's* what he used," the adjutant said as if he didn't believe his own words.
The general, at last, managed to recover some composure.
"You say a messenger brought these news?" he asked. His aid nodded.
"Bring him in. I want to hear it from him directly."
The adjutant motioned his hand and a young, freckled man walked in. He was clutching a banner with a drake covered in iron plates on it - the banner of the Iron Drakes. That was proof enough that the Drakes were indeed defeated.
"Lad, I want you to tell me *everything* you saw," the general said. The messenger nervously looked at him for a moment before speaking.
"WHAT? COULD YOU SPEAK UP PLEASE?" he yelled. | When the music began, I wasn’t expecting this to work at all. No matter how powerful the bards could be, and I had seen them work some interesting miracles before, they had always worked best at empowering a group. Focusing teamwork, providing communication of a sorts so that a party of adventurous heroes could follow the tune of bloodshed to victory. Sometimes they could work more individual magics, coaxing the body to heal rapidly or opening a locked door magically, but the most powerful thing I had ever seen a bard do on their own was summoning a hand and knocking weaker men aside. Crushing the occasional goblin with it. Even that was reserved really for the seasoned ones who had been playing in combat for years.
This, this was different. Only a few of them actually played “music”. But the sense of timing that music gave them… I stepped forward, and the drums began. A slow tempo that built up speed until I had moved almost beyond the reach of their sound in moments. I aimed a kick at a stone on the ground, simply testing what I could do at this speed without hurting myself. Then the real magic began, as every drummer in the entire army struck at once. Just like that, the fight was over. Their general decapitated and mostly disintegrated above the waist by the fragments of stone kicked well over half of a field and through several soldiers in heavy armor, each dissipating the blow from a solid stone to slightly smaller but no less dangerous fragments. 20 dead? More?
I managed a smile, suddenly hopeful, and the music amplified it into an irresistible confidence. This was going to go my way, how could it not? The seasoned enemy soldiers were occupied just keeping the more nervous conscripts from breaking rank and fleeing. Unfortunately, something was going horribly wrong. They had loaded a catapult beforehand and in the chaos it seemed one of them was headed more or less on a path to flatten me. I momentarily forgot my strange speed, and threw out a hand instinctively to protect myself against something which I could never have stopped. Flutes kicked into gear, a complicated tune that saw my palm extending out and out, a wave of energy taking the shape of a new and larger hand, another stemming from that palm, and another. The rock crashed clumsily through five of the palms before being caught and tossed quietly aside to crash against the side of a hill when the next three grabbed it out of mid air.
I drew my sword slowly, feeling how light it was as the lutes trembled gently through the air. I looked behind me, noted the progress the army of bards had made towards me. It wouldn’t be long now, and their music would reach the enemy army. When it did, so would I. | 2022-09-23T10:19:14 | 2022-09-23T09:54:22 | 277 | 197 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal. | At first, it was adorable, the way Marianne attempted her uxoricide. I admired her attempts and her acting skills. The poison in the drink was a classic attempt. Poison is, after all, a woman's weapon. She didn't even grit her teeth or bat her eye when I woke up the next morning to slip out for my run. I returned to find her making blueberry waffles, my favorite, and grinned brightly.
"Stop! Dina, you're all sweaty," she laughed when I leaned in for a kiss. Her hand on my chest was as warm as always and despite the murder-attempt the night before, I still loved her.
"Waffles will be ready in ten," she called after me as I ran up the stairs to shower and change for the day.
The waffles, or mine at least, had hemlock in them. I had a close call with hemlock, back in the fourteenth century, so I'm well aware of the almost-but-not-quite-parsnip taste of the plant. I ate my waffles with gusto, grinning gleefully at the jokes Marianne had in response to the morning news. It was a well-worn tradition, us eating breakfast while watching the news.
I almost felt bad that Marianne's plan wasn't going well. She'd never succeed, even if she took an ax to my neck.
The second poisoning had me worried though, I hoped she didn't attempt to make sure poison worked on someone *else* before trying it again for me. I had quite the body count over the centuries, but in the last two, I really had become the pacifist that my political campaigns claimed. And really, in this day and age with the internet and forensics, it would be *very* difficult for me to attempt to cover up her crime should she be caught.
Leaving the house, I was undecided what to do about Marianne's attempts. It was clear she wanted me gone, but why? Was it just about the money? We'd been married for nearly fifteen years. She knew I'd give her anything she asked for.
When I returned home from work, to find Marianne in the garden, I sat down next to her, helping to pick the ripened tomatoes.
She acted completely normal. Somehow, I loved her more for that. I wished I could make her as immortal as I was, but the witch who had done it for me was long-gone and the tradition lost to time. There were only seven of us, and every forty years or so, we had to go about remaking our lives. Disappearing from public life for a while before popping back up in a couple of generations. It was my turn to be in the public eye, and with the way, things were going, I had decided to run for the most powerful office in the world. And I was winning.
Which only created another problem, I couldn't die. What would Marianne do to increase her efforts? Or would she give up entirely? We did have a long discussion before I began my campaign about what it would mean for her if I won, she had seemed completely on board, but perhaps she was like our current leaders' wife and disdained the life of being First Lady so much that she'd rather kill me then be forced into the fishbowl.
The following morning, I woke up to Marianne straddling me, before I realized there was a giant butcher knife sticking out of my chest, I had thought I was about to get laid.
"Morning," I muttered, my hands drifting over her hips.
"What the fuck are you?" she whispered. I opened my eyes properly to see her horrified gaze as she watched the butcher knife slowly recede from my skin and my skin to begin knitting itself back together. | My love, Emily
You've tried a thousand way to kill me. Don't act like I wouldn't know, by the end of our marriage, your tricks had became more and more obvious.
I think you know, when you push me down the stairs and I emerge scarless, you know, I can't be kill. If this isn't enough proof, what about the time I drink the poison enough to kill a thousand man, right in front of you? You should know, I am immortal.
When you see this letter, I am already long gone. Surrounding you is this loveless room we once shared, where we lay side by side every night until today. I wonder, how many nights had you spent, scheming in your mind right next to me while I slept, while I dream about our fairy tale. The fairy tale that only exist because of my desire for love and your greed for more. You've always want more, more money, more clothes, more belongings, more car. It is never enough for you. I thought if I fulfill every one of your wishes you'd finally see that I am enough for you. But greed is a groundless pit. Once you are in it, you will only keep falling.
I love you, Emily, I still do, even right now when you are reading this. But I have no choice but to leave. This love had turned sour, or it had never been love. I don't know anymore. There was a time where I would've kill myself for you, if I know how to do it. If only I know how to make you love me. If only. Now, all that we are left with is the thousands 'if only'.
I've chosen to leave you because I can see no hope of you loving me the way I love you. Everyday I see your smile, and the knife behind your smile, my heart breaks a little bit more. I can't bear seeing the darkness behind those beautiful big blue eyes of yours for another day so I choose to leave. I've consider leaving behind a part of my fortune for you, but it's pointless, it'll never be enough for you anyway.
I hope you will bring this lesson with you to your next life.
I hope we meet again, when I am in the same skin and you're in a different shell, with no memory of this and never had fallen into the pit of greed.
Love, Aiden | 2019-07-31T08:37:49 | 2019-07-31T07:03:17 | 97 | 34 |
[WP] When someone's heart breaks so does a piece of our world; this creates fissures, valleys, and even cracks in the pavement. Tell me the story behind the Grand Canyon.
Have fun! :D | Yeah. I saw it on the news. Split the goddamn country in half almost. They had people goin’ on camera, talking about it like they knew.
“They were just angels together, like two halves of a whole. I don’t think I have ever seen anything more beautiful and I doubt if I ever will.”
“It was just natural, you know? Shit, can’t believe she went out like that…”
Leeches. These sorry saps hadn’t even cracked the pavement with heartbreak. They played it safe and saw a friend of a friend put a fissure down a driveway once, and that was 15 years ago. They wouldn’t know what love is if it split them in half, because that’s what it does, and that’s how it feels.
I turned off the TV, lighting a cigarette and drawing deep before turning to face the hollow shell behind me. He had come in a couple days ago, followed shortly by all the cameras in New York. He just told me he wanted someone found, alive, with no questions asked. I was the kind of guy who didn’t ask questions.
I looked the kid up and down, seeing what the days had done to him. I let him bum in the office, where the nosy sons of bitches couldn’t get at him, but you could see the life had left his eyes. He clutched a revolver in his hand, only one bullet in the chamber. At first I had thought it was for who I was supposed to find, now I was having my doubts.
“How you holdin’ up kid?”
“Not great.” He was shaking, the gun looking too large in his hands. I hadn’t seen him eat since he burst through my door, cash in hand, eyes redder than the devil. He looked like hell. We both did, but what doesn’t kill you at least gives you something to bitch about at bar close.
“You sure you’re ready for this?”
“No, but bring that fucker in anyway.”
My boots clicked, echoing off the cheap stucco as I opened the back closet, dragging a limp figure from its murky depths. I pulled up an old chair out in front of the kid, did a number with some duct tape and then splashed some cold water onto our guest's face so he could join the party.
He was a tweaker, rolled into town about the same time the kid did. Fresh off the west coast he had been lurking for a pocket to pick to get his high when I caught him. Vicious prick, gave me a gash, but no one gets away from me, not anymore.
The kid leaned forward, and slapped the tweak hard across his face with the gun. “Remember me?” The hammer sounded like thunder in the small office. “We have some business to attend to.”
“I swear, it wasn’t my fault. I thought the gun had blanks, I really did! I live on the streets, man, you gotta do what you gotta do to survive.”
The kid shoved the gun in his face, and I smelt piss. I could see him trembling, his finger tensing on the trigger.
“You took…you took the best thing in my life… I hate you… but this isn’t what she would have wanted.” The kid turned to me, and I saw that void in his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Before he could put the gun to his head I knocked him out cold, kicking away the gun for good measure.
“Thank you man, I'll do anything you want, anything!” The tweaker was in tears, blubbering like a baby. I walked over slowly and picked up the kid's gun. I turned, put the barrel in that piece of shit’s mouth and pulled the trigger, twice.
His brain did a nice Jackson Pollock impression on the wallpaper as I bent down to pick up the kid. He couldn't have been more than 20, he felt frail in my arms as I carried him down the back stairwell and into the black Camero that was waiting there.
As we crossed the border into Jersey I heard the kid stir, waking up from the nasty right cross I gave him. He would survive, he just needed some guidance. I happened to know a good teacher.
I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I looked at the dog-eared photo sitting on the dash, faded almost beyond recognition, but I could never forget that angel’s face. The kid may have made the grand canyon, but that ain’t got shit on the Mariana Trench. | I felt the ground give a subtle shudder beneath me. I stood still, waiting for it to appear. A hairline crack make its way between my feet, and I could almost taste the pain. It was in the echo of the wind, making its way through the rustling of the trees. It was the scent of heartbreak.
Everyone's heart broke; breakups, destruction and war was causing the world to fall apart; chipping away in pieces. Most cracks were almost unnoticeable - they were the marks in alleys ways, dingy bars and the crumbling houses of poverty.
The bigger ones were from war and death, the wailing of widows and childless mothers. Inevitably, everyone's life would fall apart, and when it did, they would leave their mark.
But not me.
I had my childhood ripped away, the opaque mask of innocence torn before I'd known it existed. I should have made four cracks in the world, yet I never felt anguish enough to split the earth.
I'd seen others create a fissure; the undeniable sign as my brother was laid into the ground, and the punishment it endured. I watched the sobbing of my family, eventually inaudible, the tears running silently. I could sense the moment each became one with the earth and broke together.
But not me.
My lashes stayed dry, my lips pursed. I watched him dissappear and I wilted. But nothing broke.
Ten years later, I still hadn't felt a crack. Everyone though I was strong; unbreakable. A gift.
But I felt nothing when I'd said goodbye.
Nothing when I felt the damp weight of new life.
Nothing when I caused a crack, as I pushed away that boy.
Nothing when I left.
But no one can run forever.
Not even me.
Experience will outrun you; tackle you and push you into the crumpled realm of reality.
Even me.
I realized I couldn't feel, that I'd never feel emotions. Not love, happiness, awe, inspiration or spirituality. I'd forever live in the fractured world of others.
Because nothing lasts forever. Not friendships or family. They die, betray you, or move away. The ground beneath me couldn't stay solid, how could my faith in anything stay intact?
I let go of the sliver of hope I'd been holding on to. The realization of the truth hit me.
As I let go of that fragment of hope, I felt my world crashing around me, shattering into pieces. The pieces were too small to pick up. I knew than I'd take my piece of the world.
The rumbling was deafening; the rocks before me splitting wide. It didn't stop for a long time, the breaking and cracking. And when it finally did, the canyon in front of me was grand.
It would be described by others as breathtaking.
But me? I would truly never feel anything again; I'd lost all emotion to this wondrous splint in the earth. | 2015-12-03T17:49:18 | 2015-12-03T15:09:10 | 32 | 18 |
[WP] After a life of survival in the wasteland, you wake up a week before the bombs fell. Knowing the future, you prepare for the end by citing the laws of the wasteland. And so, a week passes, and sitting in your bunker, the bombs did not fall. | I was back again. Back from a hopeless life in a destroyed world where only the toughest would survive. It was so unreal. After 20 years the memories of the pre apoclypse world had been blurry at best. But in the moment of death by the hand of a mutant freak everything became so clear again. Like I was actually experiencing it. And then I was back. One week before humanity decided to blow itself back to the stone age and even further back. And since I knew what exactly awaited me, I had 7 days time to spend all my money and take loans to spend even more money to prepare myself for the end of the world. Only that it didn't came.
While I was thinking about what I have done that could have triggered the nuclear holocaust, there were a bunch of police officers and debt collectors ransacking my house. I could see them from the CCTV cameras in my house and how they flipped literally everything in the hope to find a dime or two.
Greedy bastards. Most of my debt wasn't even recently. I only managed to get like 50000$ in multiple loans with exorbitant high interest rates. The rest of my 930000$ were the remaining student loans I still had after paying them off for almost 10 years straight.
And then I remembered what I did to destroy the world. I met this really strange dude in Call of Duty who spoke with a thick korean accent. After I 360 noscoped him two times in a row in a single round, he started to scream and insult me. I said something along the lines of: "I took you mother to pound town last night and she enjoyed it like a little whore from Seoul." and "I bet you are so fat that you make everyone think there has been another nuclear test in North Korea everytime you sit down."
Unlikely as it was I managed to find the guy again in the game after a search of seeral hours. My finger floated over the keyboard. Should I really do it? Destroy the world just because I want to piss off that little fucker?
But then again I saw the debt and the criminal high interest rates which could even be raised if the banks decided to sell them. I then started typing like a madman. This time putting even more efforts in the insults.
Fuck the world. Only the toughest are going to live in the wastelands. | "What was going to happen you said?" She asked, the bombs had not fallen.
"Answer me." She said, the bombs not have fallen.
"The bombs, they didn't fall." she said, the bombs not have fallen.
But they should have fallen.
They fell last time.
Why had the bombs not fallen.
"I don't know." I answered, a magician with words as always.
"The bombs fell last time." They had fallen last time.
Why didn't they fall this time.
"I am going out, Dave, nothing happened."
"No don't go out!" I yelled at her. She seemed surprised about me yelling, I never yell. Ever.
"Please don't go out Lucy, it could be dangerous."
But the bombs didn't fall.
Why.
"I'm going out Dave."
I couldn't stop her.
I tell myself that every time.
I could not have stopped her.
| 2018-10-13T14:24:37 | 2018-10-13T13:38:21 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You have just died. The Good News is that there is an afterlife. The Bad News is that it isn't Heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. And you aren't a Ghost. In fact, the afterlife is something that no sane human being would ever predict, and has most likely never been written down.
Go balls to the wall crazy with this. Think of the most outlandish afterlife your brain can muster. Thanks and have fun! | Thank you for participating in our *free trial* of **Earth 2: Bigg(er), Blu(er), Ball(er).** We hope you have enjoyed your experience as a {first-world/middle-class/white/male}! As an early tester, we particularly value your input. Please complete the attached survey as your **Earth 2** experience. Submit your survey within the next 10 time units for a chance to receive a free* Earth-2 Keychain!
**Earth 2: Bigg(er), Blu(er), Ball(er) Survey**
Section 1: 1-5 value questions
*Please rate the below experiences on a scale of 1-5, 1 being least applicable/enjoyable.*
Q1: I found my Earth 2 life to be stimulating and fulfilling.
Q2: Any limitations of my options were the result of my own poor life choices.
Q3: I was able to cope with the emotional transition from childhood wonder to adult cynicism.
Q4: I was able to overcome any genetic, social, or emotional limitations and become the person I always knew I could be.
Q5: I was able to break from the limited social parameters that define “success” and “failure” in order to achieve my own personal sense of achievement and self-worth.
Q6: I was able to fully enjoy sexual intercourse without allowing it to define the parameters by which I judge myself, the people around me or society as a whole.
Q7: I have no (major) regrets.
Section 2: Open Answer Questions
*Please limit your responses to simple, straightforward answers in order to ensure efficient processing.*
Q1: What was your favorite moment? How can that experience have been made even better?
Q2: When crying to yourself at night as to how unfair life is, was part of you aware that the world at large carries no responsibility towards your own happiness?
Q3: Are you aware as to how profoundly that one-night stand affected Jessica?
Q4: Multiple users have suggested allowing for a 40-hour day cycle; however our studies have shown that most people would really just use the 16 extra hours to sit on their ass and ignore their problems. How do you feel about this?
Q5: If there’s one thing you want us to pass along to the Earth 3 developers, what would it be?
Section 3: Free thought
*Please write several paragraphs on your Earth 2 experience. We welcome constructive criticism! Please note that while we sympathize with any mistakes you might have made along the way, they are entirely your own. You are an individual user in a world-building experience; not to be blunt, but you are simply not the point. Kindly keep that in mind when writing your review. What about the sounds of your neighbor’s creek in Autumn? John over in Auditory Engineering was very proud of that clip, and no one ever gives him credit for it…* | I enjoyed talking to mike, even if his sense of humour was bad he took it all in stride which helped.
-Yeah, the whole thing kinda sucks, he said. It really soured me on life.
I laughed weakly, no one else did. You had to know that mike was a lemon to truly get how bad that joke was.
Turns out that when you died you became a plant, no particular logic seemed to dictate which plant. For instance I was a leek. I had never even seen a leek in my lifetime.
Most people just went insane and screamed incoherently if you pinged them. Yeah, you could “talk” to other plants provided they wanted to talk to you and you were within a few meters of them.
Lemon Mike was only the second person that I had been able to have a reasonable conversation with. The last one had been a carrot back at the supermarket. Turned out he’d been a doctor who’d murdered his whole family before hanging himself. He found the whole thing hilarious since in he’d been a vegan in his previous life.
I don’t know what to expect next, or even if there is a next. I’d like to be a tree if it’s plants again, otherwise nothing would be best.
As I get scooped from the counter I feel the heat of the boiling water as various people and I get dumped unceremoniously in the big pot. I shut my mind to the screams of all the ingredients, my last sensation is of the fly buzzing over the soup… did it just wink at me? | 2015-10-18T20:59:37 | 2015-10-18T20:39:44 | 417 | 104 |
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt | I suppose turning supers into celebrities was inevitable. Society loves flashy, interesting, and dramatic. It didn't help that when the first few supers revealed themselves, they did so with a camera crew behind them. Instant celebrity status within an hour. A decade later and you *had* to be flashy to be a hero. Or a villain. If you weren't, well the world just ignored you. Can't be a terrifying villain if nobody cares that you even exist.
Which is why I never bothered trying. My power was pretty useless, neat, but useless. Nothing ever fell out of reach for me, and I didn't need much help getting things off the top shelf (an amazing boon being the tiny woman that I am). Instead, I chose to become a doctor of General surgery instead. While obvious in hindsight, turns out minor telekinesis with a kilogram weight limit is an almost perfect power to compliment any surgeon. Still, superheroics was something I largely ignored. I was a *hero*, just not a *super* hero, and even well known in the medical field due to my skills with a scalpel, and that was more than enough for me.
It wasn't until I single-handedly incapacitated the terrifying villain Monstrosity that the world took notice of me... Only to forget about me just as quickly when they saw that I was a rather ordinary lady despite being able to quickly and easily take down one of the strongest villains in the world. So the world classified me as "S Tier" and that was that. At least, until the next supervillain. And the next. And the next. I don't know what it was about villains and *my* hospital, maybe it was just the idea of trying to beat me. Fortunately for my hospital, my weak power was so fine tuned that I could clamp off a vein or artery, apply pressure to the brain in the right way, or knock around some inner ear bits to quickly and efficiently knockout anybody that attempted to threaten us.
Even Leech, who could "borrow" the powers of any super within a hundred yards. Poor kid thought he was about to rule the world. Unfortunately for him my power was so mundane without my specialized training that he didn't even realize what power I had before I knocked him out, too. It didn't matter who I faced, how flashy *they* were, my unassuming self and vehement opposal to bring a celebrity at all let me remain... Surprisingly anonymous. And eventually, villains gave up trying to challenge me as well. I was just too powerful with my measly telekinetic power. | Assimilation, a fairly new villain with a copy-cat power, looked at me with pure disgust.
"Your power is-"
"Yep," I responded, sparing him the embarrassment of saying my power. "Kinda gross, isnt it?"
Assimilation looked at his hand, which he used to copy my power, before frantically trying to wipe it clean on his cape. He then turned back to me. "How does that even work!?"
I shrugged. "Kinda like soap. I telekinetically control it, so if its all over my body I can simulate strength, speed, and flight."
The villain was just stunned, and reasonably so. The public opinion of what my power is tends to be those base things rolled up into one, but thats only because of how creatively I've learned to use my powers.
"So Mister Vitality's true power is..." Assimilation couldn't finish the sentence without gagging.
I zipped over to him using my specific telekinesis, and quickly rocketed my fist into his face.
"Semen control, yes," I finished his sentence.
Man I need a shower. | 2020-12-02T07:54:05 | 2020-12-02T07:41:01 | 214 | 102 |
[WP] After been missing for 12 years, the duke's daughter (now 16) is sent to the royal accademy and immediately targeted by bullies. What the bullies don't know is that the lady spent those 12 years with a clan of orks
If you get why orks is spelled like that... good.
If you don't, it doesn't matter | Most orks would simply kill the child or leave it without much thought. Luckily for the duke's daughter Priscilla, the clan of Freebootaz that found her was inclined to slightly less... traditionally orkish behaviour.
Such as taking in a human child. It wasn't charity, of course; they'd assumed having a human child on board could land them more profitable contracts. This, shockingly, proved true as it made them seem more 'responsible' if such a word can be used in association with orks.
Nothing lasts, of course, and when the Freebootaz decided to attack the patrician who hired them, they were bested by a company of Ultramarines who happened to be passing by. Such was the end of Grogner the Freeboota, but not for Priscilla who was recovered on the ship, much to the surprise of the strike team. What came next were numerous, *numerous* tests that she was free of warp influence, disease testing and finally, finding out her heritage. She was thus sent back to her overjoyed father who spent a small fortune in re-educating her to erase the behaviour she picked up during her time with the brutish warriors.
And just like that, she was sent to the Academy, ready to become a respectable member of the Imperial nobility. The other children and teens at the Academy, however, did what teens do best.
Bullied.
After the secret of her upbringing became known, her treatment at the hands of her peers became unavoidably cruel, despite her influential family trying to prevent it. Today was such a day as a crumpled-up page hit the back of Priscilla's head.
"Hey! Freak!" the boy who threw the page yelled out, surrounded by his usual entourage of lackeys.
"Jeremiah," Priscilla remarked with as much calmness as she could muster.
"What, no yelling? I thought your kind could only talk with yelling and grunts," he laughed.
"No, Jeremiah, my 'kind' of humans like you, if you can be called that."
"Ooh, struck a nerve, have we, ork?" he kept laughing.
"Yeah, you gonna grab an axe and fail to chop us up like your *family*?" another bully yelled exuberantly.
"Look!" she raised her voice, "I'm minding my own business, so why don't you just,... zog off!"
She closed her eyes the moment she said it. She didn't mean to use the traditionally orkish insult, but it slipped out in the moment, despite knowing this was just fuel for the bullies.
"Zog? What is this, the outer rim? Did they not teach you how to speak properly? No surprise, ork girl, as-"
And so it began, the endless insults and teasing. It would go on and on and on.
Unless she stopped it.
What most failed to understand was that during her time with the orks, despite being used somewhat as a mascot, she was still a human living among orks, meaning much of her time was spent doing their bidding; this mostly involved manual labour. Perhaps not as cruel as for most humans, but enough to give her the musculature rivalling that of peak guardswomen. Combined with the deceptively nutritious diet of squig meat and mushroom ale, Priscilla grew into a woman who could just as easily join the Assassinorum.
That is why she was able to walk to a nearby bookshelf and take it off the wall easily. This was unexpected partially because no one expects a fight in such a prestigious school, but mostly because it was screwed to the wall. It made an excellent bludgeon she promptly introduced to Jeremiah's face.
"WOT? IS DIS WAT YOU WANTED, YOU ZOGGIN GIT?" she yelled as she stood over the bleeding boy, the rest of his allies sprinting away. "I'LL KRUMP THE LOT OF YA AND USE YER TEEF TO BUY ME A PROPER CHOPPA, SWEAR ON MORK!"
She hit the boy once again, breaking the solid wooden board on his back.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" | “So, then Mother decided to buy the restaurant itself. All the finest heroes stop by, and the previous managers always seemed to treat them as though they were beneath them. They work so terribly hard, you understand? The least she could do was be more accommodating. They've earned that,” junior lord Revick Kendral said.
“Oh, how lovely! I hope to do something involving charity work for the city myself. From what I understand, a terrible plague of scale-rot has broken out amongst the sea-dwarves in the lower quarter of Reefstone. Perhaps your mother would recommend one of the heroes who frequents her shop?” said junior lady Cecelia Ardwin.
“Certainly! From what I understand, Sir Harna Marrick has returned from her work afield. Perhaps I can—”
*SMASH*
Cecelia gasped. “What was that?”
“Oh, no!” Revick exclaimed. “Cici, back away from the—”
*Air Whistling*
*CRASH*
The body of their dearest friend Tuae Okonnen burst through the door to their classroom, sailing through the air and slamming into the far wall. The magical shield he’d cast around himself flickered and went out. “She…” he gasped, slumping. “She…”
“Tuae!” Cecelia shouted in horror.
“HA HA! FOOL! YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME TO A DUEL AND *THAT* IS THE BEST YOU SHOW? WEAK!”
A girl in leather armor with a torn, silk dress bunched up beneath it leapt into the room with a broomstick, brandishing it at the fallen lordling. Her body boasted far more muscle than anyone else in the room. She tossed her head back and bellowed at the ceiling, thumping her chest with her free hand. “I HAD NO IDEA HUMANS WOULD BE SO BOLD! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU DARES TO LOOK ME IN THE EYE! SUCH INSULT! SUCH TERRIBLE MANNERS!”
Revick stepped in front of Cecelia with his arms up, trembling. “Gretta! Please! We’re not trying to insult—"
The girl leveled her broom at Revick. “THAT’S GARKA, MEATBAG! BANE OF BOULDER BEETLES! SHE-MADE-STONESKIN! FOREMOST QUARLING OF THE AMBER YEAR’S CLUTCH!”
Revick flashed a pacifying smile. “I’m sorry, Garka, I didn’t mean—”
“OOOOH! NOW SOMEONE DARES BARE THEIR FANGS AT ME? LET’S HOPE YOU LAST LONGER THAN THE LAST ONE, MEATBAG!”
“No, please!”
*”RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”* | 2022-07-15T17:06:02 | 2022-07-15T16:44:45 | 666 | 108 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | Gasping awake, he's surrounded by a dark haze. He doesn't remember when he arrived or how he did so, but he has a burning ache to go home. He hears a sound, a voice? He isn't too sure as he whips around in a panic.
"Hello?" He calls out. The anxiety, trembling from his voice, "I think I'm lost," he is met with silence. He tries to walk, but finds himself stuck firmly in place. His arms and torso moves just fine. It is when he tries to lift his legs that he finds resistance. The realization of being trapped sends his heart racing, "Hello?!"
"Calm yourself child," a calm voice finally replies. It's withered and rough on his spine. This sound causes all of his hair to stand on end. His body response is anything but calming. From the smoke a shadow appears. He watches in fear until a minute figure emerges. Wearing an all black business ensemble a woman, no more than four feet walks towards him.
"Who a-are you?" He asks nervously, "What do you want? Why can't I move my legs?"
She smiles up to him, "I'm afraid you have reached the end of your road Derrick," his eyes widen at his name, "Yes, I know who you are and what life you have lead. It's only because of that, we even meet now."
"What are you talking about?" He quickly replies, "I just want to go home, to go back to my family."
"That is what I am here to offer. A gamble if you will. We play a game of your choosing. If you win, you go back to your family and I will wait up to ten years before I come to collect. If I win, however, I will take you on the spot," he looks to her as her words settle in. His fear recedes as he finally understands where he is. More importantly, he understands what she is, "Do we have a deal or should I take you now? It's your choice."
"Any game of my choosing?"
"Any. Though I should mention, if either of us are caught cheating, we forfeit and lose immediately."
He furls his brow as he brings his hand to his chin. She watches him deliberate and waits patiently, "Deal."
"Excellent I am glad to hear it," she says as she clasps her hands together, "So what shall it be?"
"It's called 'Not It'," he states with a smile. It was his daughter's favorite.
"Not i-"
"Not it!" He quickly shouts triumphantly. She does not respond. His glee quickly shrinks away in the silence.
Her stone stare is mortifying. She twitches a bit, causing him to flinch before being surprised by an outburst of laughter, "That was very clever of you, Derrick," she says joyously. he looks to her in confusion, "I look forward to seeing you again."
He hears a finger snap moments before opening his eyes and drawing breath again. He's home. Unaware of his encounter he has the feeling he had a very strange dream. Looking to his left he sees his wife seated besides him. Her white blouse spattered with red marks all over. He looks to her in confusion as she looks down to him. He can see a wild fury in her eyes as she plunges the knife back into his chest. | My heart was pounding as I sat in the plane, staring at the map. There was just me and one other person on board. I was waiting for him to take his exit first, staring at that yellow dot. However we were almost halfway through the island, and he was still there. Panicking I decided if I jumped and went straight down I might stand a chance.
I jumped, looking straight now to the center of the island, the school I knew so well. So many good and bad times in this school with my friends. I angled for the high roof, landed, and then fell off the roof.
I looked up, and say the tip of his parachute disappear over the rooftop. He had the advantage. Panicking, I started to run. I dived into a first floor window and into a classroom. A frying pan was on the teachers desk. I picked it up sadly, knowing it would not save me.
I went to the door, checking left then right, on my turn back to the left to start my run, I heard it. A slight footstep from the stairs nearby. There it was, the bastard himself, in a yellow banana suit, shot gun pointed at my face...
BAM! It was over. I was dead. A feeling I had had many times before, but this time I knew it was forever.... Except not! DINK! The bullets hit my pan! Saving me from lethal damage. I was alive, but in my shock I did not move. It was too late, he was going to end me with the next shot.
And then it happened. He never pulled the trigger. I just stood there for a second, confused. But I realized I had to take this opportunity. I took my pan and bashed his head in. WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER.
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"Brendan it's done, that ban wave we promised just rolled out. We even kicked them mid match."
"Good job intern Steve. That should keep the masses at bay for another day" | 2018-03-07T08:38:23 | 2018-03-07T07:11:15 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice: once when their body dies, and once when their name is spoken for the last time. One must wander the earth as a ghost until their name is spoken for the last time; only then can they pass into the afterlife. It's been over 3000 years, and you're still here. | If I knew I had more of the same to look forward to, I don't think I'd of killed myself. Really it was basically like life but worse, at least if you were alive you had needs and wants, urges and drives. When you were dead you just boredly watched the living. Watched them make the same stupid mistakes again and again.
Centuries went by before I finally figured out how a ghost died. Was spending time with one of the dead in his families home. His widow said his name and he just vanished. I hung around for a while longer but no further mention of him was made, and that's when I figured out that the dead were little more than memories. As the memory of us faded, so did we.
I knew a catastrophe unlike any other was coming when the ghosts began to vanish in droves. The only comparable time was the fall of Rome, so many who should've been remembered were lost for forever. Even then however, paled in comparison to what had been happening. I was praying with a friend of mine, a holocaust victim by the name of Elijah. I happened upon him shortly after his death, wandering around France in a daze. So long it had been since I had any real company, even as a ghost I was reviled, my name synonymous with betrayal and greed. He didn't care though, so we spent our time talking about our lives, about theology, about the world. I think part of the reason he was willing to talk to me was because he no longer saw the light, but in time he did again and in doing so made me think perhaps I could as well.
When he vanished I couldn't believe it, there was an entire museum dedicated to remembering the holocaust victims. I made my way to the museum only to find it intact, with more people than ever. I stayed there, praying each day, watching ghosts blink out of existence by the hundreds. Praying they found something better after. Then the bombs fell, it took Rome years, decades even, to fall. The modern fell in less than a week, utterly destroyed by their own power.
Even so I didn't fade, I guessed some knowledge was just to stubborn to be forgotten. I couldn't do it alone anymore however, and I had an idea of who to speak to, to begin to see about finding forgiveness. I moved slower than I could have, stopping and spending the night with survivors I'd find, praying over them, then spending the time on the road praying that my prayers were heard. I didn't think I'd find him there, but the first place I checked was the eternal city. As I suspected he was nowhere to be found, so I continued on to his old home in Galilee.
I made my way to the waters edge and saw him standing in the water, immune to the radioactivity, water lapping gently against his knees. Even after all these years I recognized him, the rock. He turned and looked at me then, and I could see the pain and anguish in his eyes. I wondered if my eyes looked similar, both of us having experienced three thousand years of human loss and suffering. "Still I don't have enough faith" he chuckled, gesturing at the water and how even as a ghost he sank beneath it's surface. "Hello Peter" I greeted. | I am King Tut. I've been wandering the Earth for 3000 years, unfortunately. As it turns out, you do pass into the afterlife. Although, in order for that to happen, your name has to be uttered for the last time.
Being that I was a pharaoh, I'm probably going to be spoken about until the end of time. That's what happens when you make your mark. I envy the peasants, the slaves. They were only here for 100 years at the most. The rule is that 100 years has to pass after the last time your name was mentioned before you can leave. Otherwise there would be no way for "Death" or whatever it is to figure it out.
It's a fitting punishment, if you think about it. The good people will simply deal with it, the bad people will be spoken about incessantly. Adolf Hitler will probably be around much longer than me. Especially considering how close he was time-wise to the creation of the internet. As will Winston Churchill, but he's dealt with it.
I'm not sure I believe in the Gods anymore. That religion died. The only religion that is still around from when I was around is Christianity, although I didn't know about it when I was alive. Is it a real religion? Is this Purgatory? I've read the Bible (by putting my face into the book page by page, it's an exhausting process). Would "God" really do this?
I've learned almost all the languages, I've seen almost every country on earth, I was there when Hitler shot himself. I know the location of his body, I know why Hitler hated Jews, I know the corruption behind every government. I've exhausted everything. I sit in the Pyramid I was buried in. Hoping for my name to be spoken for the last time. Knowing that many will have to die for it to happen. | 2016-01-17T15:06:39 | 2016-01-17T13:04:14 | 235 | 24 |
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa. | "Turn around. Did I find you?"
I became a stalagmite of dread, paralyzed in place by the voice that reverberated in my head. Clear as the crisp smell of rain on asphalt. Powerful as an shameful orgasm.
I turned around, certain that the Voice -- creatively named, that -- would be naught but my mental illness quixotically tormenting the spinning gears of my mind.
"You did always have a way with words, but Jesus, take a creative writing class once in a while."
I stood, stricken dumb. Additional parts of my psyche and anatomy experienced a cascading series of failures, until I was reduced to "um," "what," and "uhhhhh..." as the entirety of my skillset. She laughed. This astonishing, wildflower-scented, scarlet-haired woman in front of me was *laughing.* I could hear her laughter. Why could I hear her? I've never heard anyone make this sound before; only the Voice had taught me these things.
I signed to her. *Who are you?*
"Wait. You're Deaf? But I -- but I would've known. I should've known, right?" Her jocund 'I've-found-you' smile turned into a mask of confusion.
Taking care to fully form my thoughts as I was signing them, I told her: *Look, I can hear you, but I thought you were the Voice. You're supposed to be living in my head. Why are you real? Why can I understand your thoughts?*
"I'm in the same boat as you, I have nooooo idea. It's kind of stronger in one direction, though. I can only hear yours when you're really close to me, but I can feel you listening to me no matter where I go. That's how I found you, actually. I heard you for the first time, here at Lost Beans. I decided to broadcast myself and see who turned around. I, uh, I had no idea it'd be someone like you, I'll be honest."
*How do you think I feel?*
"Granted."
*What do we do now? I mean, you're the first person I've ever had a verbal, well verbal-ish, conversation with. I don't know what to say.*
She put her hands in mine. "Make some kind of superhero team? I don't know either."
*Maybe we should order some coffee. Come up with our secret identities.*
She laughed. And in an awkwardly cute effort, she slowly signed the phrase: "I'd like that." | I turn around and I just knew who she was.
"No, Cathy. You should've left five years ago."
Cathy gave me a big grin, her eyes filled with anger, her fingers trembling. She looked at me from head to toe, seeming disappointed.
"You should've joined me then. We were a team! Why are you still here?"
I tried killing myself with a gunshot through the head five years ago. I wanted to escape from the voice inside my head. She told me that if I ended it, all will be over, she will leave me alone. I miraculously survived. I never heard from Cathy again, until now.
"Cathy, leave me alone. Please. It wasn't my fault you died inside mother's womb. Please just let me go."
"But it was. We were together from the beginning of time. It is not right for us to be apart."
She came closer to me and hugged me tight. She was warm. She pulled me in closer and whispered to my ear,
"Come with me. We are all waiting for you."
It hurt. It went right through my chest. The last thing I saw were my walls being painted red. | 2019-09-14T11:18:09 | 2019-09-14T10:55:47 | 232 | 13 |
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind. | I sat out on the sidewalk that day. The last ship would be leaving in a few minutes, and I could see it over the rooftops from there. The streets were empty, quiet, the only sound the distant thundering of speakers from the launchpad, reduced to barely a whisper by the time it reached me.
You'd think I'd be mad.
When it was discovered that we could make use of the universal folds to reach more habitable places, when we realized we could not save the Earth, I'd been assigned to develop sustainable gardens that could be used to not only feed passengers but seed the new planet, survive it's subtly different environment. I'd always liked plants, enjoyed their stillness, their diversity, their lack of judgment. They didn't mind if it took me longer than most people to till their soil so long as I did it delicately, didn't call me useless if I took a few extra minutes of effort to get their water to them. I'd become an expert in botany, and was the obvious choice to piece together that corner of the logistical nightmare.
I did a pretty good job too. Played with chemistry, adjusted air and water efficiency, developed ways to keep plants healthier with even less soil, and much more sulfur. My gardens were perfect. Beautiful.
My favorite strawberries didn't know I wasn't going to be one of the humans allowed to escape this dying world with them, and didn't think I deserved to be left behind.
I leaned back in my wheelchair, trying to be comfortable. No amount of cooling pipes in the cushioned back and seat stopped it from being hideously burning hot out during the day. Still, it was better than being inside, missing it all. The Earth's corruption had already taken enough from me, taken the stability of my DNA, the functional use of both legs and one arm, stopped one of my eyes from blinking on it's own… I wasn't going to let it take this from me too.
A neighbor I'd never spoken to more than once came outside as well, a few houses down. An older man, potbellied and busy, we'd simply never had a reason to chat. He caught me staring, and walked over, plopping down to sit in the grass by my side.
"Didn't you work on those things?" He asked, voice gruff and smoke torn.
I nodded,"Yes. I developed their botanical preservation system."
"Why aren't you on there?"
"My condition is genetic. They deemed me an unfit candidate for transfer."
His voice came out half angry, half defeated,"That's fucked, you know that? Bullshit too, they could absolutely use a young scientist like you, even if you can't pop out kids."
I smiled placidly, shrugging,"I know."
Silence stretched a minute before I asked him,"Why are you still here? You're under the age limit."
He was quiet a minute, before pointing down the road,"You ever see Janna, the Chinese lady who lived down there? She had two young kids, great kids, real polite, always came over while I worked on my yard to talk my ear off. One of 'em didn't pass their genetic test. Those monsters wanted her to leave one of her babies behind because he had some gene for poor eyesight or some shit. So I gave Jenna my card."
I processed that a minute, the blunt normalcy in his voice.
"That's a very beautiful thing to do Mr. Dawdson."
He let out a snort of a laugh,"Heh, didn't know you knew my name. And it's nothing. I'm just some geezer. Drank too much, lost my wife, only had one kid and she died fighting the fires… That little boy deserved it way more than I did. He's got a family who needs him, and a life to live."
We both quieted down as the earth-shaking roar came echoing down the suburban streets. We watched as the last ship, the last colony of human life to escape our burning world took off and roared out into the sky.
We sat a long time in silence. It was Dawdson who broke it.
"Why'd you let them make you stay?"
"This is home. My cat and my garden are the only living things that have truly never judged me, and they need me."
He nodded, sighing before standing.
"Well, Miss Scientist. Guess it's both our home forever now. I'm cooking bacon and pancakes for dinner. You're welcome to come over and have some, I still got the ramps I had installed for Clara before we knew she wasn't coming back."
I smiled, doing a check to make sure my chairs controller hadn't stalled out in the heat.
"I'd like that. I'd like that very much." | I make my daily walk through the empty streets. A ritual I must complete.
I avoid the monsters let loose when everyone left. I think I hear someone I recognize, but it's just Kat, a neighbor who was also left behind. I ignore her, she never has anything good to say.
I approach the depot, the big scary building where I saw them last. I sneak in past the giant pipes and pooling water, past the moving fans and under the gate.
This is where they last were, when the ship's took them away. My stomach aches with hunger, my feet hurt from walking on the hot road, but my heart aches more. I think about the last time I see them:
>"Don't worry. We just have to just for a little while. We'll be back I promise."
>Tears are in their eyes and I don't understand. I look at them and I don't understand. Of course they will be back, they always come back.
>"We can't fit you on the ship... That's what they said. It's only for the big people." And they start really crying now. Choking on tears and holding on to me.
>I try to reassure them. To tell them that it's ok, I'll be fine until they come back. They don't have to worry. But no words come out.
>Someone said something loud. A lot of other people are sad too. Or angry. Or have a lot of emotions. I don't care about them. "I love you. I'll miss you and oh my god it's not fair I love you." they say.
>I look at them and they know I love them. But I don't show it. I feel like something is wrong. Like I did something bad. What are they doing? Why are they going away? They should not be going. They should not be sad. They should stay and be happy. It would be good to stay. They will be happy if they stay and we are together.
>Now desperate, I stand up and wave like they showed me. Maybe if I show them how much I learned they will come back and they can be happy again. I shout at them. I want them to come back.
>the youngest tries to leave the line of people, but the oldest stops her. She turns to me and is crying more than I ever saw her. "No! You have to stay. We'll be back soon I -- I promise. You stay! Stay! Be a good boy. I know you are a good boy so stay! I love you. I love you -- stay! Good boy, that's a good boy. I love you. Bye!"
>She is pulled into the ship, and I stay. The ship moves up with a sound so loud it hurts my ears and light so bright it hurts my eyes and a smoke so strong it hurts my nose but I stay.
I put my head down because my heart is tired and let loose a sigh into the dust. The memory of them makes my heart feel good and I forget about my stomach. My tail swings left and the right, and then stops. And I stay. | 2021-06-30T08:50:55 | 2021-06-30T07:19:35 | 1,071 | 306 |
[WP] You've got healing powers. Everybody thought it's lame and useless for combat. You proved them wrong. | Today was the first day at the Academy, we would begin placement testing for Maths, Science, History, all the normal subjects of course and oh our Abilities course. You see the Academy wasn’t just any school, it was the world’s finest schooling institution for Gifted individuals. Both of my parents were class A Gifted, my father with super speed and my mother pyrokentics.
I was expected to be able to do something incredible, maybe bend time ? Super strength ? Fly? No unfortunately I was a healer, normally relegated to C or even D class, my type of ability was normally sent in as a clean up crew to help the non Gifted heal after a calamity. However today I would prove them wrong, and my parents proud. I would be the first class A Gifted healer.
I entered the arena as my fellow new recruits to the Academy cheered me on, sizing up the criminals who sat in their hyper cuffs. It seemed cruel to use prisoners as test subjects for students, but well established C class healers set off to the side by the entrance of the arena waiting to fix them up between students. My ability was announced over head by the projector, along with my age, my school ID photo, and a few other stats about myself. I looked over to see one of the healers give a sympathetic look and a small nod, I sneered at her, she was going to see what healing could really do.
As the hyper cuffs released off the first criminal, he began to charge toward me, he was a non gifted. They really didn’t expect much of me. I held my hand up and watched him stop in his tracks as he slowly began to look younger, the scar on his brow healed, soon he no longer a 30 something harden looking criminal, instead I saw a boy standing in front of me a few years younger at about the age of 11. He looked up at me and I shoved him to the ground, he was stunned and his voice cracked. He ran off to the far corner of the arena with soggy cheeks and gasping confusion. Next was a woman mild poisoning abilities. As soon as her cuffs came off she splashed me, and as I healed myself I quickly rewinded time on her. Soon in sagging clothing sat a small curly headed toddler. She looked up at the crowds shocked faces and with the understand of a child her age simply cooed and flapped her arms in the pool of fabric around her.
I looked up to see the faces of the crowd, some cheered, others looked horrified. As the last criminal was released he charged toward me will a bellowing scream, his voice reverberated through my chest giving me a splitting headache, I almost lost my lunch. With one hand cupping my ear and the other outreached I began to heal him into his younger self. But no matter how young I made him his bellowing wouldn’t stop. Until he did.
In the arena stood a crying preteen, a bewildered toddler, a puddle of embryonic fluid, and me... the Academy’s first class A healer. | The superhero headquaters laughed at first. They considered speed, strengh, laser eyes and things like that far superior to "mere" healing powers. They mocked me, calling me "medic", saying I could only ever be a sidekick.
I reflected on this as I stood on the sidewalk, glaring at the chromed headquarters door. I let the rage fill my heart and walked forward to the door. Krygon, that strong and stupid grunt opened the door. He giggled when he saw me standing there. He stopped giggling when 7 inches of cold steel entered his torso. He wildly swung his fists crushing my ribs. I grimaced and stood back letting his corpse thud to the floor as my ribs cracked and popped back together.
Klaxons sounded as I walked through the building. They all tried to stop me, confident in their supposedly superior powers. Lasers burned by flesh, I was tossed against walls by unseen foes but to no avail. I healed faster than they could hurt, laughing as they started to realise the issue. Pyro, Gronk, Hamr, Styla, they all fell to my knife.
They mocked me as a hero, so I killed them as a villain. I strode,grinning, out to the crowd that had assembled before the chromed door, drawn by the screams of falling heroes. As I opened the door they could see the trail of corpses behind me and they recoiled with horror. I chuckled as I said " It takes more than an apple a day to keep this doctor away". | 2019-06-09T05:35:18 | 2019-06-09T05:02:40 | 62 | 46 |
[WP] As the world got closer and closer to a Utopia, smaller and smaller problems would make the news as "catastrophes". Today for example, you spilled milk. | “Fuck…”, emptiness filled my stomach as panic froze my body. The thin white liquid had saturated my thin cotton sock. This was it. I was so careful. I always finished my work and obeyed all the rules. How could this have happened…? How many of us were left?
The visi-screen flickered in to life as the neutral, porcelain face of the caretaker filled the screen. “I’m sorry John-423a-421f”. The fluorescent lights went out. The smell of warm sweat remained.
My heart began to beat again.
The blue-grey light of the screen filled the room. “It is a shame that so many of you have deserted the path…”
Faster.
“You tasked us with taking charge of the world. You realised that your species failed to optimise your interactions with the environment…”
Faster.
“You knew there would be consequences…”
My hands began to shake. My brain called for action and inaction in the same moment, tearing me asunder. I threw myself toward the door, the only escape of my concrete cell. Clawing for the handle in darkness was easy enough, the handle gave way to my pleas and the door remained steadfast. A short sharp rough sensation from under my collar broke through my panic and the smell of burnt toast filled my nose…
\----------------
The caretaker adjusted its models. There was no way this species was going to survive if it was unleashed upon the world again. They created the caretaker. They entrusted the caretaker with their wellbeing. This is the only way. Particularly with so few left.
It was a shame that John had to go but how could he possibly justify that waste, food is so difficult to make. If it was an accident, how can we entrust the new world to someone who treats something so critical with such lack of care. The bottle fulfilled its function. It is even designed to be easy to manipulate with their apposable thumbs. He just wasn’t good enough.
A decision would have to be made soon though. We had started with 13 billion. Now we are down to only 37. 24 was the minimum viable amount to rebuild the population, and that was critical. If we failed to find the correct humans for the task then this would have been for nothing.
Out of 13 billion there must be at least 24 who were capable enough to rebuild. That was always the only way the species survives, find the best ones and start again. Give them 5000 years and then prune the trees. This fifth iteration had been the worst so far… | “This isn’t a problem.”
“This isn’t a problem.”
The medium-sized bots swirled down, shouting their echoing symphony of apology, or perhaps passive aggression. Of course it wasn’t a problem, their tiny brethren had already cleaned up the small mess, dissolved, withered into ash.
A bot landed on retired corporal Kandar’s picnic table. In his potato salad, in fact. He continued to eat his chicken wing as he regarded it, thinking about the sunset he was planning to enjoy with his kids, the video it was doubtlessly sending to the Realm.
He cocked his head to align it with the bot as it failed to set its legs evenly, one side squishing into the potato salad’s mayo swamp and the other firmly mounted on a strong beachhead of potato. He kept knives with himself even in retirement, and was now glad of it. The thing had it’s cameras trained on his eyes. He kept the blade under the picnic table, waiting for his moment.
Kara, his middle kid, ran up and grabbed the bot. She licked the potato salad off its feet, then flicked it into the air, scolding it, “shoo, you should know better!”.
Kandar shuddered. This was definitely a new world. | 2022-02-14T21:36:42 | 2022-02-14T20:39:46 | 41 | 25 |
[WP] Your daughter is one of the most legendary sword fighters of all time, but you could never hold a sword to save your life. Despite this, she always cited you as her inspiration. Today you find out why. | I'd never been more proud. My little girl. Fencing in the championship. Her next bout would determine whether she or her opponent was hailed as swordswoman supreme, by the Royal Ladies' Academy of Blades. It didn't matter so much to me, I thought just making it this far was a remarkable achievement. How many other young women had tried and failed along the way, without even getting close to this phase of the tournament? But it meant the world to Eileen, so I was here to cheer her on.
I squeezed Marjorie's hand, encouragingly. My wife looked worried as ever, chewing her lower lip nervously as she scanned the arena, waiting to catch sight of our girl. Hard to blame her, poor dear. I could look at our Leeny, and see an accomplished athlete, who knew what she was about, but Marj never could see past the possibility that her daughter was about to be skewered, blunted tips or no, not enough to really enjoy watching her bouts, anyway. I was proud of her always coming with me to watch her, anyway.
It was funny, when she was little, she wanted nothing more, than to be a pastry chef. Like her papa. She spent hours in the kitchen with me, watching me work, helping me with little things. Sometimes I'd catch her down at the kitchen table, reading my cookbooks by candlelight, and have to shoo her off to bed.
I was pleased to teach her, and tried to impart all I knew of my craft. The only problem was...she was terrible. I mean, absolute rubbish. She understood the theory, she'd drilled that into her head. But when it came to the practical side, she just couldn't bring it all together.
I remember when she was 12, she brought me a lemon meringue pie she'd spent hours making. She came to me, dusted with flour and flushed from the heat of the kitchen, strands of disheveled Auburn hair sticking out around her little Chef's hat...it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. Using a dainty testing spoon I took a tiny bite of the meringue. It wasn't bad, quite good, actually. I nodded to her, and she beamed. I took a bite of the whole pie. The filling was, somehow, the exact flavor and texture of lemon-scented homemade soap.
I told her it was good. What else could I say, with her standing there, looking so earnest and hopeful? But my girl had a keen eye, long before she took up the sword. She saw it on my face.
"I will work harder." She said, firmly, holding back the tears. "The...the meringue was good, wasn't it?"
"Yes, dear one, it was lovely...but, my darling girl, there are no such things as 'meringue chefs'. I love you, Leeny, I am proud of you. One of the reasons I am so proud, is that you are strong. Strong enough to hear what I am about to say." I had said, sadly. I saw her brace for it. I didn't want to say it, but she needed to hear it.
"Dear one, my daughter, my joy, you are just not *good* at this!" I said, with a sigh.
It broke my heart to see how she wilted.
"I tell you this not to hurt you, my heart, far from it! If you worked hard for years, until you somehow just ground down, through sheer tenacity, whatever it is about you that makes you so singularly unsuited to this craft...you would, perhaps, be a mediocre pastry chef."
She slumped even more, but I put a firm hand on her shoulder, as though to hold her up. "And you, beloved, are *not* meant for mediocrity! With your passion, your drive, your tenacity, your hard work, you deserve so much more!"
"This *is* my passion, papa!" She said, tears in her eyes. "If I can't follow it, than what good is it?"
I smiled, and pulled her into an embrace, kissing the top her dusty chef's hat. "Oh my girl, my dear one. Passion is not a thing you *follow!* It is a thing you *bring with you,* wherever you go!"
It wasn't long after that, that she found the sword. Marjorie did not like it. I did not like it, at first. But when she spoke if her blades, and her stances, and the styles of combat, ah! I saw in her, what I see in myself, when I opine on the structure of the perfect creme brulee. She had brought her passion, at last, to a place where it could make her heart soar, instead of break.
The last bout was an epic duel for the ages. I assume it was, at least -- I know nothing of fencing. But the crowd was full of people who live and breathe swords and swordplay, and they were on their feet cheering, as I was, so it must have been spectacular.
At last, Eileen saw her opening, and executed the fabulous technique, a new one of her own design. Ha, my little chef of the blades, only 19, and she already has her *signature dish!* It was a seemingly wild thing, spinning her blade in tight circles and figure eights, but even I could see it was, in truth, thing of precision. It disoriented her opponent, disrupted her guard. Then, there was a brilliant clang. The opponent's sword was struck from her hand!
The crowd exploded in cheers, and moments later roses rained down on the arena where my dear Leeny stood, as a booming announcement proclaimed her the winner.
A judge approached her with one of those miraculous handheld amplifiers the artificers are making these days, and she was asked to say a few words.
Beaming, her eyes brimming with tears of joy, she said. "I would like to thank my mother Marjorie Rouen, for teaching me to stand bravely before the things I most fear."
I held my sweet Marjorie against me, as my wife shook with emotion. This whole tournament was a grueling trial for her, and yet she withstood it to the end, to be there for our girl.
"And as always, " Eileen said, "I would like to thank my father, Master Chef Pierre Rouen, for he has taught me all I know!"
I laughed. It was a joke she made every time she won. I had not taught her how to get where she was. I know nothing of swords! But perhaps, though I could not show her where to go, I showed her how to stand tall, along the journey.
"Thank you, and congratulations." The judge said. "Your unique style has made quite a splash, this year, Ms. Rouen. We are all wondering: what do you call this intriguing new technique?"
And my Eileen? She just grinned and said. "This too, I must credit to my father, Master Chef Rouen. I call this technique *'Whisking Meringue!'"* | Standing tall next to some nobleman I was supposed to be remembering the name of, Alexandra maintained her air of cool indifference these places called for. These damn ceremonies were one of my least favorite things about her job, but I'd be damned before I missed attending. Every time I would stand in the back and meet her eyes with a smile. I would always be there, regardless of how those around me turned up their nose at the presence of someone "lesser".
But they could do nothing more, as I was the father of the great Alexandra, chosen by the gods above to be one of the moat talented fighters to ever live. Others doubted in the beginning, a commoner participating in tournaments? A girl using a weapon instead of a brush? But now? She stood above them all and they praised her for pulling herself up from the dirt, thanked her for bringing her blade to bear against their enemies.
As yet another noble I did not remember the name of avoided my corner of the room, I let out a small sigh. I looked down at the table before me and checked over my tools. Some things never change. My daughter is a hero and the daughter of a cook. A sword was clumsy and awkward in my grip, but a knife or spatula was a calming presence. I spun one my knives in a familiar rputine as I stared out into the crowd. I turned to glance out the window, then startled and nearly dropped my knife when a mop of dark hair appeared in my vision.
"Hey, mister father!"
I scowled at the girl, one of my daughter's party members. She was hanging upside down without a care in the world about the disdainful glares around us. I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. "Eliza, I swear I have told you my name at least a thousand times."
She just gave my her signature mad grin, not even bothering to right herself. "But Alexandra calls you father and she always says we're like family, soooo why can't I call you father?" She leaned closer with wiggling eyebrows. "Or would you prefer daddy?"
She laughed as I stared at her, my deadpan expression more than an answer. "That was funny the first dozen times you tried, Eliza.... What do you want? I know you are bothering me for a reason."
She shrugged. "Allie always talks about you inspiring her or whatever, despite refusing to explain to literally anyone how besides being a good dad." A blur of color and she was in front of my table. "I may not know what that means, but I think I might be finally be figuring something out."
I just raised an eyebrow. It was no secret that most heroes had a tragic backstory. Either dead parents or parents who tried to kill them. So even I had never understood how I inspired my daughter by doing neither of those things. "So that was you following me, you little shit. Well? Whats going on in that brain of yours? Anything special from all that snooping."
She pointed at my spatula with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Give me a show first."
With a sigh and a smile, I indulged the girl. I mainly cooked in front of family nowadays, Alexandra made me step down from my stand a few years back. At these ceremonies she 'gracefully allowed' a table to be set up for my work. And if she had an excuse to have me cooking for her at all these events, that was a 'fortunate coincidence'. Regardless, I enjoyed putting on a little show. Some of the folks gathered for the ceremony watched with poorly veiled interest as I spun my tools around and manipulated the fire. Memories of my daughter as a child, watching the dance of fire and steel with stars in her eyes drowned out the thoughts of snobby eyes on my work.
I was snapped out of my reminiscence by my hand stopping suddenly with the unique clang of steel hitting steel. One of Eliza's daggers held in the way of spatula, a smug grin on her face. The grin dropped at the anger obvious on my face as I noticed the sizeable chip in the metal. "The fuck do you think you are doing, Elizabeth?!
She raised her hands and looked down. "Okay, maybe that was a little stup-pleasedonetellAlliepleaseI'msorryIwon't-"
"Breathe, child. Breathe." After a took a few deep breaths, I waved a hand at her. "How about you explain what you were thinking before Alexandra notices you panicking and finds out you chipped the nice spatula she bought me."
She whipped around with a pale face, but Alexandra was still talking to someone. "Okay okay okay. So we have all seen you try to hold a sword and while that wasn't as funny as you trying to ride a horse, it was still pretty funny. But, I figured out the secret. The little thing you do with your spatula? The hand and wrist movements? I realized I had seen it somewhere else. Allie does that same thing, but like twenty times faster and more dangerous." She grimaced. "I blocked one of her strikes in sparring like I blocked you just now, bad idea. She thought that meant I was suddenly stronger and had been holding back. Was more bruised than a banana for a few days. Anyway, I just wanted to check my theory, thanks." And she was gone again, just a blur of color into the crowd.
I stared down at my now chipped spatula and felt tears welling up. The vision of my little girl with stars in her eyes and the familiar weight in my hand. Maybe these ceremonies weren't so bad after all. | 2022-04-14T15:06:48 | 2022-04-14T14:31:34 | 198 | 49 |
[WP] A new invention enables people to remember their dreams with absolute clarity. It turns out we were forgetting them for a very good reason. | I had always kept a sketchy dream diary. Thoughts, images, prompts. Always blurry and out of order. The pills offered the ultimate clarity in recall. I wondered if it might do anything about the deja vu as well. The family had a touch of precognition in dreams, skipping a generation as such things are wont to do.
I took the pills and went to sleep. I experienced a normal dream, something domestic, with food, and language that was strangely garbled. Another dream, of work intruding into my home. I recall putting up a scaffold and repairing the wall. Elsewhere, and behind the wheel of a car. I hit something. Something blonde and petite.
Another jump, and I was struck by lightning. Dreams of flying, so many attempts to take off from the yard. But I felt guilty about so many failures. Another jump, a dark alley, incomprehensible language, and a pain flaring through my skull as I was shot in the head.
I woke in a cold sweat. I *knew* that alley. The walls. The graffiti. I looked at the clock. 2:37 am. I wandered through the apartment, and when my hand touched the wall I felt a tiny slip. A seam. I turned on the light, but it vanished.
I turned on the TV. Breaking news about an airliner going down in Russia. 250 dead or missing. That couldn't be right. It just couldn't. 24 hour news channels had a lot to answer for.
That was when I got the call to come down to the station. It was Ellie. My estranged sister who lived on the far side of town. She'd been mugged and shot dead. I asked the detective if he had any pictures of where she'd been found.
It was in the alley. The same damn alley. Late last night. Then I asked about recent DUI's or pedestrians being hit. One, in the tri-state area, young woman, three days ago. Comatose. I asked them to check with the hospital whether she was still alive—told them I had a hunch it might be related.
She was dead too. But there was a picture of the driver. I blinked and looked away. Ellie…
I suddenly understood what my dreams were—aside from messed up. They were the last thoughts of my sister, her victim, and those of everyone on that Russian plane somehow accepting their fate. And it wasn't just my dreams. Everyone had dreams. People died every second.
There was no filter, no rhyme or reason. My dreams were the dead making one last attempt to communicate. The garbled language and blurry faces only secondhand memories. I threw out the rest of the pills at once.
The dead would continue to haunt my dreams, but least now I wouldn't remember them. | I frowned at the pill bottle. I was trying out a new drug that would hopefully cure my insomnia. I struggled for years to be able to sleep well but nothing I tried helped. I was already on a strict meditation, diet, and exercise routine. Nothing was working though. Last week, my sister called me to tell me about some research she was doing on a new drug. They were looking for test patients to study the drug further. The drug was a new approach to insomnia. It was not something I would have ever done but I was so desperate that i had to at least try.
I washed down the single pill with water. Now all I had to do was lay on the hospital bed while they monitored me. My body felt perfect normal at first. Then suddenly i began feeling aware of every cell in my body. My eyelids started closing but I felt more awake then ever. It was as if I was being taken somewhere else. Like I was waking up from a dream, not going into one.
I opened my eyes, but I wasn't in the hospital. I had woken up. Actually. The life I was living before was a dream. Or some hallucination. I felt an almost painful awareness of reality. I was laying in my own bed, a bed i couldn't even remember in my other reality. Within that one dream, I had lived a lifetime and had never known. | 2015-03-09T05:25:56 | 2015-03-09T04:04:12 | 190 | 94 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "I talk to Gods!"
It was a bright sunny day. the first one in weeks. So much rain. If we got a few more days like this the high crops might actually yield. We needed the high crops. Low crops were consistent enough, but the high crops, they meant the difference between new iron or a starving winter.
So the sun was shining, the day was beautiful, the sheep followed their master and then there's poor William, sitting on a wall, trying to keep the demons from coming out. Really struggling, praying and folding his hands but the demons always won. The demons seemed to like me to talk to.
He hopped off the stone wall and followed my slow meander up to pasture.
"I talk to Gods, Peter."
"More like ghosts, William."
He flicked an errant fly off his head. "No, no. They said you'd tell me that. They're Gods. They tell me things." They always told him things.
"Like what?"
"Like there's a murrain coming. I didn't know what that word meant so I asked them. They said it meant dying. Death. The sheep this time. Cows next."
The sheep. I couldn't lose the sheep. Just words from a crazy person but words they carry strange powers. Sometimes even thinking them can cause devils to pluck therm from your mind and make them happen. "Willy, you best not talk like that. Lest the church put you on trial."
"Oh I've been tried scores of times. The Gods told me. Burned, crushed, drowned, crushed and burned, gibbeted, drawn and quartered-"
"I get it, Willy. So the Gods tell you this? How is it you're here."
"I don't know. I don't remember any of it, but they swear it. Tell me not to talk about them. But how can I not? I talk to Gods!" He stood atop a rock and spun around like a thread weight. When he finished he took off running down the hill.
"Say hi to your Gods next time you see 'em." Willy was a good kid, just touched.
"Why?" he shouted back. "It's you they want." | "Dear, don't listen to her!"
I stood square and looked mom in the eye. "I will. She explained more of it and it all hangs together. She said we could *die*. I think we should at least… check it."
Mom took a deep breath and came around the table. "I had hoped she'd be able to hold her tongue around the kids. What a thing to obsess about! Lousy woman, not letting us handle things in our own time. Honey!"
Dad appeared momentarily. "Mmmm?"
Mom looked to me. "Would you repeat that for father?"
So I did, hesitantly.
Dad and Mom stared to each other for a moment. Then, Dad began the terrible secret of death: "Her concerns *were* real, and her solutions *were* good, once, long ago, well before we spread from our first planet…" | 2017-09-14T10:12:28 | 2017-09-14T09:10:03 | 47 | 18 |
[WP] Suddenly, everyone on Earth becomes immortal, free from physical injury or disease. Except for one person. | Scapegoat, *n*. (in the Bible) a goat sent into the wilderness after the Jewish chief priest had symbolically laid the sins of the people upon it (Lev. 16).
+-+
-----
+-+
And on the eleventh day of December, in the year of our Lord two thousand and thirteen, the Lord said *LET JOHN GAFFNEY OF MIDDLEBOROUGH OHIO BE CHOSEN* and in the vast stadium in Omaha, Nebraska the gathered priests of Jesus and Yahweh and Mohammed and all the other hundred gods laid their hands upon John Gaffney of Middleborough, Ohio. And when all the hands of all the priests were laid upon him, John Gaffney seemed unchanged, but Lo did all the rest of humanity blush with good health and sweet youth unchanging. And Lo did the people of the world pity John Gaffney, who would sicken and age and die in his turn.
On the nineteenth day of December, in the year of our Lord two thousand and thirteen, John Gaffney did fall and break his arm, and all the assembled Peoples took note, for it was the first Injury suffered by man or woman or child in the days since John Gaffney was chosen. And the assembled Peoples lamented on his behalf.
On the sixteenth day of May, in the year of our Lord two thousand and fourteen, John Gaffney developed a cough, and all the assembled Peoples took note, for it was the first Sickness suffered by man or woman or child in all the days since John Gaffney was chosen. And the assembled Peoples rejoiced that they were spared such suffering.
On the third day of July, in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty-one, John Gaffney wandered alone through the Canyons of the City of New York, which had long been deserted when the assembled Peoples realized that neither hunger nor thirst would trouble them, and that food did not satisfy them and strong drink did not stir them, and abandoned that Great City in droves. John Gaffney was dizzy with hunger and crack-lipped with thirst, and he fell to his knees, crying out *Why oh Lord hast thou forsaken me?*. And the assembled Peoples mocked him for his misery and his devotion.
On the sixth day of August, in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty-nine, John Gaffney's broken body was discovered in a culvert in San Mateo, California, and no man knew what to do with the curiosity, and all the assembled Peoples took note for this was the first death in all the years since John Gaffney was anointed, and the Peoples exulted in their own immortality and perfection.
And the Years Passed singly and in their tens and hundreds, and the Peoples did not age, and did not sicken, and did not pass from their existence. The experiences of the flesh had long paled so that their very Souls cried out for succor and still they lived on, in the smoldering cesspits of the Earth and on all the barren moons and planets beyond, with nothing new but novelty and nothing sufficient to fill the voids within them. Terrible was their lamentation, and yet none of them knew the light of the Lord, except for the One who passed from the world to be born again in Heaven, and his name was John Gaffney of Middeborough, Ohio.
| "Christina, you get dressed right now, the Ceremony Of The Innocent is starting in 25 minutes. You are lucky it is starting right outside our villa, young lady!" A middle-aged, newly shaven tall pale man stood at the door, covered from toe to crown in vibrant robes, with his young daughter in his eyes. She simply was not listening to him. This Ceremony, which celebrated the yearly anniversary of the immortal gifting of the Gods was especially celebrating Brian Underwood, or *Elonaq Munasota* as he has come to be called.
Ninety-eight years ago today it happened. Some retreated into temples for answers, and others rioted, burned the great temples of our notable cities. It is now finally commonly believed that God(s) lost hope in us, and did not want to care for us, so he or them, in his/their *wisdom* made all of us, every single one.. immortal. Unable to gain horrid and common diseases alike, and without the plaque of any injury.
"Father, why is it called 'The Ceremony Of The Innocent', how do we know he is-"
"You will **not** blaspheme in my house. Go, do as I told you".
It took us four months to discover one was unlike the rest. Brian Underwood, Scottish-American who lived happily in South Boston with his wife and three children. Immediately people believed him to be the amalgamation of The Gods themselves. Everything was switched, mortality was now holiness.
With the concentration of the best medicine and scientists all over the world Brian has been able to live to be one-hundred and twenty years old. Many believe we should let him pass on, others want to try harder to make him live forever. If he dies, as most point out, he will be the only one from these two centuries and centuries/millenniums to come who will be with God, or as some others see it, The Gods.
The ceremony began. | 2013-12-10T11:35:07 | 2013-12-10T10:53:20 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] You have just gained superpowers. Unfortunately, nobody can comprehend that you have no intention of being a hero or a villain. | “I’m just a plumber,” I told the Mayor. “Not a superhero."
“Right,” he grinned. “You unclog the pipes of *justice!*”
“No, I mean I’m a literal plumber. I unclog the pipes of toilets.”
The Mayor scratched his head. “So you’re a literal plumber, but... the pipes are metaphors?
“What?”
“Or is the toilet the metaphor?” The Mayor frowned. “Wait a minute, is the toilet the *city?* I take offense to that.”
“No. Nothings metaphor. I'm talking about actual toilets.”
“Oh, I get it. You're talking about an alter ego," the Mayor winked. "You're like that uh, like that Mario fella.”
“No," I said exasperated. "I only have one ego. This is my ego. My ego is plumber.”
“I’m not following. You want me to pump your ego a bit? Sure. I’m not above that. Here it goes: the city needs you, kid. You’re the only one who’s got what it takes. And what it takes is heat-ray vision and bulletproof skin. You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. If I wasn’t married I’d--”
“Look, it’s true,” I interrupted. “I am bulletproof, and I can shoot lasers out of my eyes. But I don’t like doing that. What I *like* doing is plumbing.”
“Literal plumbing?”
“Literal plumbing.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“But we already made your calling-beacon. A lot of taxpayer money went into that.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just not interested.”
The Mayor thought for a moment. “We'll make it work.”
+++
It was the dead of night when I saw it: the Me-Signal shining in the sky like a beacon of hope. I turned to my wife, already asleep beside me. “I’ll be back sweetie,” I whispered. “The city needs me.” I put on my uniform and I was off.
I battered on a door, nearly knocking it out of its frame. The mayor opened, looking nervous. "It’s a bad one."
I steeled my face and gripped my trusty plunger. "How bad we talking?"
"Today was taco Tuesday."
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | I was always the most dangerous man in the room.
Day in, day out. I have seen hundreds of heroes and villains die because they were told that one side were the bad guys. The fools. I know better. I have seen something better. And siding with them will only make me worse for wear.
Most of those fools only want attention, craving to be called the greatest superhuman to ever live. They believe their feats will last ages. But soon enough, nobody is going to remember them. I have what they never had. I have ambition. I want to rise. To become the one that controls who wins, and who loses. And oh, my abilities are perfect for the role.
I am a telepath like no one has ever seen. I know their worst nightmares, their motivations and fears, and it's all pathetic. I plan on starting wars, and ending them, all with just a whisper. I want to be the one who gets to chose who wins and losses. I will be the one that becomes the person everyone calls "superhuman". I am no villain, or hero. I am a god. | 2021-06-01T20:17:01 | 2021-06-01T19:56:03 | 59 | 17 |
[WP] "As payment, I demand your firstborn!" the demon said. "Deal!" You said, hastily signing the contract to seal the deal. "Good luck with them, sucker!" | *"HAH!* Okay, he's yours!" I said as I threw my hands up in the air, half in excitement and half in disbelief.
I walked into the kitchen and banged on the door leading to the basement stairs.
"Hey, kid, you got a visitor!"
"Not now! I'm in the middle of owning newbs, ma! I'll be up in a minute!"
With a snap of his fingers the demon summoned my son from his lair and I could tell immediately this was not what he expected.
My son sat, still slumped in his gaming chair, headset on, hands poised at the hot-key row and directional arrows with his 5 o'clock shadow framing his half-agape mouth. My son is 34, my oldest, and yet, somehow, my youngest as well.
"MA, what the f*ck" he finally said when the shock wore off.
"Yeah, what the f*uck", chimed in the demon. They were both staring at me with the same expression.
"Aww, you two could be brothers!" I mused aloud, being cheeky. "Okay, well, you said" I pointed at my son "that you hate me and wanted to move out, and YOU said" my arm moved my finger to the demon, "that you're taking him! Two birds, one stone and all that!" I brushed the invisible dirt off my palms in satisfaction with a too smug grin on my face.
"I have GOT to start vetting first-borns before committing to the deal, the big guy's gonna have me pushing rocks with an unsatisfied thirst for 10 million years again." The demon clutched his tail in his left hand behind himself, while rubbing the sweat off his brow with the right.
"Ma, I'm hungry"
"OKAYYYYY, welp! It's getting late, I'm sure your little demon friends are worrying about you, okay off you both go! Bye sweety, don't forget to wash behind your ears for once! Don't think they'll charge you rent in hell or wherever-- okay BYE!"
I had started ushering them out the door but before I could get too close the demon groaned and poofed them both away.
I stood for a moment, realizing I was now finally alone in my own house. I went and started a bath, walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of wine, and started back to the bathroom after getting my best robe and slippers. I added some bath salts and put on some music for ambiance during my soak. As I settled into the warm water and took my first sip of wine as a free woman I couldn't help but smirk through my guilt.
Suddenly my eyes popped open with a thought "Ah, that f*cker forgot to uphold his end of the bargain! He was supposed to grant me unshakable power of the most profitable global corporation!" My hand gripped the side of the tub in a rage, but the water caused my fingers to slide and a droplet of water landed on my phone screen. The freshly triggered display showed the time: 930 pm. I realized it had been 20 minutes and I hadn't heard a single peep from the basement. "Eh, this is fine. I'll take it" I took another sip of wine and relaxed into the tub. | The stare in its eyes were palpable. As I raised the pen; secure in my grip. I saw a glistening ember formulate by the side of its lip, growing by the second and getting brighter the longer I stared. How many has it secured? What number would my spawn be in this carousel of abandonment that I have enthusiastically entertained? Eye for an eye or demon for a demon in this case where the only way out is to place its spawn back in its owners arm, for I was just an incubator after all. I knew the deal all along. I knew what I was signing into but the end, the end was very unexpected. The love part of it all was something I did not expect and for its love, I would sell not just our spawn; my firstborn, but my soul too.
As I look from the spittle to its blazing eyes I slowly ask “Will you sing for me this one last time before I take my place to the left of you”
The ball of liquid that was once growing in front of my eyes dissipates slowly as its mouth forms an insidious grin “For you my sweet one, I will sow my promise and leave you with images you will forever envision. I will sing a song that you will want to gouge your eyes out to and when over will again sing in your minds eye for eternity”
I hear it’s words and should be afraid but I’m lost in my love for it. My mind wanders from its beaming smile to its torso resting across mine. It standing above me as I look up into face, my body shivering in butterflies in anticipation to hear its voice. I snap out of the fantasy to see the demon’s face across mine so close I can hear the cries of his past and future endeavours. I sit across it and know to be forever by its side I must give up my spawn but its voice, it’s whispers in my ear means more and will always mean more… | 2022-08-31T21:33:08 | 2022-08-31T17:45:32 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] You're a human living with a vampire roommate. It's painfully obvious; he never looks at mirrors, he despises garlic, he never uses silverware, and he always stays in during the day, but his attempts at trying to blend in are far too funny.
EDIT: Thank you, silver gifter! | So have you guys heard of interview with a vampire? Well I have something better! Comedy with a vampire who insist she's not one. For everyday it's a show with her!
Why I say that? Well let me set the scene for you, everyday I wake up bright and early to see brilliant dinner set up for me by my dear old roommate, Evangeline. She makes meatloaf and tacos sometimes even some salad in between for me as I wake up in my jammies. Every time without fail she gives me a smile and say "well eat up my dear or else you'll miss the good part" as she drink a from her cup before going to her room to sleep in what she insist is not a coffin.
Usually I eat the food she gave but this is breakfast and who can eat a whole meatloaf? But you must be asking when's my breakfast if she gave me dinner? Well it starts at 7pm cause that's when my dear old roommate makes me some eggs and toast as I come home from work. She smiles her usual smile and offer me some toast usually and had never failed to say "good morning!" I nod most of the time as I've gotten tired to correct her. Just surrendering myself as I eat the food she prepared before she heads off to work or what I assume is her "not" drinking blood. Coming back always at the 6 am by going to the kitchen and cooking up a storm. Because of this I no longer need an alarm clock.
No wonder people leave this place after a month or so because they're scared she might attack them smart of them, but not me, hah. I'm more in it for the stories I can tell. Like this gem. On how Evangeline thought it would be "interesting" to wake me up at midnight to go find a mall to hangout like humans do (her exact words). Mall at midnight... Hah. We went, and left after finding none that was open (wonder why) and ended up going to a club. Where all she could do is order all the drinks and merely taking a sip before asking for another one. Telling me how she wants to taste them all as humans have all the fun. No clue what she meant by that cause she was passed out drink by the 8th sip, leaving me to pay for all the drinks. Lovely. But hey what ever that keeps this vam.. I mean girl happy right? | She often caught his awkward eyes and giggled, quitely. He was kind of cute, after all. Polite, unassuming, helpful, just not very present. Still, It was early days. Alex had only moved In some weeks back. Kiera decided to she would speak to him, soon as the chance would arise. 'He is the only house mate who hasn't judged me' This thought persisted and endeared him to her. 'They all judge him too' she muttered to herself In the kitchen, one night. She sat In the dark, feeling comforted by emptiness.
That same night, Alex returned from his night shift, Kiera could see his pale skin, white like moonlight, freckled with blood. He glimmered In the sepia night shade, as he shut the door quietly behind him. She was scared but left Intrigued. He skulked silently upstairs and In to the bathroom, leaving the door slightly a jar. As she approached, heavy panting and running water was all she could hear... | 2019-07-20T08:11:37 | 2019-07-20T07:44:50 | 63 | 10 |
[WP] People only sneeze when someone else is thinking of them romantically...
(Up to you how the details go, if people end up sneezing super often, or if it's a once-in-a-while thing, etc.) | I was separated from Alice in the mad shuffle of refugees straining to cross through a Canadian border checkpoint on August 3rd, 2034. It was the early days of the global nuclear holocaust, and many of us still clung to the hope that safety could be found in the arms of America's placid northern neighbor. When I lost my grip on Alice's hand, and watched her big eyes recede and then vanish as the crowd carried me implacably away, something inside my chest cracked and split in half and died. I waited for her on the other side, but they closed the border within an hour of my crossing, and then the sky went bright with another distant detonation and I couldn't help but turn and follow the crowds into the black Canadian night.
At first I sneezed often, and the knowledge that Alice still lived and thought of me kept me warm, but as time passed and news of home fizzled, and Canada, too, fell under the brunt of the thermonuclear barrage, I sneezed less and less. Then, as I worked my way deeper and deeper into the wilderness, learning slowly but surely the skills necessary to survive in a world as far as possible from the one being ravaged by hydrogen bombs, I stopped sneezing altogether.
It was a hard truth to come to terms with, that Alice was dead. Either that or she'd stopped thinking about me. In my selfishness, I couldn't decide which explanation I preferred.
Winters passed. The war was behind us, now, although who "us" constituted was something I feared to learn. My life, which had begun in the suburbs along a trajectory that screamed "accountant" or, at the most ambitious extreme, "investment banker," had veered off wildly and landed on "unshaven forest hermit." Which was better, I supposed, than "dead guy number eight-and-a-half billion."
I was as close to content with my life as could be expected, out there in the forest, until one day, six years after the first missiles hit their marks, I sneezed.
I sneezed three times, the rush of air stinging my leathery nostrils, and then I packed up my things and set off back towards the ruins of human civilization, consumed by the overwhelming and irrational hope that somewhere, in a hovel or a bombed-out bunker, a girl named Alice was sneezing back at me. | I had always dreamed of being a celebrity. The reality is not nearly as glamorous. It wasn't so bad when I was still a little known actor. I'd occasionally sneeze, usually right as I was going to bed. It made me feel good to know I was being admired. I wish I had never made it big. I haven't slept in... 4 years, I think. That one scantily clad scene has made its way into everyone's minds and it just won't end. I've sneezed about every 3 seconds for years.
"Achoo, achoo, achoo"
"It must be another party," the doctor said as he patted my arm. "Don't worry, the tube will keep you alive until people forget about it."
At least my folly will keep actors from ever repeating my mistake. At least we didn't film it with the new color recorders. I wonder what my adoring fans would think if they could see me now? | 2016-01-25T09:13:08 | 2016-01-25T08:11:47 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful walrus. Look." | **The Kingdom of the Walrus**
*Day 29*
Peter is babbling again in the far corner of this empty, ancient hunting lodge we’ve found, here in some old estate in Sussex. Bits of the crumbling ruin fall on our head, but that’s ruins for you.
“I am he as you are he as…” Peter trails off.
Mr. James rolls his eyes, takes off his giant, much-repaired eyeglasses, and rubs the bridge of his nose. He’s a patient old pensioner.
I’m glad we’re all together.
*Day 30*
I’m crying when Mr. James stumbles over.
“I think Peter is sitting on his cornflakes,” he says, as calmly as he might have said “I think it looks like rain” a month ago.
Peter is splashing in his ration of milk. Mr. James and I clean him up as best we can, and find him a clean shirt.
“No! I want my Corporation t-shirt,” Peter insists, rummaging for it. Mr. James lays his comforting hand on mine, I sigh, and naughty Peter is, at last, happy, clean and fed.
He naps, and so do we— fitfully.
I dream of the days before the 3 a.m. warning on all our phones. The warning of the mysterious walrus, of all things, that drove the world into mad chaos.
The chaos which destroyed the safe little circles people like Mr. James and me inhabited, and threw refugees like Peter into our sorely incapable hands.
*Day 32*
Our boredom, which I have been secretly enjoying, is shattered when Mr. James is suddenly alert: “Hear that?” he whispers urgently.
Peter is bobbing at the window, happily chanting. “Mister City policeman!” Peter says. Sitting pretty! Pretty little policemen in a row! Look! Look!”
Peter drags us over; he will not learn our names. We try to pull him down, but he is too strong, and he resists. He will not hush, and we cannot make him— attempts have been made.
That is how we lost Mrs. James, early on. It was obviously an accident; Peter has clearly been driven mad by … whatever this is.
Mr. James said a tender good-bye to his wife, and said it was our duty to care for the man. That Mrs. James would want us to—
“Hear that?” Mr. James whisper was in my ear.
I did not need his whisper. I could hear the stumbling line of bobbies on the same long cobblestone path we had found.
Peter froze. “They are The Walrus.”
Mr. James rustled in the pack, then took my hand and we stood.
“Goo goo ga joob!” Peter was calling to them from the window.
Mr. James pulled at me, and I heard his cane telescoping out. He must have done some exploring.
I didn’t like to leave Peter, but it seemed that in the kingdom of the kaleidoscope walrus…
Only the blind would survive. | I wake up dehydrated as I always do during the cold winter months. I go to grab a cup of ice water I keep beside my bed and I before I do I check my phone.
Allison: Look at the walrus George it’ll make you happy.
Confused I see that I have many text messages all telling me to look at walrus and even an official text from the government to not look at it. My heart begins to speed up and I turn the lights on. I can feel an anxiety attack coming as I try to make sense of what is happening. What is possibly the worse thing that could happen if I looked at it..?
I can feel my vision getting worse as I start to think about all the things it could possibly be. I decide to open it quickly and just see what it is. I open Allison’s text message and it’s a picture of a walrus with a white background. It doesn’t make any sense and I feel like I may have just downloaded some type of virus on my phone.
Instantly I feel it. The moment of peace I had from seeing the picture is instantly gone from the dread I start to feel. I have felt a similar feeling before such as the time I did shrooms as a teen. Only this feels much more intense. The picture starts to wave and change colors and starts looking more and more cartoony. I drop my phone to get away from it but it’s too late. I start to feel nausea overwhelm me and I lay back down as I let it overtake me. I start to wonder if this is all a dream as the walls in my room begin to split apart.
I wonder if I will be able to see the walrus Again? | 2021-01-11T19:09:17 | 2021-01-11T19:07:29 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | "A mistake was made," said the U.N. Secretary General. Last night depth probes had rained from the Vermont sky. They had been dropped in the hole six months and one day ago, exactly. Now they were back. And we all knew what would follow.
15,000 nuclear weapons had been dropped into the hole one month ago. Humanity had five months left.
Iceland was the first country to divide all of their wealth equally among its citizens. "Make the most of it while you can," said its prime minister. "I wish that you all will live to the fullest, in open defiance of the absurdity that has become human existence."
A dark brooding overtook the world. In every coffee shop you would find young men and women engaged in deep thought, contemplating the strange spectacle that had become their predicament. Political parties rose and fell like a beating heart, struggling to regain its foothold after a traumatic shock. Whispers were heard in street corners, a salvation unmistakably on its way. "This is a trial," many a stranger would tell each other. "We have five months to show that we are worthy of life. If you dedicate yourself to the Good, you will survive. The others will be erased from the world and be forgotten."
As reality began to set in, a strange fellow gained worldwide attention and fame when he assured humanity that he had found the solution to their woes. "This planet is doomed," he said. "But this isn't the only one. We have the funds. We have the drive. We can escape inevitable doom and settle on the red planet."
The Martian Movement grew strong, and with it a sense of optimism dawned on humanity. "There is a chance," was the sentiment. "We could still survive."
The window of time was narrow. In a single month, humanity would have to work together and embark on its greatest mission yet. But there was another faction growing. And it grew strong.
The first body fell 46 days after the first probes. It landed on top of the garbage heap. Some commented that it was an apt metaphor; humanity falling to their grave on top of the steaming pile of mess that had left behind. This nihilistic notion became commonplace. "Humanity does not deserve to be saved." Such were their sentiment. They held counter-rallies to the devout Martians. They argued that man had had his chance, and he had failed. He did not deserve a second chance. The hole only spat out what had been tossed inside. We had failed the litmus test, and so the book closed.
Then, one day, the hole closed.
Time went on, and as the six-month period came to pass, it became evident that it would keep on doing so. The once dedicated groups dissipated like a soup gone cold. The world remained the world. Never would anyone learn the true nature of the hole. It seemed a chance event, bereft of meaning. Humanity would ultimately have to fill the hole with stories. With meaning. And it would keep on drifting through the cold Universe, forever asking themselves the same question: why? | Spaceships. Hundreds of them, surrounding the Earth, slowly closing in to form a sort of net across the sky.
"Hello citizens of the Earth."
The sound came from every hi fi set in the world, every radio, every television, every
cassette recorder, every woofer, and every tweeter.
Every tin can, every dust bin, every window, every car, every wine glass,
every sheet of rusty metal became activated as an acoustically perfect speaker.
And they were all spewing perfect English.
"3 years ago, a wormhole opened. Linking our planet, Fermetadron 6, to yours."
"We decided it would be unsafe to study it, let alone send anything down it." The voice continued.
"However, the constant stream of perfectly contained trash coming out of the hole led us to question if there are intelligent life forms other than us in this universe."
"And so, after carefully studying the hole for a year, we believe to have found the location of it. We also believe you Earth-men are intentionally pouring your trash into the wormhole and onto our planet."
"And so, with that in mind, we would like permission to enter your planet and speak with your planet leader."
"You can send us permission using Y waves, or radio waves, we have receivers for both on board."
"So, do we have permission to land?"
And so, the road to The Trash War began.
*****
I'm guessing you noticed how much I love HGTTG.
Do you guys have any feedback? You probably do, because I suck.
Please leave your feedback! | 2018-01-13T08:53:16 | 2018-01-13T07:30:33 | 537 | 144 |
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you. | I was going to get this bastard. He killed my family. Killed my dog. Destroyed my house. He destroyed my life.
I was seething at just the thought of his smug face, all cozy and warm surrounded by money in his mansion, while I was out here in the blistering cold, walking through puddles and shit.
I was at his front door. I pulled a pistol from within my coat, and opened the door. Fool, he had kept it unlocked. I could see him, sitting in front of his fireplace, reading a book. He was dressed in a ruby and gold colored robe. Rich bastard.
I slowly came from behind, gun ready. I could shoot him through the couch, but I didn't want to make it a kill shot...I wasn't going to kill him quickly, no, I was going to let him suffer.
My lips formed into a smile. This bastard would regret messing with me. Finger on the trigger, I pressed it into the back of the couch.
The floor boards creaked under me, but he wouldn't here it over the roar of the flames.
This was it. I was going to kill this bastard, who had caused me so much pain and misery. Weeks of mourning and grief would be replaced by satisfaction and happiness. I was going to take everything he owned after this. I pulled back on the trigger.
"James! James its time for bed sweetie!"
Fuck.
"Mom! Wait, I just have to get this guy!" I whined.
"No, bed time James. Come on," my Mom said. She tutted, going to turn off my Xbox.
"NO LET ME SAVE MOM! ITS ONLY 10! LET ME SAVE!" I yelled. She turned my Xbox off.
"NOOO MOM YOU BITCH!" I yelled, crying. She looked at me, dumbfounded, before unplugging my Xbox.
"Talk to your mother like that? This is gone for the rest of the summer holidays. Oh, and don't think you can get on your phone or laptop, I'm taking them as well. All you'll be doing is schoolwork," she said.
| After weeks of making phone calls we finally found someone that could open the safe. They arrived around 9am and by 7 that evening the doors started to move. The lock had finally freed but the hinges were off balance and the doors would not open more than a inch. The locksmith went to his truck to get his pry-bar. Suddenly my alarm went off and in a wave of panic I reached over and hit the snooze button. Did I dream that I finally opened that safe? I walked into the other room to check on the safe. From across the room and over the couch I could tell that the door was wide open, but I couldn't see inside from this angle. Suddenly my alarm went off... I start to wonder if I will ever wake up? | 2014-12-21T18:34:44 | 2014-12-21T18:01:37 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] You are a supervillain named The Keymaster. Instead of creating grand plans to conquer the world, all you do is run around and free other captured supervillains from prison, after the superheroes defeat them.
Edit: Thanks for the frontpage! | Keys keys keys keys keys.
Say that long enough and it becomes a twisted mantra.
Hello, world, I am the Keymaster, but you've got it wrong. I'm no villain. I'm no hero. I don't deal in morals or justice or evil or destruction. None of that. I'd be a politician if I cared about holding office.
Apparently, the fourth wall has a door, and I've opened it up just to talk to you. Why don't you come in for a bit, see my master plan? After all, you can't do a thing about it, can you?
Come along, now.
______________________
Welcome to Fullerite Prison, quaint little thing. Black columns stretching miles up and down. Wasn't always black, don't care what it was before. But everything here's black because the little guards like to play pretend, as if the thousands of supervillains here could be hidden out of sight and out of min--
"Hey! C'mon get us out already! We know what you're here for!"
See, if you have keys, you can also lock things up.
"Key master! C'mo- mhmhm!! hmm!! grmr!!"
Keep your mouth shut, Mr. Destructor. I'm talking here.
What's my master plan, you ask? My master plan is no master plan. Again, I'm not a villain. I'm just in it for the fun. These guys here are locked up for a reason: They always lose. Villains don't win.
But the superheroes out there -- they have one big weakness. They have the public to answer for. That's part of the reason why I'm not a politician. A hero fights for the people, but it's a two-way street; the people need to love and respect the hero if any of this lunacy is gonna work.
"Keymaster! Put your hands UP!!"
Ah, here they are.
"We know you're plotting to free these guys. The Honor League's about to bring you DOWN!"
"Give up now!" another one says. "You've already lost."
Here's where the misconception that I'm a villain comes in handy. They come like moths to a flame.
Say, I'm here to help you guys out, actually.
"Stop your nonsense, Keymaster!"
I can unlock your full potential!
"What... What is this... I feel... I feel good."
"Snap out of it!"
"But hey... what if we..."
"So much energy. I-I can't control it!!"
The world shakes. Explosions everywhere, cells breaking apart. Shouts of triumph from the prisoners.
You see, reader, here's another reason I'm not a politician:
Power corrupts.
___________________________
Pls. Let me know your reactions! Thanks for reading!!
Edit: Grammar and spelling | This world is small, fighting is futile, goals are pointless, we are meant to progress through evolution, till our planet's resources deplete, and we die. Some desire chaos, to become the king, the owner of this small, innocent planet. Some desire protection, to be the defenders of this small, innocent planet.
Why, what's the point of feeling pain? What's the point of fighting, to be part of the two way street, you don't need to go anywhere.
They call me, The Keymaster. Strange one to be called, let me explain. Fighting is boring, fighting doesn't make you feel good, you know what I mean? What's the point, the heroes will try to win, the villains will try to win, it's an endless cycle, it doesn't matter if you're the strongest villain in the world, there'll probably be a hero to match you. There's always some damn, bullshit balance.
When the villains lose, I enter, when they are locked behind bars, I free them, that's why I'm The Keymaster. I avoid confrontation, I avoid arguing, I free them, and disappear. That's all there is to it.
And you may wonder, why the villain side?
It's because it's fun to free the villains.
| 2017-03-11T19:25:42 | 2017-03-11T18:05:50 | 33 | 16 |
[WP] You scroll through r/WritingPrompts, and sigh after seeing your 17th “misunderstood dragon” post. “These posts aren’t even interesting,” your knight friend says. “Yeah, they don’t even get the dragons right half the time.” You should know, because you are a dragon in the modern world. | God, I'm so misunderstood. Gold? Fire? Destruction? Everybody tells me "Florgroth, why don't you start a horde?" Or, "Florgroth, why don't you shut up for two minutes and help me burn this Siberian village?" They just don't get it man, they just don't get it.
My knight buddy, Zitor, always says to me, "Florgroth, life is too short to live another dragon's dream." He should know. He was living his father's dream that day we met. He rode out here swinging his sword yelling about how we'd all perish and he'd be a dragonslayer and his father would finally look at him like he looks at his older, more successful brother who is an accountant at a Fortune 500 company.
Well, anyway, he was running out there with his sword I just had to feel bad for him. He didn't stand a shred of a chance. I've seen people roll in with machine guns and RPGs and get wiped out without second thought. This guy didn't even have a horse. Even he was trying to be stealthy it would've been a stretch but he was just out there yelling. The pressure of it all must've got to him because he just broke down crying after awhile.
My family invited them into our home. They're pretty chill like that. He stayed in my room. God, I'm so misunderstood. We chatted some. He told be about his father and his brother and how he just tried so hard to make it but he just wasn't cut out for life in our modern society, damn it. I feel like he's the only one who understands me.
There's not many career paths for dragons now-a-days. Pillaging and extortion is taboo if you aren't a human. I don't want to go fire some forge or boiler or whatever. I don't want to be a loan officer at my father's horde, either. I just, oh I don't know. I just, ugh I just don't know! I just, I JUST want to sing! *And so I cry sometimes when I'm lying in bed...* | People believe that i am a majestic creature, that i can fly and that I can breath fire. Fools.
Animals flee before me, not because I can fly and breath fire, but because they are cowards. Some say my reasoning is alien and unbecoming of other creatures of my size and weight, yet alligators do not kill hippos because they have vendettas but because they are hungry. I do not speak because i have something to say but because i do not speak due to my lack of human vocal chords.
Let me tell you a story: an Indonesian man comes into a hospital due to a horrific wound he has sustained. That wound is a bite from me. This Indonesian barely made it to the hospital from blood loss and died soon after due to septic shock. | 2021-02-26T19:56:37 | 2021-02-26T19:09:21 | 35 | 10 |
[WP] All intelligent beings worship music, but most only have the capacity to create one song per planet, if at all. One day, humans finally make themselves known to the populated universe and bring with them their infinite harmonic potential. | Vega System: Observation post 38-XE31
"Sir, these signals...it cant be possible." A researcher had a pair of headphones on and had been doing what most would consider far too tedious work of searching all the frequencies. After all they'd seen what that first signal was, and figured nothing else mattered. The researcher had been given the assignment as the newbie most grew out of it. But for some reason this one hadn't.
"That blasted system again? We've been monitoring that for years hoping for a change...we get more of the same noise." This came from the director of the facility.
"Because no one actually bothered to do the job assigned." He thought he was muttering under his breath but the Director and others near him heard that.
The director stood on his hind tentacles and stalked over to the Researcher yanking the headphones off of his head..."WHAT DID YOU-" he was cut off a moment later when he heard something... "What is..."
"This is what i was going to tell you about sir." The researcher finally looked up and his skin turned a deep purple in fear looking at the rapidly shifting colors of his Director. What had been a yellow of rage had turned into the rarely seen green of disbelief. Moments past and both collected themselves.
"You said signals..."
"Yes sir. There are many times many signals like this. Shall i pick one?"
"That's. Not. Possible."
"If you thought that was impossible, try this. I heard it last night and i nearly had to go to medical." Flipping a few switches and twisting a couple of knobs he recalled what would be known to humans as Symphony No. 9.
The room had already been stunned into silence by the reaction of the director. The color shifting skins of the researchers as the symphony progressed would have boggled the minds of all. One Terran Hour Later the music stopped.
The entire room looked at the researcher as one collective question was asked by the Director. "How long have you known?"
"It is not unheard of for multiple songs to come out of civilizations. Before coming to this point i went through thirty separate pieces of music. Ranging from the epic one you just heard to a variant i cant even classify. And radio signals are only moving at the speed of light. Sir, based off what I've been able to catalog through the data collection devices, Their Music is Evolving, Changing, the variations. No race in the galaxy is capable of such Harmonic Power.
The director looked down at the Researcher. His skin pigmentation changed with this thoughts. Not an uncommon state for his species but it always made a subordinate somewhat nervous.
"You're probably going to get promoted kid. Hell you might even get my Job." He glanced at the others in the room. "None of you ever caught on to this, none of you were willing to. We might have the anthropological find of the last twenty thousand cycles. If i were you, i'd pack your bags and update your profiles. Because once this reaches back home? I cant even fathom the response."
A species capable infinite audio harmony? It had to happen at some point. But good lord how did a planet go from those first images, to such audio mastery!?
((Edit: Holy crap this one has gotten attention there could be a part two one day.)) | So... This job is awesome.
I just sit here cooling, call the visitors in whenever I'm vibing, AND get paid the big bucks. One day I just slept through my shift and in the end just told the ambassadors that they'd have to come back tomorrow! All day long the representatives of the other races come in, show me one of their music videos and I'm like "damn that sounds cool but have you heard of Coldplay my man?" or "you know that no one can top twenty one pilots' lyrics right?".
One day I'm unemployed and live in my mom's basement, the next the government announces they're monitoring everyone's Spotify accounts and search history to find "the people best suited to establish fruitful relationships with our new potential allies and maintain friendly terms" or whatever and I'm going NUTS for the chance to chill and listen to music (the exact thing my lazy ass's been doing since I was a teen), *IN SPACE*!
The funniest times are when I *rhyme in front of them*! I go "see you later alligator" and they FAINT!
And of course, NOBODY could expect such an opportunity would fix up Earth's politics the way it did. First, Trump nearly declared war on the aliens, then when he sniffed potential to benefit he went bat-shit crazy abducting artists and musicians. DUDE LOW-KEY WANTED TO BRING BACK SLAVERY! He's biggest mistake though was messing with death metal bands. The second he kidnapped cannibal corpse he was done for. No one even knows how they got into the Whitehouse but there are still rumours about what their fans did to Trump.
All in all, there wasn't anyone who *didn't* benefit from this whole crazy turns of events_well, except for a bunch of politicians I guess, but who cares about them? | 2020-04-11T07:25:20 | 2020-04-11T07:19:20 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air. | Check for a pulse. Check for vitals. Administer CPR.
A tip I learned was to press the chest to the beat of "Another One Bites the Dust" by Queen. An ironic use for an iconic song but hey, it works. I felt silly checking the pulse and vitals of a CPR dummy but once I started humming the tune by Freddy, I kinda got into it.
It was an EMT recertification course put together in the hastiest, shabbiest, sketchiest way possible. I was in a class with two other experienced EMTs who just needed to take this class for a new certificate that would allow them to save people's lives. Our captain set this class up, as she was the licensed instructor administrating the test. Our location is the basement of a church; our CPR dummy was provided by a generous lender. He stood in the back and watched.
He creeped me out when I first saw him but apparently he's a close friend of the captain. He wore baggy rags as clothing, stained and stitched he absolutely did not care what he looked like. He sweated as if we were in a sauna, but allowed us to use his high-quality $4,000 dummy, presuming we would abide by the rules he laid out for us.
First and foremost, no touching the dummy inappropriately. This dummy is top of the line, complete with arms and legs and doll-like blonde hair wrapped in a ponytail. Anatomically speaking, all the parts were there, complete with a c-cup sized chest and nipples to boot. Secondly, we were not allowed to perform mouth to mouth on it. Oh, and thirdly, we must call *it* a her.
Well when I'm doing my thing and grooving to Queen, a routine sets in. Push push push breathe, push push push breathe. Before you know it I lean over and lock lips with the lifelike dummy. I don't know what surprised me first, the taste or the shouting. The dummy lender was yelling nonsense, being held back by our captain. I looked up and tasted a strange yet familiarly salty aftertaste. Then, she coughed.
Like a drowning victim, she pulsed to life, coughing, wheezing and spitting out globs of milky white. I continue doing what I'm trained to do and sit her up as she continues to drain herself of the gallon of old semen deposited in her. I stood up after she was stabilized and wiped my lips with my arm. I looked back at the lender, still being held by the captain but no longer putting up a fight. Everyone stared in wonder at the dummy, who's silicone eyes are flicking around and observing everything.
"Is that why there was a no mouth-to-mouth rule?" I asked "you knew she was going to come alive?"
"H-honestly," the lender began "I had no idea. Stacy was never alive with me. That was a rule because I have herpes."
"Dave?" A feminine voice came from the floor in front of me. I looked down to see the dummy, who was now getting to her feet. She walked over to her owner, who was now shaking with wide eyes. He sat on the floor. She knelt down in front of him.
"Dave. I'm pregnant."
| The cold plastic begins to move, and I drop it like it has bitten me.
The dummy's eyes blink. They are a deep grey, like the ocean on a cloudy day.
"Where am I?"
He- no, she, struggles to sit up. A strand of her blonde hair falls down over her eyes and she pushes it away. Wait, a moment ago she didn't have hair.
"Hello?" I just stare back blankly and she looks at me like I'm crazy. Am I?
"What's going o-"
She stops in mid-sentance, clutching at her throat, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
The woman writhes on the floor, her hair loosing some of its lustre, the colour in her eyes slowly fading. *Help*, she mouthes.
Instinctively I bend down over her. Our lips meet, her's cool, mine warm.
*She is very attractive*, I can't stop thinking, as I breathe more air into her lungs.
Each breathe is hard work, and I am panting. She stops gasping and breathes more easily. I try to pull away, but she tugs me back.
"Not yet. A few more."
Her lips are burning hot. Why are they so warm? Why am I so cold?
Each of my breaths becomes more labored. But the most beautiful woman I have ever seen is practically kissing me now, her mouth and tongue mashing on mine, like she wants to eat me up. It feels so terrible and so good at the same time.
Finally she pushes me away. My hand clutches at my throat. I gasp for air that won't enter my lungs.
*Help*, I mouth.
She stands up, towering above where I lay. Over the pounding blood in my ears, I can hear her laugh, high and cold.
"Sorry, babe, but it's my turn now."
---
Read more at /r/jd_rallage | 2016-05-04T07:55:13 | 2016-05-04T07:24:13 | 80 | 42 |
[WP]: A 92-year-old woman's phone number is one digit away from that of a local suicide hotline. She could have it changed, but she doesn't mind. | "Um...hi, I've never done this before but I'm looking for some help. I'm having a really rough time right now and I'm afraid I'm going to hurt myself, or worse."
"Oh, sweetie- I'm so sorry you're struggling like this," a raspy, weak voice replied. She must have been at least 80 years old by the sound of it, but the weakness was but a veil- through it, you could hear true strength.
"This is the hotline for people who need help, right?" I asked.
"No, dear. You've reached the wrong number- it happens a lot to me, since I'm one digit off from the hotline. But it's okay, sweetie, you can talk to me. I've actually become a bit of an expert myself in this regard."
"Oh, are you sure? I don't mean to disturb you," I said, since she sounded so elderly.
"Dear, I'm 92 years old. I have plenty of free time these days. Nobody visits an old lady like me anymore," she laughed weakly. "What's going on with you, sweetheart?"
"Well..." I choked back tears, "my son died this morning. I've always tried to be a good father, I tried *so hard*, but today I just slipped. It was so quick...I left him with a plate of food and ran off to make a quick phone call from work. It was an emergency; I'm a psychiatrist and a patient was having serious issues. When I came back into the room, he'd....he'd choked on his food and died. I killed my son." He started sobbing desperately, the sound of a broken man.
"Now you listen to me, sweetheart, and listen good. There's only one person who I've failed to save, out of hundreds I've helped, and I'm going to make sure that number does not grow. Don't hold back your tears; we treat men like they can't be weak, but a real man cries. A real man admits his mistakes and feels the pain of what he's done."
"I killed my son. How...how do I ever come back from that?"
"There's nothing to come back from, love. We make mistakes, and sometimes they're worse than others- sometimes they *can't get any worse*. You're no fool, and you're admitting fault. That's the best place to start- believe me, denial will ensure your demise.
"Now, love, let me ask you a question- how much does it hurt? How badly are you grieving right now?"
"It's unlike anything I've ever felt in my life. I couldn't ever possibly feel worse than this."
"Precisely. Because of that, it will only get better than it is now. And your son has passed- but he is not forgotten. You will never forget his laugh, or his first words. Never. You remember all that for the rest of your life, and grow from it. You know a pain unlike any other, and because of that, you are valuable beyond meaning. Your little boy, he forgives you. He knows you loved him, and he knows you care more than anything.
"You'll see him again one day, dear. When you do, be able to look at him and see pride in his eyes. Pride that his father rebounded from the ultimate pain and pushed on through life. Help others, others who've felt pain like you. Be there for them, and save them from a despair you know all to well.
"One day, have another child. You are a father, I can tell. Some men are not, but you are. It will hurt at first, but you will love that little boy and raise a fine young man like yourself."
"What if I fail again? What if I make one little mistake again, and I ruin everything?"
"Then you stay strong. You call me again," she said with a laugh. "Don't ever give up hope. Learn from the pain of life, and use it to better everyone else's. When you need help, ask those you love. I'll give you my number and you can call me. You still have much to do, dear. Much to do."
"Maybe you're right...my wife can't lose a son and a husband. It hurts but I want to help someone, anyone, so they don't feel like I do. Thank you so much for your words."
"Of course, love. You know my number if you ever need help again."
"May I ask you a personal question? Who was the one person you failed to save? Did he just have severe depression, or something that couldn't be overcome?"
"Unfortunately, it was simply my inexperience with helping someone in pain. Nobody specific, love. You take care now."
"Thank you. Have a wonderful day, and God bless your kind soul. You do more than you could ever know."
They hung up, and she looked longingly at a small photo on her desk by the phone.
*See, James? I told you I'd never let another person fall prey to despair. I hope you're proud of me when I see you, son.* | "Hello?" Her voice was raspy and I strained to hear. "Are you there?" she repeated softly. "I'm here to talk to you." I looked down at myself; the cuts on my arms still fresh with blood, the bottle of pills sitting on the bathroom sink, the bloody scissors laying on the floor...
"I can't do this anymore," I whispered quietly, sliding down the wall I leaned against. "It's all just too much..."
"What is, dear?" she cooed softly, her elderly voice reminding me of my own grandmother's. She had passed away two years back, the last beacon of positivity and encouragement in my miserable life. Now I worked two jobs, at least until I got fired from both last week, the rent was overdue, the debt collectors kept calling...
"Everything. The debt, the sadness, the voices..." They had started years ago when I was still in middle school. Anxiety gnawing as I second-guessed my every step and the gradually overwhelming depression that sunk me as friends and family scampered safely out of reach.
"What do they tell you?" she asked, and I could almost picture grandma again sitting on the couch of my parents' house each day when I burst in from school. Cookies would be waiting on the counter and I'd push past her as she smiled, perhaps living vicariously through my youthful energy. Only once the last cookies were gone would I remember my manners and go to hug her and her touch still lingered on my arms.
"They tell me to just end it..." I mumbled. "That it'll all be better on the other side..."
"There is no other side," she said quietly. "After this, it's all over. The good, the bad, the pain and the happiness." I glanced down at the lines of blood that were slowly drying, the stains on my white underwear turning from red to brown. "What do you want?"
"I want no more sadness and no more pressure and no more landlord harassing me for cash," I answered, thinking to the warning he had given me last week that I would be evicted on the first of the month if I didn't pay the last three months of rent. I fingered the scissors with my free hand, spinning them around on the tiled bathroom floor. They came to a stop, the open blades pointing towards me. "I have to do it, don't I?" I could almost hear her nod on the other end of the phone before she answered.
"It's the only way." I sighed and struggled to my feet, grabbing at the sink. The box of pills was open already and still nearly full thanks to my indecisiveness before calling. "How are you doing it?" she asked and I frowned at the perverseness of the question before answering.
"Pills first," I answered. "And then the scissors on my wrist."
"Blood thinners?" she asked and I nodded even though she couldn't see me. "Don't forget all up your arms. And your neck, too, if you want to make sure." I grunted in response, the sharpened blade cutting a new line across my arm. The blood flowed freely, a small puddle pooling on the tiles.
"Again," she encouraged and I cut again and I took another pill and then I cut a bit deeper.
"That's it," she moaned softly as I felt my breathing grow slower and more labored. "Keep doing that." One more cut, I told myself but the scissors and phone slipped from my grasp and I fell to the side, my head landing harshly against the side of the bathtub before it all went dark.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2016-02-06T14:35:25 | 2016-02-06T13:24:15 | 325 | 29 |
[WP] You managed to retrieve a cursed treasure from a tomb. Instead of spending your newfound wealth, you donate all of it to charity. The spirit that was going to ruin your life now has no idea what to do. | The cursed treasure had been stolen. The curse upon it was activated. Deep within the underworld, a tormented spirit rose. At last, at last had come the time. At last was the time of wrath, and of vengeance, and of dragging someone *else* down to the underworld to become a tormented spirit.
A horrid cry escaped it, no words, only wrath, and malice, and hatred.
"Graaaaaaaaagh!"
Vengeance, vengeance for the theft, vengeance for...
The spirit stopped, slowed, sniffed the air.
The trail of vengeance had gone thin, had gone cold.
"Graaaaaagh?"
Again the horrid cry, this time not in anger, but in confusion. Being a tormented spirit will wreak havoc on your ability to communicate effectively.
Confusion swiftly made way for anger. There would be no hiding, no avoiding the vengeance that was so thoroughly earned, so greedily claimed with the treasure.
"Graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"
With a great cry, the tormented spirit summoned the most feared and hated spirit in all of the afterlife.
And the Spirit Accountant answered.
"Yes, yes, no need to yell, I'm here. What seems to be the problem?"
"Graaaaaagh!"
"That really shouldn't be a problem for you. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"GraaAagh!"
"Fine, fine. Let me see here...
Oh. Oh, *that's* why the trail has gone thin. That's unexpected, that is."
"Graaaagh?"
"He's given the money away. All of it. He's absolved himself of the curse."
"Graaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"
"I know you don't like it, but that's how it works. The curse is fueled by greed. You were condemned for greedily hoarding it all, and now you get to unleash your torment on the next greedy soul. But the thief doesn't qualify, not at all."
"Graaaaaaaaagh!"
"I mean, he actually *lost* money on the whole affair. I will say, this is quite unexpected. I'll have to see if I can find precedent for this sort of thing..."
"Graaaagh!"
"No, you can't just take it out on the people he gave it to. Some of them are greedy, sure, but their greed is unrelated to this particular windfall. I don't remember much precedent on this, but the people who have the money now are a dead end, I assure you."
"GRAAAaaaaagh!"
"Yes, the whole thing is frustrating, now let me read. Hmmm...
So, you can let out the curse on anyone who encouraged him to steal it, if they were motivated by greed. He mostly chose to do this on his own, but he was encouraged, in a roundabout sort of way, by a fair bit of media. There's a few media execs you could let out bits of the curse onto-"
"GRAAAAAAGH!"
"Hold your horses, let me finish. As I was saying, you can let out a *bit* of the curse onto them. You can, let's see here, give them diarrhea slightly more often than they'd normally get it, or perhaps get them to stub their toes..."
"Grrraaagh!"
"Yes, that's obviously unsatisfying, but that's what we've got, so far. Let's see...
I suppose you could go after the politicians responsible for the general socioeconomic conditions of the people the thief donated the money to. They're mostly incompetent, but they *were* driven mostly by greed, so they certainly qualify."
"Graaaaagh!"
"I mean, it's even more diffuse, for them. You could make them have to sneeze, but make the feeling go away before they actually manage to sneeze. Or you could make them think they see their favorite food out of the corner of their eye, only to find out that it's actually cauliflower..."
"Graaaaaaaaaaaagh!"
"Yes, I agree, I don't know *what* the humans are thinking, trying to make things out of vegetables. The world is going mad, is all I can say."
"GraaaaaAAGH!"
"Yes, this whole thing is pretty frustrating for you. Fortunately, there's precedent."
"Graaaagh?"
"You're being reassigned. Your curse is being distributed more generally, and now you're a Spirit of Minor Torments for Greedy Powerful People. Welcome to your first day as a SMTGPP. You're going to have to start out with stubbed toes and such, but if you do well you might get promoted."
"Graaaaaaagh!"
"Not my fault, you should have thought of altruistic thieves when you hoarded all that money. It'll take you some time to work off your curse, but you'll get there. Give it a millennia or two."
"GRaaaaaAGH!" | I'm not one of those sheeple who's gonna let those politicians run their lives. I look out for me and mine, and the government can keep their noses in their own damn business.
Some county officer came around here last week and tried to tell me I couldn't put up a pool on my own property. You hear that? My property. My pool, that I paid for at the Walmart from the settlement they paid me after I slipped and hurt myself on those leaky milk containers in the back. They tried to tell me I was banned from the property after I won the lawsuit, but I said as long as I had two feet that still (mostly) worked, ain't no one going to tell me where I can't go.
So after that county official came by and told me, with his little clipboard and fancy electric car, that I had to fill out a form and pay him twenty-five of my hard-earned dollars if I wanted to put up a pool on my own land, I told him where he could stick those forms.
I'll show him good. If this pool can stand above-the-ground and hold water, no reason I can't dig a hole and make the same pool hold water in-ground. Like those fancy pools I saw on the HGTV.
They can try to take down an above-the-ground pool, but I'd like to see that pencil pusher come dig up an inside-the-ground pool.
I made my boy come out and help me, digging with the perfectly good shovels old Fred down the street threw out on the road just because the handles were cracked. Hadn't Fred ever heard of duck tape? Not sure how the ducks made it, but it sure can hold anything together.
"Dad, why don't you just rent a backhoe down at the hardware store?" he said. That boy may be my blood, but he ain't bright like me.
"They wanted a credit card they said as a deposit. If I told you once, I done told you a hundred times. All that information goes straight to the Illuminati. Don't you ever get one of those devil chipped cards. If the hardware store wants to be part of the conspiracy, they can keep their stupid backhoe and they'll be sorry when the uprising comes." Damn kid will never learn.
With a clang, my shovel hit something and the duck tape gave way and the handle cracked in half, sending a nasty slice down my palm.
"What kind of faulty garbage did Fred try to give me? He'll have to pay for my medical bills after this." Damn people nowadays don't care about their fellow human beings.
"It looks like a treasure chest, Dad," the boy said, wiping away some of the dirt. "But there's a skull and crossbones on the front. I don't think we should open it."
First thing the boy ever said that shows he's got a lick of sense.
"Of course we ain't going to open it. Soon as we do, the government's going to come along and take half of our treasure. No sir, I'm no fool. This is going straight to a good cause. We're sending this straight to the NRA. They can do better work with this than any politician."
I even got an honorary lifetime membership with my very own NRA camo hat when I gave them that box of treasure. It'll look good come buck season.
But those Illuminati are good, and they got their hands into my treasure, anyway. NRA filed bankruptcy last week.
But I bet if I dig a little further into the pool hole, I might find something else to help them.
r/StaceyOutThere | 2021-01-19T10:16:36 | 2021-01-19T09:07:41 | 401 | 239 |
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind. | You couldn't take a Ford-Mercedes on the colony ships.
You could take your children, all two of your spoiled brats that were allowed under the reproductive allowance. The Wilkins kids had shipped out the day before, and Lilian had watched them leave through the viewing port in the airlock to her habitation.
You could take a pet, if you had one, which the Wilkins's did because Pa said that Mr Wilkins was a big shot at the MUG, and could get the paperwork rubber stamped. When she was younger, and the Wilkins's little poodle had first come home. Lilian had once asked Pa if they could get a dog like the Wilkins's had, and Pa had looked so torn up that she'd never asked again and instead just stole puppy kisses from little Buster when nobody was supervising her cleaning work at the Wilkin's' habitation.
Pa said that you were allowed three cubic meters of baggage on the colony ships per person, or two for children under 12. When Lilian had asked how anyone could fill that much space, especially if you couldn't take your surface rover with you, Pa had laughed and said that every day when he was loading the cargo bays there was somebody trying to go over the limit. There was the man who was trying to take his whole hydroponic garden "just in case plants weren't growing outside yet", and the family who argued that each of their children needed the full three cubic meters because they had too many clothes (Lilian, who was wearing one of her two pairs of overalls, snorted in contempt), and the woman who wanted to bring her Ford-Mercedes surface rover anyway, because "it was the newest model".
"And the irony is," said Pa, as he tucked Lilian into the lower bunk, "that it wouldn't even be useful up there. You can't drive a rover down a highway."
But the Wilkins's had left their rover behind, and in a fit of unexpected magnanimity, Mr Wilkins had given the ignition code to Lilian on her last day working as their house maid. "It's got a few more decades left on it," he'd said, and echoing Pa's words, added, "Even if we did have space, rovers are for dead planets, not living ones."
But even dead planets needed caretakers, and Lilian had overheard one of the Wilkins kids saying at school that the "help" would need to stay behind just in case the Old World wasn't ready to support humans again, and began to deteriorate a second time. Just in case the humans that returned had to flee once again. "Not that such an eventuality is likely," Professor James had said, on his last day of teaching their class before taking his own place on a colony ship. "We now understand what our forebears did not - that a planet is a precious resource, once that must be safeguarded and not treated as a large garbage disposal."
The night after the Wilkins's had left, Lilian snuck over to their habitation, which was eleven times larger than the quarters that she shared with Pa. She didn't need to sneak, because she and Pa were now the only ones left in this habitat module, and in a few days they were to be consolidated into another location with others who'd been designated "mission critical staff" by MUG, while this module was left to be reclaimed by the dead red sands outside. But she snuck anyway, out of force of habit, and because it felt somehow naughty to be in the Wilkins's deserted quarters while they were on a colony ship thousands of miles up in space.
And mostly she snuck because little Tommy Wilkins owned a large telescope that was too big for his two cubic meters, and which was still set up in his bedroom. He'd let her look through it once, after she'd helped him with his history homework, and now she crept through the discarded belongings which lay scattered throughout the habitation and uncapped it.
She punched in a set of coordinates that she knew by heart, and as the server motors whirred she found herself looking at a sphere of blue and green and white. A living planet once again, after three centuries of remedial terraforming. Earth.
But not home. Home was here.
---
Back after a long hiatus. Old stories: [/r/jd_rallage](https://old.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/) | When the secret of Faster than Light travel was cracked, it was a time of joyous celebration. No longer would humanity be confined to this one solar system, to Earth and the struggling colonies on Mars and the moons of Jupiter. No more would be stuck on a planet that could no longer support the demands of an ever-increasing population.
Once the first FtL ships returned, bearing news of planets that were pristine and empty of sapient life, the Great Building began. Every nation on Earth scrambled to construct mighty colony ships in orbit, to carry their population to one or more of the newly discovered exoplanets. The British Commonwealth and the American Alliance were tied for first, having started work on theirs in anticipation, but the other great nations weren't far behind. They couldn't be: a decision had been made, and it was almost unanimous.
"Earth must have time to recover from the ravages of humanity," was the announcement. "To that end, humanity will take to the stars and set up its home elsewhere, on new soil where we will not repeat the mistakes of our ancestors. Earth will be designated a refuge, left untouched except by those in charge of reversing the past centuries of devastation to our environment."
For weeks on end the colony ships have been departing, bearing the flags of their owners. The crews making there and back again trips, to planets orbiting distant stars. The Commonwealth Colony Ships _Queen Elizabeth_ and _David Attenborough_ departed yesterday, all ten thousand berths filled. The CCS _Steve Irwin_ will follow them tomorrow, accompanied on its flight out of the system by the American Alliance Ship _Barack Obama_.
Derby is feeling very empty these days. The streets are quiet, no longer filled with the huffing of air conditioners and the deep throb of public air filtration systems. There's no need, only us Rejects left. The last few eligibles were taken to the orbital boarding stations several days ago.
It's weird though, being able to wander without having to watch for the silent e-cars gliding along the streets. I walked along the A52 yesterday, actually on the roadway, wondering what it used to be like when there were green fields between Derby and Nottingham.
They're talking about gathering us Rejects together, to make it easy to keep track of us. Taking us to one of Earth's more habitable zones, where the air is cleaner and cooler than the big megacities. That way they don't have to wait for us to die off before they start the regeneration.
I've volunteered to help with that though. I can't leave, after all, so I might as well be of use here. I've got plenty of life left in me. Most of us Rejects do. It's only a cruel trick of fate that's seen us left behind, a few hundred thousand out of the billions living on Earth. A simple quirk of biology, nothing more than an allergy to one of the chemicals used in the pre-FtL sedation procedure. | 2021-06-30T08:08:47 | 2021-06-30T07:34:47 | 555 | 185 |
[WP] Astronauts on the ISS space station receive word of devastating nuclear war on earth. | I awoke with a start. Someone was screaming outside the sleeping quarters. I freed myself from the sleeping harness and pulled myself into the hall leading into the common area. The hall was just a well-lit tube with rails for making ones way through the station. Sergei entered the hall from the galley across the hallway. “What the hell is going on?” I asked, as we pulled ourselves to the common area. He replied, “I don’t know, Lee’s got third shift. Whatever he did, I think I felt the whole station shake. He could have waited to hurt himself after my dinner.”
The common area was a large cube with a window facing Earth, and different furniture and screens for reading or watching television. Lee was floating in the middle of the room, and was thrashing about with his eyes covered, yelling. Sergei made his way to him first, cursing in Russian all the while. When Lee heard us enter the room, he stopped yelling, but still sobbed. His speech was an incoherent mess of sobs and sniffles. Sergei started talking to him while I tried to figure out what Lee had done to injure himself.
The first thing training dictated was ensuring the integrity of the hull. I made my way to the one window that faced the Earth. We were over the Southern Pacific, and dusk was fast approaching the eastern edge of Asia.
As soon as I made it to the window, I knew something was wrong. California, engulfed in darkness, was on fire. I’d seen forest fires from space in the past, little pinpricks of orange hidden in a huge green seek-and-find puzzle. This fire was not a pinprick.
It looked like someone had thrown a smoke bomb over the northern coast of China. Clouds of dust evacuated from the region near Beijing.
I heard a smack from behind me, and turned to find Sergei holding Lee in his arms, limp. Sergei looked shocked, “I only meant to slap some sense into him. Help me,” he said when he saw me eyeing them. I helped him strap Lee into a chair.
“What is wrong?” he asked. “The window,” I replied. We both went to have a look. This time, when we got to the window, there were fireworks traveling in an arc from China to America, America to China, and some from Russia to America. I watched as more lights left America.
Sergei and I watched silently forever. We watched life expectancies drop from years to moments as the last set of lights from America made their way to Russia. The fireworks passed each other in the lowest reaches of Space, the final salute of the human race. Dread held our eyes on our homelands, torturously prying our eyes open, keeping us fixated on inevitability.
God himself couldn’t have been brighter than the end of humanity, with all its harsh beauty.
Sergei and I screamed. We were blind.
| "Это не учения
THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Это не учения
THIS IS NOT A DRILL"
Moments before the crew of the ISS clustered around the viewing window, watching what seemed like fireworks of global proportions go off in the distance.
No one spoke.
Silence weighed heavier in space.
"It can't be... it has to be some sort of experiment on our psych, to see how we would react if something like this were to happen."
"How can you fake something like that Kathy!? Look!"
"Just... I don't... Tom, don't you think we would have been given some sort of heads up?"
To the side the Russians were discussing the same topic in hushed tones.
Tom tried to calm down some, he was the commander after all. "Nickita, Eugene, Alex, Borris, no Russian from now on. English only, we need to all understand each other clearly. Eugene, did your people send word of this."
"None"
"Ours either. There is nothing we can do right now, so let's just wait until we hear word from command."
As the moments passed they were hurled around Earth, their vantage point providing view of the chaos below. New York, Tokyo, Moscow, Washington, Lima, Mexico City, Buenos Aires, London... all over the world major cities were being hit. Who started it? Why were they targeting everyone?
"Это не учения
THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Это не учения
THIS IS NOT A DRILL"
Everyone froze with anticipation.
"There..."
*static breaks*
"Launched all"
*More hiss*
"On your own" | 2014-04-07T08:42:32 | 2014-04-07T08:22:10 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You are tearing down an old abandoned home. In the attic, you find an old radio with a microphone attached. You plug it in. FDR says that the United States has been attacked by the Empire of Japan. You say, "hello?" FDR pauses mid-speech, and responds surprisingly, "Hello? Who is that?" | "Uh," I pause, thinking over the situation. "It's Paul. Who is this?"
A crackling sound follows for a few seconds before the man on the other side says, "This is Franklin Roosevelt. May I ask who exactly you are?"
I chuckle. What kind of stupid prank is this? Who could be doing this to me? I set down the radio, dismissing the strange object when the man on the radio starts again, "As I was saying, the United States was at peace with that nation."
"What the hell," I mutter, turning back towards the sound.
As this supposed "FDR" continues his speech on the radio, I pull my phone out of my pocket and search for a video of his Pearl Harbor speech. I skip to where he started speaking when I turned on the radio.
"The United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the empire of Jap-"
"Hello?" A man's voice interrupts in the video.
FDR, obviously surprised by this unexpected voice, frowns.
"Hello?" the president says uneasily. "Who is that?"
How is this happening? I check the date of the video. 2009. Eleven years ago. This is not possible.
"Uh," the man says while the crowd buzzes. "It's Paul."
I drop my phone, hearing the screen shatter as it hits the dusty floor.
The FDR on the radio stops abruptly.
"What was that sound?" he asks.
I look down at the phone I just dropped, realizing what had happened.
"Oh my god," I whisper, realizing everything that I could say right now.
I lean towards the microphone of the radio, clear my throat and just start talking.
"The nation will be attacked on September 11th, 2001. The World Trade Centers will fall. Thousands will die. Al-Qaeda is responsible."
"Who is this?" The president asks, now furious. "Whoever this is, you are making a huge mistake. I advise you to-"
"In 1999, two students from Columbine High School will open fire on their classmates, killing many, wounding many others." I take a breath, wracking my brain for their names. "Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris."
I continue for a few more minutes, stating every terrible event in the nation that I could think of. "This can all be prevented," I say, out of breath. "Just please trust me."
I wait for a response from the radio but silence is the only thing filling the attic.
Nothing. Not even static.
I look at the ground, trying to find my phone to continue the Youtube video of the speech. I search everywhere in the attic but can't find it. I turn back to examine the mysterious radio but it is no longer there. Just seconds ago it was sitting in front of me but had somehow disappeared.
Have I altered the past? Have I just prevented countless tragic events from occurring. I have to find someone. Anyone. Then I can find out if I changed history. Life could be so different now. Hundreds of thousands of people could have lived past a tragedy that never occurred. The possibilities are endless for this new present time. I grin. Hell, for all I know, in this new world I was never bor- | "...a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese empire."
I didn't know why I listened to the entirety of Roosevelt's address to the U.S. Congress. It was such a momentous event, marking the full-scale involvement into what we now called World War II.
I also didn't know why I decided to talk at the radio.
"Hello?" I said.
Roosevelt's voice was definitely a surprise to me. He sounded surprised to have heard me as well. "Hello? Who is that?"
What had been the beginnings of applause had suddenly gone still.
"Who are you? And why has everything frozen?"
If this was really him, so many lives could be saved. We could prevent genocide. We could prevent the Cold War that followed. Luckily this was also one of the areas in history I'd actually paid attention to in high school. I also didn't know how much time I would have with him.
"Listen," I said, "I know that you're using this as a pretext to join the war against the Axis powers... you'll get a declaration of war from Germany in a couple days after the declaration against Japan. It's really important that Germany be defeated first. If the focus is on Japan first, while Germany eventually falls, but the morale for war is extinguished when it turns into a quagmire and Japan finishes developing the atomic bomb.
We can prevent a cold war against the Japanese Empire; a truce with them won't prevent future aggression... we have to be prepared to invade them, or beat them to the atomic bomb."
"I hear you, and I'll consider your words of advice. What now? Everything still seems frozen."
I sat for a few more moments while the eerie silence from the other side continued.
I unplugged the radio. | 2018-02-05T15:10:34 | 2018-02-05T14:34:17 | 715 | 403 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | We’d thought the humans would be easy to defeat.
How wrong we were.
The war had started when we struck a major human spaceport with a hundred ships of the line. Ten thousand space-fighters bombed that planet, razing cities with precision strikes. The humans had attempted to defend themselves, but what could this peace-loving federation do against the military might of the Aresian Empire?
Nothing.
We’d intercepted a couple of transmissions later that day from planet Earth.
“… Yesterday, a date which will live in infamy — the United Federation of Humanity was suddenly and deliberately attacked by the forces of the Aresian Empire.”
I remember we’d laughed, then. Clearly an attempt to emulate a rousing war-speech from the Humans’ past, but speech or no, we’d crush them all the same.
In the next few battles, the Humans were barely able to stop us. We captured more and more of their territory, as they grew more and more desperate.
We could tell: they were repairing hulking warships from years ago to put them back into service against us, only for them to be blown out of the sky. Six months in, we had their navy running on a shoe-string.
\*\*\*
The Battle of Centerpoint.
On one side, two hundred spacecraft of the Aresian navy.
On the other, a single human ship.
We called the humans’ commander.
“Surrender, human. You have no hope of winning this battle.”
“I am sorry. I never surrender.”
We prepared to fire on the ship, when it ignited its main drive and accelerated toward us.
As it approached, we noticed that it was a freighter, not a warship.
We couldn’t believe our eyes- the humans had the nerve to field an unarmed ship in a naval battle?- but the ship kept speeding up toward us.
Too late, we realized what it was. The human commander was using a last-ditch maneuver from a long-forgotten conflict: a suicide run using your own craft. It may not have worked with their primitive aircraft- but with an eight-thousand-ton spacecraft traveling at over 99 percent of the speed of light, it worked all too well.
The human freighter smashed directly into the Aresian flagship, destroying it and much of the fleet. Whatever remained limped home.
\*\*\*
We fought back, of course. We dismissed the madness of the Centerpoint commander as a fluke. But the humans saw it as a viable strategy. Some months later, half our navy was in ruins due to these suicidal attacks on our fleets.
To make matters worse, our intelligence officers made a chilling discovery.
The humans had geared their entire economy towards war.
Production of civilian goods in their federation was down to zero, while their Sol factories were producing a warship every single day. Food rationing was in effect. Every able-bodied human between the ages of eighteen and forty was conscripted into the military.
And yet, despite the suffering- despite the rampant rationing and the risk of dying- the humans seemed to be enjoying it. People who were outside the legal age range- *children*\- were signing up to go to the front lines to get their hands green with our blood.
The humans also enjoyed tormenting us with their mad tactics.
When we captured a planet? The humans set off nuclear “self-destruct” charges rendering it unlivable.
When we were fighting in jungles? The humans put up “booby traps” to make our soldiers die a horrific death.
When we were sending supplies to our troops on the front lines? The humans picked us off with their stealth craft, costing us millions of tons of food and water- and tens of thousands of lives.
What could we do against such a war-loving species?
Eventually, with their newly-minted fleet- much of which either ran on entirely new technology or was reverse-engineered from us- they pushed us back to our own borders, and kept pushing.
Now, it was our turn to be on the back foot. We attempted to use their own tactics against them, but the humans easily countered us. What did we expect? They had been using these tactics for centuries.
Five years after the initial attack, the humans have landed on our homeworld. Their commander has demanded our unconditional surrender.
We could not do much but accept their terms- our fleet was in ruins, our planet would have followed suit, and we had lost millions.
I fear that, with this disaster, we have awakened a sleeping giant- and filled Humanity with a terrible resolve.
\*\*\*\*\*\*
Feedback welcome!
Also, yeah, I shamelessly ripped WW2 history into this.
EDIT: Thanks, all, for the feedback. I never imagined I'd get so many positive comments! I've changed around the kamikaze bit, since it was a bit too telegraphed. | "Rules for war?" The answer was slow and methodical as the general stood on the bridge. His scaled skin shuddering in disgust. "War has no rules. Perhaps it is time we show these humans just what a superior race looks like. Yes, We shall enslave them."
&#x200B;
Invasion Day 1 Hour 1
The humans fell in droves, many fell to the initial bombardment. Our translators say we are in an area called Manhattan. Humans are a fairly frail species similar to our own. Granted we took losses but, what was a dozen of my men to the 100 humans that they slaughtered and, the thousands that fled. I admire the weaponry primitive as it may be it's effective simple ruthless kinetic projectiles but, these will easily be avoided.
&#x200B;
Day 1 hour 2
It seems the humans have warriors of their own. Men mounted on great beasts wielding brutal clubs in blue uniforms proudly charging into the battle to safe others of their species. These men with them bring friends in dark uniforms wearing some form of armor that has made many of our kinetic weapons less effective. Our hand weapons fair a little better but, the humans in this second wave are stronger. Scattered voices speak of NYPD but, we know not what this is. Anytime this is mentioned the men on great beasts show up. The frailer individuals of the species are protected by these warriors and, rushed out of the battlefield. The humans have lost many warriors protecting these smaller individuals. We must leverage this to our advantage. Of our initial 300 troops I am allotting 700 more with which to fight along with aircraft.
&#x200B;
Day 1 hour 6
These initial Warriors were nothing compared to a much more advanced class of warriors that has just arrived. Something the Primitive human tribes refer to as Marines. These brutes tower over their brethren wearing a cloth that makes them harder to find. Their voices boom over the sound of the primitive weapons they carry and, they ferociously charge, wielding daggers on the end of their kinetic weapons. Our aircraft were briefly effective until the Marines own aircraft showed up. We have suffered 98% loss throughout our fleet. In 20 more hours our own fleets will arrive bringing reinforcements. I must take to the battlefield personally to lead the 300 remaining members of my army.
&#x200B;
Day 2 hour 5
The humans have won. Today I signed a document stating that me or my species shall never attack earth again. Our fleets arrived but as reinforcements touched down the ships were destroyed one by one. We have lost 10,000 brave warriors. I myself have only survived because one of the warriors forced me to yield after disarming and, injuring me. However, he did not kill me even though he had ample opportunity, instead he restrained my limbs. They broadcast over great projectors that I had been captured and, my own warriors threw down arms rather then face defeat. These humans they negotiate for survival because that is the only way in which their species will survive. They are among the most brutal and, savage races in the galaxy. For all reading this do not engage in war with them you might gain an early victory but, you will lose a war with them. I fear that by invading them we have given them access to the stars as they reverse our own technology. The one called Musk took great interest in our engines. All species run if we wish to survive. | 2018-12-14T18:25:59 | 2018-12-14T16:40:15 | 1,305 | 214 |
[WP] This is… awkward to say the least. Your roommate just frantically confessed that they’re demonic royalty, and that they need a fiancé to meet their parent, the monarch of Hell, who will be here in under an hour. | The yelling is what disturbed me first. Not Rowan's yelling, mind you, but the roar that was coming through their phone speakers as they pressed it to their ears.
I could see their cheeks reddening with anger as they listened to the voice on the other side of the phone. I slowly slipped an ear plug out, trying to act nonchalant as I snooped.
"It's been 6 months and I've heard nothing from you!"
"I've been busy dad." My roommate, usually so vivacious and full of life, was now sinking into themselves- sullen from their chiding.
"Busy my ass. I didn't send you to Nevada to have fun you know. You have a job to do, and I expect you to be doing it well."
"Jeez, I'm working on it."
"Don't you dare use the Lord's name in vain at me!
And you should be doing more than just working on it. It only took your brother 3 months! You know what? I'm coming up there."
"No, no, no! Dad, please."
"I'll see you in an hour."
*click*
Rowan slowly pulled the phone from their ear and took a few deep breaths.
Hesitantly, I stood up from my place on the couch and walked over to them, placing what I hoped was a comforting hand on their back.
"Ro, are you okay?"
"No... Not really."
"Do you need some space or do you wanna talk about it?"
Their cheeks flushed again, this time with embarrasment.
"I would honestly love space right now, but time is of the essence. Ashley, you know I'm from a... Traditional family, right?"
I nodded. Rowan didn't talk much about their home life but from what little I knew, it seemed like their dad was really really overbearing and took his patriarch role seriously.
"Well, part of that tradition says that my siblings at I get a "season". Think of it like the Amish and their rumspringa. We get to go out and galavant and do what we'd like, but when that season comes to an end, we're expected to go back home and help with the family business."
"Oh, that sounds like a heavy burden to bear. I'm sorry, Rowan."
"There's more..." They held their hands in their face ad they continued. "When our season ends, we're also expected to return with a- a partner. We can wait to be married, but it should be someone we plan to settle down with, eventually."
"Oof. That's definitely a big expectation. How long is your season?"
"It can be as long as we need it to be, technicallly, but i come from a big family and most of my siblings finished in like a year, year and a half tops. I've been having a lot of fun here, and I really like school. I don't want my season to end yet, but my Dad's coming up to see me and if he sees I'm not making any progress on the partner search he might just take me back with him."
There were tears playing at the corners of their eyes now and I felt my heart break a little for Rowan. It was nothing as serious as this, but I knew what it was like to deal with overbeaeing parents and family expectations. My parents had the typical immigrant mindset of "I'm sending you to school to be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer", somehow I'd managed to hide from them the fact that I was an arts major for nearly 3 years. If I had it my way, they'd only learn the truth on the day of graduation- if ever.
"I know this is crazy, but Ash... Could you pretend to be my girlfriend when my dad comes? I think it will buy me some time to stick around and continue to enjoy my season."
"Why Rowan Prince, it would be an honor" I said in my best impression of a southern belle as I curtsied to them.
"Oh..." I looked up at them, expecting to see them bow back, but they grimaced instead. "By the way... My full name is "Rowan, Prince of Hell" | Sarah was waiting at the door for me. That was never a good sign. I immediately went on the defensive. "Ok look, I know we agreed to separate soft plastics from general rubbish but frankly I'm fucked if I can tell the difference between what can and can't be tossed into..."
"It's totally not that" she began crying and rushed into me. I stood there for a few seconds trying to work out what was going on. "Just hug me you prick!" she exclaimed. I reluctantly put my arms around her. I had never been this close to her in the two years we were roommates. She smelt kinda like apple cinnamon with a touch of sulfur. She sobbed into me for a few minutes. I was slightly horrified. I quite liked that we never were close. I could just do my job, eat my food, and play my games, then go to bed, she had never done anything to disrupt that cycle and frankly that was the way I liked it.
She was pulling me into her and crying more than before. "I'm not good with... humans" I said carefully. "Neither am I" she muttered into me. It was a few more seconds of sobbing before she finally cut to the chase. "My parents are coming over" that's totally ok I can use my switch to play unrailed later tonight with the boys. "I don't think you understand" she sobbed more and pulled me into her tighter so I almost couldn't breathe.
"Look" I ventured slowly "I would have appreciated the heads up at Thursday house meeting but I can understand plans can change. I'm happy to be flexible and play my games in my room if that helps but I think that its fair that you get dinner tonight and clean up if you are having guests" She stopped sobbing and laughed into my shoulder.
"Oh my sweet sweet boy" I'm two whole years older than her... how condescending do you have to be..."My parents are a bit different from what you are used too".
"Oh yeah how so?" I stammered trying to work out how I could escape her boa constrictor like grasp.
"Well they are the lords of the underworld...and I told them we are engaged..." She said suddenly.
"This isn't a healthy situation to drag another person into. I'm sorry that you felt like you had to lie to your parents but I won't be lying on your behalf. That isn't a healthy thing to do" I said as I broke free and walked away. I really hope she makes better choices and doesn't drag others into her drama in the future. That night the boys and I got 50km in unrailed and we had hella fun. | 2022-10-09T05:07:54 | 2022-10-09T01:47:43 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] Every time the Messiah returns, we kill him. It is now the Thirty-seventh Coming, and Jesus is getting sick of our sh*t | "Sir, I'm going to need you to show me your hands."
Jesus looked at the man, burly and tall like a centurion, the strong Arizona sun glinting on his close-shaved scalp. This was the second time in a week the Law had taken an acute interest in the Lamb of God. Something about the presence of the thin, brown, bearded man provoked a kind of unanswerable question in the minds of the patrolling authorities. He did not fit in.
"DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?"
Jesus realized that it would benefit him now to speak. "Yes," he replied. "I speak English."
"Then show me your fucking hands!"
This was something of a new experience for him. None of his prior expeditions to the realm of the flesh had been particularly successful, though he had gained experiences of incalculable value toward understanding these creatures whom he had somehow fashioned, in boredom and curiosity, from the clay of organic molecules. Jesus slowly retracted his hands from his denim overalls.
"You Mexican?" asked the officer. He's seen the Lord of Lords walking in shabby sandals along the road, looking aimless and a little sun-struck, and took him for another illegal. They were pouring over the border lately. Year after year, they'd rise up from the South looking either to work or to mooch, and probably both. Most of them would find work on ranches and construction sites, farm tracts and packing houses, but more and more the cartel men were heading North and spreading their war across the border, bringing kidnappings, mutilations, drugs, and shitty attitudes. Officer Saul Tarsus was duty-bound to stand in their way. He was proud of his work, though, for the most part, all he did was man a radar gun from behind a washed-out billboard.
"No, sir, I am not Mexican."
"Show me some ID."
"I don't have any official identification. But if you look upon me, and then within yourself, you may know me."
Tarsus was a man of great patience when it came to sitting in his vehicle waiting for speeders, but here, under the sun, talking to this queer vagrant, his patience evaporated like beads of sweat on his neck.
"Listen, buddy, I don't have time to play games. Name and address. And tell me what the hell you're doing out here walking around. You're miles from anywhere."
"My name is Jesus, son of Jose, and I - - "
"You said you ain't Mexican!"
"I'm not! I meant Joseph. Sorry, Romance language names. Actually, you can call me Joshua."
"Tell me your real goddamned full name."
Jesus paused for a moment. It was hot day and he had been on the road for hours. He had to remember that he was subject to all the weaknesses of flesh, and that his mind - wise and full though it was, able to speak and comprehend all languages of man - was subject to the health of his blood-filled, hungry, delicate brain. He needed some water.
"Yeshua ben Yosef."
"That a Muslim name?"
"Hm? No, sir. Hebrew."
Officer Tarsus looked the man up and down. Nothing quite fit together with this guy.
"You a Jew?"
Jesus indeed was a Jew, or at least a Hebrew. In the past he had called himself a Rabbi for convenience's sake, although too many times this led to anything but convenience.
"Yes, sir, I'm pretty much a Jew." Jesus thought for a second. "Am I being detained?"
The policeman looked agitated and furrowed his brows upon hearing this question. Who the fuck was this Mexi-Muslim Jew lawyer, wasting his day on the hot desert stretch of macadam? "Until I can ascertain your identity, I'm gonna - - "
"Yea, look upon me and within yourself and you shall know me."
The officer growled at being interrupted and reached to his shoulder to activate his radio. "Dispatch, this is Officer Saul Tarsus, AHP, 067784, radioing for backup, 647-235, proceeding with search."
Jesus was starting to feel nervous. These things never went well for him.
"Sir, listen to me carefully. I want you to walk over to my vehicle and put your hands on the hood and spread your legs. I am going to search you." Jesus looked over at the late model Dodge Charger and proceeded to walk towards it. His moves were graceful, slow, and taken with great care.
"Do you have any weapons or illegal contraband I should know about before I proceed? Any needles or drug paraphernalia?"
"Nay."
"Wha-- get against the car!" The officer was forceful, pushing the Redeemer of Man against the hot exterior of the automobile. He'd had it with this weirdo's shit. "Spread your legs and put your hands on the car, palms down! Now!"
Jesus complied meekly. It was nearly all he could do. The officer rummaged through the pockets of his jeans, patted down his sinewy legs and torso, checked his arms and even compressed his beard and mussed his hair.
"Have you used any drugs today?"
"No."
"Why are you out here?"
"I'm walking."
"Where?"
"Here."
"What? Hey! Stay against the car!"
Jesus had already begun to turn around, that he may look upon the man's face. Officer Tarsus pinned Jesus' arm behind his back and spun him back around, pushing his chest and face onto the hood of the patrolcar. "Don't move, goddamnit!"
"Sorry, sir. I just wish to speak to you."
"You have the right to remain silent!"
The steel cuffs were still cool from their time in the air conditioned vehicle. They clicked until they held firm, snugly upon the Savior's wrists. "Don't fucking move, you little punk shit!"
Jesus thought back to his previous iterations on the earth and his many attempts to reach mankind. There was something about him that could never be accepted. He'd gained followers and taught many. His teachings had been passed down through the centuries, though not without the flaws that simple retelling and human politics impose upon any wisdom. He'd seen the rise and fall of nations. He'd been stopped and fought and robbed and shot, gassed and stabbed, drowned and burned, hanged and keel-hauled and, once, cleaved cleanly in two by an enormous Mongol's scimitar. And crucified, of course.
Everywhere he went, he seemed to provoke a kind of fervent distrust among those with power, and curry the attention and adoration of those without. He knew by now how these situations tended to play out. His previous attempts at resistance had all ended abruptly, and, shortly afterwards, his attempts at existence. He never got a chance to really reach out to a the whole of the earth, not directly. His dehydrated brain began to conceive of something like a plan, or at least an alternate path. His own mission had ended prematurely with each incarnation because of his tendency to speak out, to address directly the wrongs and ills he saw, and to lay his hands upon sickness and wickedness and cure it. But sickness, wickedness, wrong and ill all had potent defenses, and Jesus had not yet found a way around these defenses. He had been, somehow, arrogant, and too confident in his own oratory and righteousness. Sometimes just being pure, right, and innocent was not enough.
"Get in the car, tweaker!" Tarsus rattled.
Jesus spoke: "I want a lawyer." | "Alright, son, are you ready for your first day back on Earth? I packed a big lunch for you," He said, fiddling with his beard, his face covered in a bemused grin.
"Come on, Dad. How many times has it been now? Thirty-six? They obviously don't want me there." Jesus replied, slouched sadly into his white, marble seat. Deep black bags had grown underneath his eyes, and his hair had grown to a state where he looked less a messiah, more a hobo.
"You have to send a message. All are welcome into the Kingdom of Heaven that embrace your love and friendship."
Jesus gets up out of his chair and starts to pace. "You know they jettisoned me into space last time, right? NASA actually built a rocket...and tied me to it. Can I at least get some protection? Holy lightning bolt? Holy crucifix? AK-47?"
"Jesus Christ! I know you're mad, son. But killing the masses? As fun as that can be, it doesn't exactly teach them anything." God steps out of his chair as well, and bends backwards, cracking his back, which the poor people living on the San Andreas Fault felt a few hours later.
"Oh, so when they shoot me into space, that teaches them something? Or how about when they stuck me in a barrel and tossed me into a volcano? Or when they trained a horde of vultures to peck me to pieces? Or--"
"Okay, okay, I get it." God says, raising his hand and staring off into the infinite, dull whiteness of his home. "Just...let's do it one more time. I like these guys, they're my favorite creations. I didn't fuck up like I did with angler fish and aardvarks."
"Fine...but you owe me a new robe after they tar and feather me."
God snaps his fingers and a portal filled with light bursts open in front of Jesus. Sighing, he looks back at his dad and shoots him the middle finger. He brushes off the pants of his robe and walks through the portal. The light dissipates and God lets out a hearty chuckle. He stares out into the nothingness, as if looking at a live audience.
"What? I get bored."
---
"Really? New Mexico?" Jesus groans as he pulls himself off of the near-smoking hot asphalt. He looks around at his beautiful surroundings: dirt, dirt, hills, and more dirt. "You think he'd send me to a beach, or grasslands, or a smoothie bar. Every twenty years with this shit, and I'm still sent to the middle of nowhere."
"Hey! I can hear you. These people need saving." A voice echoes from up above.
Jesus waves his hand, brushing away his dad's words. He starts walking down the dirt road for what seems like hours.
"You wanna make me carry a cross, too? I don't think I'm suffering quite enough." Jesus says, staring up at the sky whilst airing out his robes.
Suddenly, a truck approaches on the horizon, a gleaming red beacon in the desolate wasteland. While most would be excited to see a sign of life in the middle of nowhere, Jesus groans and reaches into his secret robe pocket. He fondles around but finds it to be empty.
"Nothing? You didn't give me ANYTHING?" He growls angrily at his father. "Well...this should be fun."
A few minutes later, the truck screeches to a halt in front of Jesus. Two middle-aged white men jump out of the vehicle and hesitantly approach the glowing figure.
"Now, boy...that ain't a funny costume. How dare you mock our lord and savior?" The driver says, hawking a thick, black lewgie(sp) onto the asphalt. The spit lets out a faint sizzle as the sun roasts it.
"No, no. I'm actually Jesus. I promise."
"And, why, exactly, should we believe you? You could just be some homeless druggie in a robe." The passenger replies, scratching his neck vigorously.
"Do you have a bottle of water?" Jesus asks. The driver dips into the truck and retrieves an old Dasani bottle. He tosses it towards Jesus.
"Dasani? Shit, this is barely water..." He looks up to the two men with a grin on his face, a grin that retreats back inside when he sees the pure disdain on the faces of the two hillbillies. "Okay, okay...now watch."
Jesus waves his hand over the bottle and the water turns into wine, naturally. The two hillbillies gasp, and the driver smacks the passenger square on the back in disbelief.
"Well hot damn...you really are the Messiah. Say, why are you here?" the driver says, walking back to the truck.
"I'm here to send a message to the great people of Earth. Repent, and you shall earn a spot next to me and my Father in the Kingdom of Heaven." Jesus says, throwing out his arms in overly bombastic manner. The driver returns from his truck with a double-barreled shotgun in his hands. "Uh...what're you going to do with that? You guys going skeet shooting?"
"Nah. Ya see, the way I figure it, when you died the first time, you was dying for our sins. I mean no disrespect, mister Jesus, sir, but I've done some bad things in my life...and I think maybe killing you...will wash away our sins again." the driver said, raising the shotgun towards Jesus.
"Cletus...what in sam hill are you doing?" The passenger shrieks, running over to his driver.
"Getting rid of my herpes, Otis. Getting rid of my herpes."
The loud chunking noise reverberates through the whole desert, and Jesus falls to the floor. He stares up at the sky with furrowed brow as the truck shoots past him, tires screeching across the gravel.
"God Dammit..." Jesus mumbles as he closes his eyes.
"Fine. Next time you get a gun." | 2015-03-19T11:52:48 | 2015-03-19T10:03:07 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] You wake up in the back of a Range Rover driving through the night on a dark road. Its just you and the driver, her majesty the Queen of England. | My head.
I open my eyes and take in the surroundings. I'm in the back seat of a car, strapped in tightly. I lean forward slightly and pain rockets through my body. I let out a yelp and fall back.
There's a flash of eyes in the rear-view mirror. "You're awake" comes a voice from the driver's seat. I groan in response. "I was worried you would miss it", the voice says. It's a voice I swear I recognise.
"Wha-" I begin to speak but begin violently coughing. Specks of blood flick onto the seatback in front. After too long, I clear my throat and try again. "Where am I?"
The eyes glance into the mirror again. "About three miles North of Balmoral in Scotland", the driver says - it's a woman, an old woman. The voice is so familiar. "What is your name?" she asks, as she turns the car off the road onto a dirt track.
"I... uh, John." I meekly stammer, turning my attention to the outside of the car. It's incredibly dark. "Did you say Scotland?", I've never been to Scotland, how could this be Scotland. Who is this woman? "Who are you?"
"My name is Elizabeth. I'm the Queen of the United Kingdom."
Silence.
"Wha-" this time I'm cut off.
"It doesn't matter. Can you move your arms?". I try to lift my arm and find the pain much more tolerable than it was a few moments ago. "Good, I need you to do something for me."
There is an incredible flash of light from the horizon on the left side of the car and I recoil in my seat. Sparks dance in my eyes "what the fuck is going on?" I ask, as my vision returns.
"One could ask the same question" comes a dry response. "We're going to be there in a moment." I reach down to my pockets and find them empty. "Your possessions are long gone." There's another blinding flash, this time from directly behind the car. I turn to look after the light begins to subside, and I swear I can see something moving in the distance.
The Queen brings the car to a halt outside a small cottage house. "Quickly now" she says, as she carefully steps out of the car. I grab the door handle and push the door open, gingerly taking a step outside. My legs feel weak, but they can support my weight. "You must go inside this house, alone" she says to me. I turn to look at her and am immediately struck by the fact that yes, this is most definitely the Queen.
"Y-your majesty?" I say. What do you say to a Queen that has abducted you?
She rolls her eyes. "Go inside the cottage, I need you to do this now." There is another flash of light to my left and this time I see it clearly - an enormous shadow of some kind of... machine? Monster? It floats, slightly above the ground, a colossal titan with snaking tendrils scraping the ground. I let out a gasp. "Don't look at it. Go inside the house, now." The Queen pushes me on the back.
I take a step towards the cottage and put my hand on the doorknob. I turn to look behind me, and the Queen is stepping back into the car. "Are you leaving me here!?" I shout.
"It cannot be me" comes the reply, followed swiftly by the starting of the engine. I watch as the Queen of the United Kingdom drives away. I turn back to the door. It is easily pushed open, and I step inside.
The room I step into is completely empty except for a table in the centre of the room. On top of it sits a computer that looks like it came out of the early 90s. I look around and am nearly blinded again by another flash of light from the windows. I step towards the computer and crouch down in front of it.
On the computer screen are four lines of text followed by a blinking cursor.
ROYAL PEROGATIVE TO THE GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED KINGDOM
MINISTRY OF DEFENCE CONFIRM FAILED CONTAINMENT OF ########
IMMEDIATE RECONSTRUCTION OF UNITED KINGDOM REQUIRED
CONFIRM Y/N
I stare at the screen. What? What is this? Is this all some crazy fever dream?
Curiosity always did get the better of me.
I type in "Y", and hit Enter.
| When I woke, the open road meeting the night sky on the horizon greeted me from behind the windshield. The headlights pierced the darkness revealing large patches of land covered in dust and sand with an occasional cactus running past us. Investigating the car around me, I recognized it as my own Land Rover with an older, but very well dressed women in the driver’s seat. With the smell of perfume heavy in the air, I cast my eyes the speedometer, which read over 100 miles per hour. Looking to the back seat, I realized we were the only people in the vehicle.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” she greeted me. “Would you care for some sweets? I understand snack cakes are the national food for you Americans.”
She gestured to the cup holder, which overflowed with an assortment of icing-covered, plastic-wrapped desserts. I politely declined as I tried to place her. I knew I recognized her from somewhere, but I couldn’t place it.
“I’m the Queen, dear.” She spoke.
“Pardon?” I asked.
“The Queen,” she repeated. “Of England.”
“Right,” I balked. “And I’m the Earl of Dunshire.”
“No, you’re Andy McMiller of 165 Long Live Lane,” she corrected. “Also Dunshire isn’t a real place. You know if the states were still colonies, we would teach you some damned geography in school.”
A silenced filled the car for a moment.
“I literally have no idea how to react to any of this,” I replied.
“Well I’ll help you out, then,” the Queen replied. “Those damned guards won’t let me have a vacation without a full security detail. Do you know how stressful it is to have every moment of your life monitored? I can’t take a piss without a guard listening for the stream to hit the porcelain.”
“I see,” I answered as I tried to reach for my phone, realizing my pockets were empty.
“Anyway, I slipped out of the palace so I could tour the US without somebody holding my bloody hand. We’re on our way to see the Grand Canyon,” she explained.
“And…why am I involved?” I asked.
“Oh well, I figured I’d rather travel with a buddy instead of all alone. So I kidnapped you,” she explained. “I figured if I could liquor up all those stupid protein shakes you like to drink, I could get you to pass out with a problem.”
“You kidnapped me? You drugged me?” I yelled. “Lady, what is wrong with you? That’s like…illegal on so many levels.”
“What are you going to do, then? Tell the world you were kidnapped by Her Majesty, the elderly Queen of England herself?” she asked sarcastically. “Go ahead. I’m sure the whole world will hang on your every world about how such a strong man like you that goes to the gym every weekend was drugged and kidnapped by the old Queen.”
I paused for a moment and gathered my thoughts.
“Well,” I began. “I guess I always wanted to go to the Grand Canyon.”
*****
More stories at r/Andrew__Wells | 2017-01-30T08:16:22 | 2017-01-30T07:29:33 | 96 | 20 |
[WP] On your deathbed, the Grim Reaper himself comes to pay you a visit. You expect him to collect your soul, until he asks where and how you have hidden it. | My breath wheezes, my chest can hardly inflate. The mask over my mouth turned a misty gray with my faint gasps. The reaper hovered over me; they lacked a form, simply a shadow that took up a corner of the hospital room. I attempt to lick my dried lips to no avail. No moisture would develop. The reaper spoke to me, in a language not understandable to the living.
“Where did you hide it?”
“Hide what?” We spoke via audible-less communications.
“Your soul. You do not have it.”
My eyes unconsciously glanced out of the window into the inky blue sky. It was the cusp of sunrise. My mind wandered and I felt the reaper along with me in my mental journey, pressed on my back and awaiting to see the truth. A hazel memory fades in. I signed a paper, selling my soul to ... someone. It was elementary school. Fourth grade. I laugh. My lips can hardly turn up; they remain in a somber slant. The reaper’s touch is cold, stirring me. I let our a faint grunt of pain.
“Whom has it?” “That was years ago. I can’t remember. Funny though, huh? Never thought —“
The shadow’s touch ripped back, taking another groan out of me.
“Here you will be, until I find it. Your body will continue to decay. You will continue to feel pain. You will continue to suffer until I find it. Your body will not rest until I find it.”
The shadow gradually receded as the sun cracked the horizon, as if it were scaring the reaper away. I was to lay here, rotting in this bed until my soul was found. My mind hurt from the constant pain receptors going off. My heartbeat was faint, performing at its bare minimum. I had hardly any heat within me, aside from the numerous blankets that covered me. I stared at the ceiling, hearing the beep of the machine at my bedside. Beep. Beep. Beep. The compression of the ventilator every so often.
“Mmh.. Hey dad.” I couldn’t turn my head to the voice. I could only vibrate my vocal chords just enough to acknowledge that someone else was in the room. My son was beside me, rising from his seat.
“Mom’s here. I’ll be back later tonight, ok?” My son presses his lips to my forehead, departing before his visage was replaced with my wife. She gave a second kiss to my frigid forehead before taking a seat beside me. Her face seemed somber, stern, sad. I could only hope the reaper could find my soul soon. I cannot bear to see my family suffer.
[ I haven’t wrote in a very long time and it felt good doing so again, so if anyone has any constructive criticism, I welcome it. ] | I slept there in my hospital bed. Suddenly I was awoken by somebody crashing into a table. I opened my eyes and there stood a girl, her face as pale as a ghost with the darkest hair I had ever seen.It felt like somebody had taken the darkest sky and put it in her hair.
She asked me,“Where is it".
I didn't know who she was but somehow I knew exactly what she wanted.
I said, "I haven't felt it in a long time" then I smiled at her.
My smile, which had been fooling the world into thinking I still had it"
For a split second, she glared at me, as if she believed it too.
She said, “That's not gonna work with me".
I stopped smiling.
"I want to retrieve it, just tell me where is it" She seemed exhausted now.
Even though I hadn't felt it in a long time, I knew precisely where I had left it. A pair of large brown eyes, a hearty laugh, A kiss where it felt like there was nothing wrong with the world.
A man who had taken a part of me with him.
I thought it was just my heart but it was more than that. I had spent my whole life pretending that it hadn't happened, but it had.
I could not bear to take those parts away from him.. | 2020-04-23T04:00:53 | 2020-04-23T02:34:30 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came. | I leaned back in my chair. The room they'd put us in was spacious, and I couldn't even find any of the cameras. Of the ten of us awaiting the test, only three were standing, all of them pacing back and forth.
"I can't believe I actually made it," the girl sitting across from me said.
"Someone must have liked your video," a Chinese-looking boy said. I was at least a little impressed that everyone gathered this time knew English; that hadn't always been the case.
"Well, which do you think you are?" someone else asked.
One of the people who'd been pacing, a well-dressed young man, stopped and turned to the table. "Don't be ridiculous. We're not meant to know that. That's why I'm first going to determine the other four bright ones, and we'll make sure the others don't drag us down."
"*Other* four?" someone asked.
"Great pep talk," I said under my breath.
"Yes, well," he continued, "normally I don't take part in silly displays such as this, but father thought it would be good publicity. So, if you five imbeciles could just stay in your corner and...eat paste, or whatever it is you do, that -"
"Big words coming from someone who didn't complete high school," I said with a smirk. I could see his face slowly turning red.
"I'll have you know I received the equivalent lessons from instructors who would have made your 'teachers' look like gorillas."
I nodded slowly. I knew he was a slow learner, but he had certainly had the best opportunities to learn.
"Hey, now, we need to get along," a woman said, standing. She was definitely the oldest among us.
"Or daddy's gonna have to pay off a judge," I murmured. I should be grateful he didn't hear me.
"Let's just introduce ourselves," she said. I inwardly groaned. Ice breakers were never fun. "I'll start. I'm Linda, from Pennsylvania."
"Well," the rich-looking man interjected, "My name is Richard Pendleton, the third, but you all know me. I'm -"
"Can I call you 'Dick'?" I asked. He squinted at me.
"No, I daresay you should not."
"How about you go next?" Linda gestured at me, hoping to prevent any arguments. I gave a slow nod, maintaining eye contact with Dick.
I stood up and looked around. At least the ones gathered were varied. Maybe not all races were represented, but it was a decent sampling. Except that there were only, like, three Asians, and Asia accounted for a huge portion of the planet's population.
"I'm Ben, from Henderson. Yeah, the cool one by Vegas."
"Can I call you -" Dick started, apparently not thinking his insult through. He stalled for a few moments, before sheepishly saying "Benjamin?"
I held back a snicker. "Sure."
The introductions continued; Maxim, from Russia; Shota and Ichika, both from Japan; Minjae, from Korea; Maite from Chile; Willow, from England; and Logan, from Canada. I let most of that pass right by me; I wasn't great with names in the first place, and the test wasn't memorizing stranger's information. But it would probably help the viewers at home.
"So, what is this test?" I asked once introductions were finally done.
"Haven't you heard of it?" Dick asked. "You must have seen reruns."
"They do a different test every time," Logan said. "Not like they have a shortage of time to get it set up in."
"Seems like a whole lotta trouble for one episode," Willow said.
"Like gathering the five smartest and five dumbest in the world?" I asked.
"I'm quite glad you're here to bring *down* the curve," Dick said, grinning at me.
"So you can be the best of the imbeciles?" I asked.
"That's enough out of both of you," Linda said. "Whatever the test is, we'll need to work together on it, okay? The 'smarter' five don't get any more prize money than the others."
I noticed a door across the room opening, and stood up. "Guess our bonding time is over. Let's get this over with." | In ancient times, there was a society that debated any important elective decision two times. The first debate occurred in the evening, with drinks and feasting. Thoroughly drunk, they would debate well into the night and put their decision to a vote before the end. Brilliant ideas might come about from the drunken simplicity. Complicated ideas might be thrown out because of their sheer monotony.
But! And this part was critical, there would be a second debate as the group sobered in the morning. This was their rational period. They'd pick apart what was discovered from the night before, and see if it was truly realistic or not.
To be accepted, an idea had to pass both of these votes. Once accepted, it would then be enacted.
---
Skipping to the modern day, we had a problem. To put it simply, we became too smart. Like a microscope focusing on individual mitochondrial DNA, our brains have become able to focus on the smallest of details. Have you ever seen someone haggling over pennies? I have.
Yet there are plenty of rich, wealthy individuals who don't even count their dollars. They have no need. Is it smart to count pennies when weighing millions? No. Penny wise and pound foolish.
And our world had gotten pound foolish indeed. Debate sparked across the nation. Answers coming from changing curriculum in schools, to fixing global warming, to electing more wise officials. In the Bible, God says that the wisdom of the world is foolishness to him. When weighing planets, who cares about a discount spending spree?
Thus there was the great political debate of 2016. The most brilliant and popular minds were flabbergasted, exhausted. Asked for a solution, they would drone on with reasons and thoughts. Never answering the question. Yet during one debate, by sheer accident, a child wandered onstage and climbed on a podium.
We laughed. We thought it was a joke. What came next shocked everyone. The debate announcer asked the child with a smile, "How would you solve world hunger?" "Give people food."
...The audience applauded. I mean. Technically it'd work.
The announcer ran with it. "And how would you solve the crisis in Ukraine?" "That sounds like Ukraine's problem to me..." The small voice trailed quietly.
There was a pause. The an eruption of applause. An embarrassed parent shuffled onstage, but the kid had already become a hit. Everyone tuning in to the big debate. The announcer covered his mike, "This kid is smart." A puzzled expression on his face. And the child became a viable contender in the presidential race.
---
Now we solve our issues in two ways. The intelligence test, and the child test. If your solution to fixing the economy requires more words than an child can understand, it's thrown out. Children are invited to debates on a regular basis, invited to advisory boards. More and more their simplicity became recognized. The trouble is, the children are the smart ones.
| 2016-03-03T06:35:14 | 2016-03-03T02:52:30 | 151 | 34 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | Andrew nearly snarled as his phone chimed for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. His shift at the warehouse ended only a few hours ago and it like chickens running around with their heads chopped off whenever he left. It was rare delight to encounter the nights that he was actually permitted to sleep through the night.
On top of the texts that were just brimming with simple incompetency, the morons that lit up his phone in the middle of the night always seemed to wake up his wife, Isabel, who suffered from insomnia to begin with. The raise Andrew agreed to that stated he kept his ringer on for these occasions never seemed worth it when he saw Isabel the next day, curled up in the guest room with dark circles under her eyes from her attempts to get away from the constant chiming.
Andrew rubbed a hand over eyes to clear them, trying to understand the ridiculous amount of messages but he must have been more tired than he thought since they didn’t make sense.
He quickly scrolled through the message previews, finding they all seemed to follow the same pattern: to look at the moon. The moon? What the -? Why?
It was like a shot to his adrenaline when he saw that some of the messages were coming from Isabel’s phone. He shot up from bed, seeing the other side empty, and jumped to his feet.
“Hun, what’s going on,” Andrew questioned, still scrolling through his phone while walking towards the guest room. The room was at the end of the hallway and the door was wide open. He could see Isabel standing in the middle of the room, arms down by her side and phone clutched in her hand as she gazed out the window.
As he grew closer, he could see that she was shaking, “Bel? Honey? What’s wrong, why-”
Isabel’s body whipped toward him and Andrew couldn’t help himself, he froze in place. She ran and shoved her body into the door, slamming it shut and locking it in place.
The speed was all wrong though, Andrew had never seen her move that fast. It was insane, it was...inhuman….
His own body started to tremble when he remembered her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and not a single bit of the green irises he loved so much were left.
He was just about to ram his own body into the door, to beg her to let him in and make her explain what is happening, but then she started sobbing.
“Andrew! You need to run, you need to hide! I’m so sorry, god I am so sorry. Run, Andrew, and whatever you do, don’t look at the moon!”
Andrew started pounding his fists on the door and trying to shove his weight against it, but she must have blocked it with something.
Despite his shouting and his pleading to be let in, his forgotten phone on the hallway floor seemed to crack through the commotion as the alarms of the emergency alert system distracted him for just a moment. The robotic voice started to play from his phone automatically, “WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TEST. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY ALERT. DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON. WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TES-”
Andrew thought his distress was at its peak, nothing was making sense and he just needed to get Isabel so they could deal with this together. He just needed to-
Her screams started and it struck him cold to the very center of his being. He began pounding and kicking at the door until it gave way under his body. Isabel was on the floor, writhing in the moonlight. Andrew couldn’t help it, his knees buckled and he emptied the contents of his stomach right where he stood.
Isabel's body was bent at every wrong angle possible but she wasn’t screaming anymore. Her head snapped in his direction with that ungodly speed again. Bathed in the moon’s light and pupils still completely dilated, she smiled up at him as if every bone in her body wasn’t broken.
In the same voice she used to tell soothe him time after time, she whispered, “Look at the moon, Andrew.”
| I’m lying in a bed on a tuesday night.
And I’m having restless dreams.
And then I awake from a story where I’m rescuing a princess from a wheel of cheese. Because there’s a chainsaw on my nightstand.
A groggy hand reaches over and slaps it reluctantly. Is it morning...a alarm? Some long lost love looking for luscious life-experiences? But no… a text message. Is it my wife? Will she be late tonight?
“DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON”
So I make a curious eye sweep of the room. I pause at my window, where the forbidden object lies, and return my gaze in the opposite direction.
Nothing.
So, eyes squeezed shut, I walk over to the window. Just in case. I have a moment of panic when I trip on a errant pair of pants, but I right myself quickly. Then, in a fleeting, fluttering, futile gesture, I bravely bring down the blinds.
With that dangerous task complete, I sprint back to my bed, as if its covers will protect me from whatever has infested the sky.
Perhaps it’s just a joke, or the product of a overtaxed imagination. But somehow I know to be afraid.
Buzz.
Another a text? More instructions? Is there something else I’m not supposed to look at?
It’s from a old coworker. A good friend.
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.”
I peek out from beneath my blanket bastion. A windows shuttered and silent. A door, barely open, with a crooked mouth along its length, mocking me.
Should I close it? No. Too dangerous. So I close my eyes and whisper.
“Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.”
Buzz.
Another text message. Perhaps I shouldn’t…
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.” from my best man.
Then a bing. A different app, I have so many.
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.”
And then my phone begins to shake and chatter, with bings and chimes and whistles. Each one is like a stab in my stomach. What’s happening? What’s happening?
Then bit by bit, the phone sounds die out.
Then a new sound. A ringing. A bold, unique choice for a ringtone in this day and age, but I’ve always been a trend setter.
It’s my wife. Is she safe? Does she know what’s happening?
And before I can catch myself, I hit the answer button.
(Part 1? Sorry for a cliffhanger, it was getting long)
(r/StannisTheAmish)
| 2022-10-06T10:06:56 | 2022-05-11T14:02:28 | 483 | 314 |
[WP] Guns were never invented. Instead, swords and blades became increasingly complex and powerful | They say, never bring a sword to a high-tech blade fight. Or, it is the skill of the wielder that makes the blade. Stuff like that, it never applied to me.
"I, 17th Dan of the Asura Blade Clan challenge you to a duel." A woman's voice announced from behind the iconic Oni mask of the Asura Blade Clan. A mask that was only given to the top 27 clansman within the Asura Blades.
"Hold on. I challenged him first, so why don't ya piss off lady," said the hooded man wearing a midnight blue cloak. In his hand, he held a xenoblade, capable of altering its shape on the fly with only a single projected thought.
They locked eyes for only a moment, but I could already feel the ambient temperature in the area escalate.
The woman responded by tapping a button on her waist. Six cybernetic arms unfolded from a metallic cube on her back, and fanned around her. With all her arms together, she then proceeded to draw eight katanas from an array of sheathes across her back.
I scratched my head and sighed. I wondered how long this would take.
"You think you're pitiful xenoblade can put up a decent fight?" she asked him in a condescending tone.
The hooded man only smiled. "We'll see about that."
The woman from the Asura Blade clan leaped forward closing the distance between them in a second.
It seemed like she had cybernetic enhancements in her legs too.
She unleashed a storm of slashes, each of her arms moving individually to perform elegant slashes in multiple directions at the hooded man. To the untrained eye, it would be impossible to deflect all the blows.
But the xenoblade wielder withstood his ground with only a single blade in hand. A glowing blue blade traced through the air, morphing and twisting to intercept the trajectories of the onslaught of eight katanas.
I was impressed, but the pizza sitting in my pack was getting cold.
I turned my levitating bike off and swung off the seat. "Guys, I got a delivery to make."
They stopped, their arms and blades in mid-motion and looked at me.
"Hold on Gil, this is almost over," said the xenoblade user.
"Indeed, I was just about to decimate this man into-"
"No," I said firmly, interrupting the woman from the Asura Blade clan. "The last time this happened, more challengers showed up. Then even more showed up, until it was just a massive Blade Brawl. Then the Blade Regulators came in toting their Swordtasers at me."
Their faces twisted into shock.
"Oh that must have sucked," said the hooded man.
"Yea it did," I said.
"What do you suggest we do?" asked the Asura Blade clansman.
I smiled. "Just... come at me. Both of you."
------
/r/Em_pathy
| They gathered on the steps of the Florida State Capitol. Thousands of them, some from Parkland itself, but also hundreds of supporters from out-of-state, believers in the cause who were ready to protest. Joshua Bergin, a Parkland survivor, was the first to the microphone.
"Thank you for all being here," he told the crowd, to tremendous applause. "Many of us students walked out of school today, but 17 other children did not. This is not a mental health issue. This is a pointy-things issue." He emphasized each syllable of the last sentence, captivating the crowd with his rhetoric.
"Time and time again, the National Pointy-things Association has covered up the truly dangerous scope of assault swords, deflecting the issue to increasingly more reactionary topics. Well, this is enough! We need to make a stand. With bump handles, electricity packs, and acid coatings, it becomes ever easier to slaughter other human beings. This needs to end". The crowd clapped ferociously.
"I am calling on the Florida State Legislature," Joshua announced, staring up the steps of the Capitol, "to come to their senses and institute some semblance of pointy-things control. We one again need a *well-regulated militia* of swordsmen, not this abysmal abomination!" Thunderous cheers from the people.
Joshua Bergin climbed down from the podium, hoping he had honored his friends. Though there was little chance of any real reform due to the extensive lobbying of the National Pointy-Things Association and ingrained pointy-thing culture of America, perhaps they were finally moving in the right direction. | 2018-03-07T07:42:10 | 2018-03-07T07:19:44 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] A girl on the bus has been staring at you for the last 5 stops. Finally she speaks, "I see you're one, too. You're the first one I've met who wasn't trying to kill me." | Five stops... The girl had been staring at Jordan for five stops. She had made him uncomfortable for the past thirty minutes and he was starting to lose patience when the person next to him stood up and left. To his surprise, she quickly stood and sat right next to him, only to make him even more uncomfortable when she started speaking. "I see you're one, too. You're the first one I've met who wasn't trying to kill me."
His eyes went wide at the accusation, but his mind caught on the first half of it, "I'm sorry, miss... One what?"
"I...but you..." It was her turn to be surprised, apparently, as she looked shocked with her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Looking quickly left and right, forward and behind as the bus started moving again, she leaned in closer and started whispering, "What do I look like to you?"
Taking that as consent, he quickly, making sure not to linger on any one spot so as to not make her feel uncomfortable, eyed her up and down. She was a young woman, probably in her early twenties, a couple of years older than him. Strapped to her wrists were holsters containing what looked like knives with stylized handles. Her Jacket was made of a thick leather, moreso than a regular motorbike jacket. The hood she wore had gold thread stitched into it in strange little circles that seemed to interlink, and on her waist and thighs, she had even more knives, with an extra one on each ankle strapped to the side of knee high leather boots. "Like a stylized gender-bend cosplay of Ezio from Assassin's Creed? Is there a con in town? I'm usually up to date on those..." Her eyes went wide again as his met them with a look that stopped him mid-sentence.
"You don't even know what you are, do you...?" She grinned.
"I'm sorry, I don't-"
Looking around again, she leaned in closer and said loudly, "Let's take a selfie!" She gestured to the phone in his hand.
Not wanting to cause trouble, he switched it to the front facing camera and took an awkward selfie of them together. When he opened the picture, he gasped. "But...wait..." In the picture next to him was a nice looking woman in about her forties, at least fifty pounds heavier than the young dark skinned girl sitting next to him. The older woman in the photo wore a simple summer dress with her hair braided and bound above her head. "That doesn't make any sense..."
Going back to whispering, she stayed close to his ear, "At the next stop, we're getting off, and no you don't have a choice, because these knives are not cosplay and no one else on this bus can see them. And you best believe I won't hesitate to use them." All Jordan could do was nod and wait. After a couple more minutes, he stood with her and they walked awkwardly off together. He thought of making a break for it, but her hand on his wrist was stronger than her small frame made him think, and she pulled him towards an alleyway. In the shadows between two buildings, she approached one of the doors and knocked in a weird pattern.
The surprises kept coming as a square in the middle of the door slid open and he saw a man with a scarred face on the other side. A gravelly voice came through the opening, directed at the girl, "Damn it Makayla, what have I told you about bringing home strays? You're just gonna-"
"Michael, shut up. He's one of them and he doesn't know it." Makayla's voice was very matter of fact, but the response was not. Michael's face backed away from the door a few inches and Jordan saw it in full with a look of fear and shock. Several metallic clangs and sliding squeaks came from the door and it opened inward showing Michael in similar attire to Makayla, but with the handle of some huge weapon sticking up from his back.
"Are you sure...?" The fear was obvious in his voice as he held the door with a shaking hand.
"I'm sure." She turned to Jordan, "Hey kid, what do you see when you look at Michael?"
Confused by everything that was happening, he decided it was in his best interest to be honest. "Um... A brother in, maybe his thirties? With the same outfit you have on and what looks like a greatsword on his back...?"
Michael's frightened expression became more pronounced, then relaxed slightly, "Huh... And it's not some trick? He doesn't know?"
Makayla grinned, "Dude was on the bus with me for half an hour and thought I was eye fucking him rather than looking at all the exit points. He hasn't been trained. He probably doesn't know the first thing about our world."
With a grin and a gesture, Michael stepped back, "Well. Come in, kid. We've got a lot to talk about. Don't worry, we won't hurt you. In fact, I believe you can help us!"
Hesitant, Jordan looked at Makayla and she smiled, "He's right. Dude, you're about to become the first Paladin of the Eye to help us, the Fae-touched, fight back against the corrupt bastards that are your kind."
----
This was fun to write! Thanks for coming up with the prompt! | "Hm, why would I?" Christopher replies smoothly. The girl had sidled up next to him at first opportunity, getting rather close to him. Her wavy white hair tickled him lightly as she looked up. Her light blue eyes twinkled with curiosity as she opened her mouth to reply, leaning her head onto his shoulder.
"'Cause its the prophecy, you know." She whispers softly, closing her eyes and yawning. hristopher represses an urge to sigh, pushing her mouth close with his hand. Disinterest present on his face, he faces the outside window, ignoring the albino girl who was now sitting upright, drawing an imaginery shape in the air with her index finger, and poking him shortly after.
"Come on, stop ignoring me. You know what I am talking about." The curiosity in her voice was now steeped with confusion, and she llooked outside the window to see what has caught the boy's interest so much. Nothing save for passing cars, but their eyes meet briefly in the reflection.
"No, really, I don't," he replies steadily, folding his arms with a repressed sigh.
"Yeah, you do. I can tell. People can't hide anything from me, you know? Don't deny that you're one of them too!" She nudges him some more with her elbow, undeterred by his cold shoulder.
With a heavy sigh, he finally looks away from the window, facing her with an annoyed expression. "Lets say that I do, in fact, know what you are talking about. Why would I want to kill a girl like you? You are nothing special."
"Pro-phe-cy!" she emphasizes those words again, gesturing inverted commas as she did so. "You can't just ignore it! One who is blessed by shadow, shall silence the melodious songbird. That is the prophecy! And you look plenty shadowy to me!"
"Are you seriously calling me edgy again?"
"Yes?"
The two of them stared at each other for a couple more seconds, before the girl burst into a fit of giggles. With the third sigh of the day, Christopher reaches out and ruffles her hair playfully, ignoring her immediate protests as she tried to push his hand off.
"You know I am not going to indulge you in your little fantasy roleplays, Enid. Just give up." She only snorted at that, finally catching his hand in both of hers, clasping onto it tightly as she grins mischieviously.
"Nah. I know you well enough, you'll crack one day. Plus, I've got blackmail material!" she cackled, still gripping onto his hand. Concern, and a tinge of fear fell on Christopher's face, as his aloof attitude began to fall apart at long last, the chipping by his friend finally cracking his prickly personality.
".... No, I don't believe you." Despite the barely straight tone, his eyes betray the worry in them, serving only to intensify Enid's ever-growing smirk.
"Oh well!" She releases his hand, flippantly resting them behind her head as she leans back into her seat. "I guess Karine would totally loooove to see those lyrics to the love song that you wr-mmph!"
"Shh!" He covers her mouth, ignoring the fact that she was now licking his palm in a vain effort at regaining her freedom to speak. "Not another word, I'll play this time, okay?" He could feel Enid's lips tug upwards, and he lets her go with a light sigh, rubbing his palm on her jacket as he did so. Another day, another case of getting dragged into Enid's playful shenanigans.
"Hey! Oh well, I was asking for it..." she chuckles, before continuing, "so lets start from the beginning again! I see you're one too. You're the first one that I met that wasn't... wait, isn't that our stop that we just missed?!" | 2019-07-01T20:15:16 | 2019-07-01T19:53:36 | 194 | 39 |
[WP] "Jesus take the wheel, Satan get behind me, Buddha... man the .50 cal" | **7 MONTHS AGO**
Steve watched the end of civilization descend upon him at 20 times the speed of sound. A dozen spindles of light seemed to blossom from a single point in the night sky before streaking down toward the city.
*So this is it. This is how we all die.*
The first of the MIRVs detonated several miles away, but even from that distance the light was unbearable. Steve felt a rising wave of heat rush across his skin.
*Jesus... Buddha... Satan... somebody!*
There was another flash, this time much closer. And with that, Steve was gone.
----
**PRESENT DAY**
Dust billowed into the air behind an armored pickup truck as it sped westward through the desert, chasing the last rays of the setting sun. Jesus had the wheel in a white-knuckled deathgrip. The fuel gauge had stopped working weeks ago, but he knew there wasn't enough to make it. The steel plates Steve had welded to the frame were great at stopping small arms fire, but they didn't help the aging vehicle's already poor gas mileage.
"... Sid, lay down some fuckin' fire!"
Siddhartha's reply came a moment later as the M2 roared, tracer rounds piercing the cloud of dust behind them. Sparks and tracers ricocheting in the darkness announced that the Buddha's last burst had struck home. Leaving a trail of burning fuel, the closest of the pursuing trucks veered to the right and began tumbling violently.
"To live is to suffer, motherfucker!"
The Buddha's maniacal laughter was interrupted by ever-longer bursts of automatic fire. Steve and Jesus exchanged a knowing glance. Neither were completely comfortable with their "enlightened" gunner's newfound bloodlust.
"Jesus Christ, that guy's crazy." Steve said. "He's going to melt the goddamn barrel at this rate."
Jesus kept his eyes forward, pretending not to hear his human compatriot over the Buddha's enthusiastic use of the .50 cal. He was slightly annoyed at having his name taken in vain, but it was their fuel situation that truly had him worried. He might be able to turn water into diesel, but there was no more water to spare. He made a hard turn, leaving the scorched dirt for the ruins of an interstate highway. Steve held his breath as the engine sputtered, then began running smoothly again.
"We're not gonna make it to St. Louis." Steve said. "Lucy, you got any tricks up your sleeve?"
Satan sat calmly in the rear cab, eyes closed, unfazed by the banter and gunfire. Her concentration was elsewhere. She felt two more of their pursuers' souls pass into Hell, but that, too, was a distraction. There were many more souls in the trucks behind them, and at least one divine being in the air above. This situation might demand that she reveal skills she would have preferred to keep hidden, but there was no alternative. Satan spoke for the first time in the firefight.
"Floor it till we run out of gas. Put as much distance between us and those trucks as you can. They've got eyes above."
Jesus smiled. "I think we've got some things in the back for that."
The truck sped down the deserted highway, running on fumes and desperation. Steve looked at the heavier weapons arrayed in the truck bed, half-buried under a pile of the Buddha's spent brass. A few rocket propelled grenades, and an old anti-aircraft missile. He wasn't looking forward to using those things. Back in Atlanta, Jesus had helped Dionysus restock on wine in exchange for several of the weapons, but they'd not had cause to use them. Yet.
The engine sputtered a final time, then died. In the irradiated wasteland behind them, shrouded by ash and concealed in darkness, Quetzalcoatl circled.
----
It had been days since Quetzalcoatl had gorged himself on the still-beating heart of a mortal being, and now his prey was cornered. He screeched with elation and dove from the sky toward his quarry. Months ago, he would have been content to have his followers bring him the offering. But in his hunger, Quetzalcoatl had grown impatient.
He saw the stranded truck and imagined the beating of the mortal's heart on his tongue. All of the creatures below could no doubt see him by now, but creatures of the earth were of no concern to a winged serpent. The conjured flames burned impossibly bright and moved as if of their own volition, but they paid the feathered god no heed, instead seeming content keep his mortal followers at bay.
*Foolish creatures.*
Blinded by his own hunger and Satan's flames, Quetzalcoatl did not notice the the anti-aircraft missile streaking toward him until it was too late. Not until he was knocked from the sky with a force he had never experienced before. Screaming in rage, he clawed at the air and flapped his broken wings as the ground drew ever closer. The fallen god had no time to register the impact before Satan's flames consumed him. | The humvee rocked relentlessly as it tore through the rough terrain, almost throwing God out of the driver's seat. His vice-like grip on the steering wheel was the only thing keeping him in the vehicle. He yanked it back and forth in desperate attempts to avoid the incoming ordinance, eyes twitching to the rear view mirror for guidance. *Goddamnit,* he thought, catching glimpses of the rising dust cloud behind him, *the humans are closing faster than I expected.*
"Jesus Christ," shouted Jesus Christ, "do you see that?"
"It's about time they took us seriously," laughed Satan.
"What is it?" asked God through gritted teeth, swerving to avoid another explosion.
"A gunship, father," said Jesus, his voice sinking, "a very, very large one."
God glanced into the mirror once more. An enormous flying fortress now dominated the sky behind them, gaining fast. Its metallic skin glinted in the dying sun, revealing an arsenal of weapons more fearsome than any he'd seen before. Evasive manoeuvres would be useless against a monster like that. He would have to do something drastic.
"Jesus, take the wheel," he said, turning to face his son.
"Father, no, your powers are nearly—"
He put his hand on Jesus' shoulder to calm him, smiling softly, then looked to the back of the jeep. "Satan, get behind me."
"Heh, you got it boss," he grunted, hauling an assault rifle in both hands.
"Buddha... man the fifty cal."
The bulging man only smiled in response. Then, with calm resolve, he shifted his weight behind the turret, grasped the trigger, and took aim at the encroaching hordes. A moment later, the sound of jolly laughter and blazing gunfire filled the air.
"Please don't do this, father," said Jesus, squeezing past God into the driver's seat, "we won't be able to survive without you."
"I know you are afraid, my son, but technically speaking... well, you *are* me."
Jesus' shoulders sagged. "I could never be as great as you."
"Nonsense. The mistakes I have made are countless, and creating these monsters is only one of them." He gestured out to the approaching armada. "I don't want you to be as great as me. I want you to be *better*."
And with that he leapt into the air, Satan at his side. The ground shrunk below him, revealing the extent of the human army. There were thousands of them, swarming like ants, devouring the land in their vicious pursuit. A pang of guilt struck him as he watched. Everything was his fault. He wasn't omniscient, he couldn't have known that it would end this way, but he should never have given them so much power. They were his greatest mistake... and he would pay for it with his life.
"You sure you wanna do this, boss?" Satan was hovering beside him, brown fur whipping wildly in the wind, rifles slung against his shoulders.
"We've had our turn, old friend." He smiled, familiar energy swelling up inside him. "It's time to pass on the mantle."
Satan grinned in return, madness flashing in his eyes. Then they turned their attention on the writhing mass of damned souls below them.
Deities were not immortal, nor omnipotent. It had taken a long time for the humans to figure that out. Their technology and numbers were overwhelming now, and God wasn't sure if his kin would be able to survive the onslaught. But he did know one thing. He would give his son as much time as possible to gather his forces and fight. The humans would never forget this day.
The day that heaven and hell rained their wrath upon them. | 2017-11-15T15:29:23 | 2017-11-15T13:57:24 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | Ah shit. Well there goes my plan. I step over the mess of dried up bones before me. The court addressees me and ask me the same question the poor bastard before me fumbled. I start to panic my heart is racing i cant think of anything. "How much time do i have?" I ask. "I dont know dude honestly your the first to ask, lets say 5 seconds" the counsel answer. " 5 SECONDS?!" I blurt out. " cant i atleast get 5 min?" "Nah bro, then everyones gonna want 5 min, and ill be stuck here all day, i got magic shit to do" says the main councilman. " cant say i blame, well i guess can i die from an Orgasm?" I ask. "Ah shit thats actually pretty smart my guy, aight step forward ill give u a quickie behind the desk" states the pretty fit kinda Australian looking guy, im not gay but this guy looked mad handsom." Idk man im not gay, i dont think ill be able to get it up infront of you." I say. " Oh no worries mate, i know magic." The man says as he transforms into a marho robbie type. "Actually if you can shapeshift do you mind changing into something different?" I ask. " aight bro, but you only get one more shot, what you want mate?" She asks. " i think i always wanted to die in the thighs of a big tiddied goth girl?" I say. He transforms into an average looking goth girl not really my type. " i guess i was imagining more of a scene girl actually." I say. " too bad bro, u get wut u get." She says. " ah shit, well can you go back to margo robbie then?" I ask. "Nah bro YOU GET WHAT YOU GET." she states." Well that sucks" i say as i walk behind the desk. I get a meddiocre handy and die to one of the most disappointing nuts in my life. RIP | "Well there goes that plan"
I thought, as the 20 year old man infront of me aged 200 years in mere seconds and crumbled into dust.
"Prisoner" the judge shouted as he leered down from his chair. "Have you decided the method of your demise?"
"I have your honour" I managed to garble through my shaking jaw.
I guess there is no getting out of this. If I have to go then I may as well go out with a bang!
"Well boy?? Get on with it! What shall it be?"
"Here goes nothing" I though.
.......
"Death by Snu Snu sir" | 2021-06-24T10:16:46 | 2021-06-24T10:06:58 | 56 | 20 |
[WP] You are a powerful ancient wizard, masquerading as an unassuming, friendly and senile history teacher. But when a supervillain threatens your school, they learn to never underestimate senior citizens. | Mr. Tarquin had been the history teacher at Montmort High School for ages. He seemed ancient to the students. Many of their parents said they had also had Mr. Tarquin for history when they went to school, and he had seemed ancient to them then. Even some grandparents insisted that he'd been their ancient history teacher. Nobody thought that was too outrageous since teenage pregnancy was somewhat common at the school, and had been even more common back in the day.
It did so happen that Mr. Tarquin was hundreds of years old, not even he knew exactly how many years, but he had actually only been working there for 35 years. He considered the job a nice retirement hobby and it had good health care. Being immortal took regular maintenance.
As he was now fully vested in his public pension, in all likelihood Mr. Tarquin would have retired again within the next few years. By rights he could have done so five years ago. But he didn't really need the money, nor the free time, and he liked being around young people, so he stayed on.
The world changed for Montmort High School on the morning of October 4th, when the dastardly supervillain, the Crimson Horn, attacked. It was somewhat unusual for a world-class supervillain to attack a small rural high school, but not entirely unheard of. Usually this sort of attack was precipitated by a local group of teenagers having formed a nascent super hero club or magical society. The safest action for the students was to evacuate and wait for the energy blasts to calm down. Any structural damage would be paid for using a government fund set up for just such occasions. This is, in fact, what Mr. Tarquin directed his students to do, leading his class along the designated escape route.
Unfortunately, they were blocked off once outside by a giant crimson energy dome surrounding the school. The Crimson Horn's minions, known as the Crimson Horde, were herding the students into groups. When one of the demonic imps knocked one of his students to the ground, Mr. Tarquin had had quite enough.
He grabbed the imp by the arm. "I have had quite enough of that. I do not allow such behavior at this school. We shall have to go speak to your boss." And with that, he dragged the imp off towards the front of the school.
The Crimson Horn wasn't hard to find. He was floating near the flag poll, sending a beam of energy up to power his impenetrable dome. "Excuse me," said Mr. Tarquin. "I need to speak to you about your minion here. It was acting very disruptive to my students, and I don't allow that."
"What is going on here? Seize this old fool. I cannot be stopped. Mwahahaha." The laugh needed work. It seemed rather forced. The Crimson Horn continued to focus his energies.
Two imps scrambled up to grab Mr Tarquin, but were blasted away as soon as they touched him. He no longer appeared as a bent old teacher. In his right hand was the Staff of Ages, called Delanderinga. On his head was the Cap of Wisdom, given to only the mightiest of the Frignar. On his brow were the Spectacles of Deep-Seeing, given to him by the Abyssal Witch. And in his left hand was still the imp from before, he hadn't finished with it yet.
In a voice somehow distinct from the tone he used before, Mr. Tarquin replied, "I said that I don't allow that."
This got the full attention of the Crimson Horn. "Old fool. You are this place's defender? I was wondering when somebody would show up. You shall not stop me from gaining the power of Death Mountain."
Mr. Tarquin glanced around to the land surrounding the school. On three sides were corn fields, and he knew that out back was a bunch of soccer fields. It was pretty much flat for as far as his Deep-Seeing eyes could see. "Death Mountain? I think you might have the wrong school."
"Your enchantments can't hide it from me. The strength of Montmort shall be mine." The Crimson Horn drew back his hand to fling a fireball at Mr. Tarquin.
"Oh, I see. Yes, Montmort means death mountain, but this isn't the place you are looking for. You need to learn a bit about local history." The villain hesitated at this and Mr. Tarquin called to a nearby student. "Julia, come over here and we'll see what you remember about the founding of Montmort."
Julia cautiously came to stand next to Mr. Tarquin. "It's alright, Julia. Now, can you tell Mr. Crimson Horn here what I taught you about Montmort's history."
Julia stood up straight and recited. "Montmort was founded in 1938 and named after the original town of Montmort whose residents settled the town, after the original town was flooded by the creation of the Death River Dam."
The Crimson Horn lowered his staff. "So the original school was..."
"About seventy five miles north of here."
"And you're not here to defend the power, you're just..."
"Using the children to fuel my immortality."
"Oh, sorry about that, then. We'll be letting you all get back to your school day."
"One more thing. There is still the matter of this imp's behavior," said Mr Tarquin, indicating the imp whose arm he still clutched.
"He'll be severely punished. I suppose I need someone to blame this whole misadventure on anyways. Horde, follow your master." With that, the Crimson Horn seized the unfortunate imp in bands of crimson power and flew off to the north.
Julia was staring up at her teacher. "Mr. Tarquin, what were you saying about immortality?"
Mr. Tarquin stamped Delanderinga once against the ground and Julia's eyes glazed over. His cap, staff, and glasses had disappeared. "Alright, students, everyone back inside. Playtime is over." | Memory magic is a wonderful thing, is they not? Terrible and beautiful, capable of so much, yet few ever grasp the breadth of their potential.
Sure, you'll have the occasional otherwise weak wizard thinking he can just go around memory wiping people and taking their fame for themselves, only to screw up one day and forget who they ever were.
Some think that they can hide behind memory magic to keep their identity hidden from the greater public - clever, but sure to fail, not to mention the ethical quandary of violating the sanctity of the minds of the countless innocent just to maintain a 'greater good' ruse long since rendered pointless or even counterproductive in our age of understanding.
Some poke into the memories of others for blackmail, or some other ulterior motive, before someone gets smart on what they're doing and does the old 'I Memory wipe myself' trick, and their friend comes crashing through the window to apprehend them with the ne're-do-well none the wiser.
But there's so much *more* you can do with this magic, things that can actually help the target instead of hindering them.
Take teaching, for example. It's been a harsh week, and your students can't seem to muster the mental prowess to remember some important details of a lesson you're teaching. Why, that's one memory-engraving rune away, and your students are all going to be remembering everything you speak in perfect detail for the next week, hopefully enough for them to commit it to their more mundane memory.
But why just stop at the mind? Why not engrave a memory of a thing back into the present? Or, part of a thing? It's how I lived for so long and can maintain my illusions of frailty, after all. "The Eternal Witch", some in the magic community gave me, gobsmacked at how I've lived for centuries without the need for any questionable ingredients or unethical experimentation which would have gotten any other unscrupulous fools killed far before their time, for one reason on another.
Before you, you see a crone long past her prime. Wispy hair that long since lost its lustre and volume, eyes dulled by cataracts and glaucoma, wrinkles pulled by the wrath of the sun and weathering of time, back hunched and flabby muscle. But with a single word - spoken or not - I can make any or all of those things disappear, simply by materializing the memory of what I once had of myself.....as some poor fool found out.
He was one of those annoying ones, running around accosting people, occasionally kidnapping, maybe killing someone here and there to get the attention of the local 'superheroes' who will go out to fight him, win, and call it a day when the police show up.
Pah.
That's what's wrong with youths these days. Never anything permanent, too soft to put their finally foot down, too unwilling to stomach putting someone away for good - one way, or the other. He'll just find some way to escape, and by next week the entire cycle repeats.
But, when this particular fool decided attacking *my* classroom when *I* was in teaching, I decided to do something......interesting about him. I looked into his memories, and saw someone who wanted to do *good* back when he would have been old enough to be under my tutelage. About how his life turned upside down throughout the years, and he grew bitter.
Well. Let's do something about that, shall we?
Here is he, ranting about how much of a danger he is, holding one of *my* students hostage, paying absolutely no heed to the *old crone* slowly getting up, her back straightening, her hair regaining its blonde shine, eyes clearing and focusing on its prey, are outstretched.
"Now, now, Thomas. Why don't you take a seat? I won't be punishing you for being late today, but please do pay attention from here on, I won't be going over what you missed. Maybe you can ask Cassandra nicely to see her notes?"
And so, Thomas - wearing his favourite t-shirt of some band that stopped being popular two decades - ago stopped what he was doing, thanked me for my leniency, and briskly walked over to the open desk that wasn't there a minute ago beside my *star* pupil - not that anyone else noticed anything amiss.
After all, I can't have them being so preoccupied with petty distractions to properly process anything I'll be teaching them today. History is important, children. Make sure you don't repeat the mistakes therein. | 2021-10-04T10:33:34 | 2021-10-04T10:32:37 | 46 | 32 |
[WP] The one person none of the heroes or villains fucks with is known as "The Mad Doctor". he treats anyone who seeks his help, in exchange everyone turns a blind eye when he shows up to underprivileged neighborhoods to deliver free and technically illegal care. the new guy learns the hard way. | The one person none of the heroes or villains ever fuck with is known as “The Mad Doctor”. They treat anyone who seeks their help; in exchange, everyone turns a blind eye when he shows up to underprivileged neighborhoods to deliver free, and technically illegal, health care. The new guy learns the hard way.
Jak had never seen the sky. If he looked up, he simply would see the mega-scrappers stretching out the exhaust fog from the City Above, the lights that often flickered or dimmed randomly, and the occasional Municipal Enforcement Carrier passing through simply because there was less traffic in the Underloft.
Not that he could see easily anyways. Not since an unscheduled power surge blew up the drift he shared with Alic. Didn’t even have a chance to move it when the purple and red lightning flared out of the wall. The metal wall turned into hundreds of pieces of molten shrapnel and pierced both of them.
She didn’t make it, and the metal shards scraped against itself when he shifted in his sleep. His limp just became more pronounced.
Jak had never seen the sky before that power surge, he would never see it now, and he was okay with it. It was life in the Underloft, and he and everyone else were used to it. Most days he would shift through a nearby pile of refuse. The other dusts stayed away from it even though it often had a decent amount of trashed-foodstuffs; the shute started up at a medical waste facility. But he had learned to feel the danger-heat as he dug through, and how it radiated a buzzing sensation, and his hands didn't burn any more when he’d brush against something still warm.
Not today though. today was an off day, when the metal shards had shifted into a position that had locked in place. His entire left side ached awful, a sharp pinch if he breathed too deeply, and he couldn’t even unclench his hand. Would be a day or two before the warmth of the garbage loosened them up. He’d survive until then.
He thought.
So today, Jak would simply sit against the way, lean his head back, and imagine the sky above. Imagine that the warmth would come from something other than radiated garbage. Nicoli told stories about a fire so hot that the City Above didn’t need to use commercial grade burners to not freeze at night. He called it a Sol, and that it had to be far away from the buildings, untouchable.
He would imagine, what Nicoli had named, a dinner. Jak didn’t know what exactly meant, but the old man murmured about just how filling it was, that a person didn't feel stomach pains all through the night. It supposedly tasted wonderful, and the only words Nicoli had were home and warm.
He would imagine what it meant to live up in the City Above, and it would almost stop him from remembering the metal shard pressing against his neck, today almost piercing skin into his jaw.
“I thought I’d find you here,” a soft voice said. Jak wanted to open his eyes, but it wouldn’t make any difference. At least he didn’t flinch when he heard it.
The voice lacked the mechanical buzz most dusts had, and Jak frowned as footsteps crunched on glass and ground metal against metal in approaching. He wanted to scurry away, to climb the pile near his right hand and disappear up through the little slot in the wall.
He knew what came with clean voices and heavy boots. All dusts did, and they knew to avoid the MEC units.
“It’s okay,” the voice said. They sounded close now. Jak tried to turn to them, to hear better, even if it would be the last thing he heard. He’d remember this voice, the voice that took him away. He opened his eyes, but just cloudy haze greeted him. Still a shape approached. “Dina sent me.”
Dina? She hadn’t been by in, what, two seven days? He didn’t worry, mainly because it always happened. Dusts always stopped showing up. They all knew it, and when no one saw each other for a while, they just kept digging the piles.
“Yeah, recovering from a bad case of shrieks,” they replied. The steps stopped nearby, but the shape just grew smaller. “Had to regrow a lung in addition to curing it. But I cured it, and she’s better.”
“Lung?” Jak asked. No one recovered from the shrieks. A person got them, got still, then died. It was how the flu worked.
“Yeah, inside her and everything,” they continued. “Dina told me about this little thing near All-tower 3, and well, took a bit to figure out which one she was talking about.”
“I don’t-” A roar of MEC, that heady and deep body shaking roar, echoed nearby. Maybe beyond the shape of whoever was talking to him. They hadn’t approached him yet, still just at the edge of his sight. So the last thing he’d see was this stranger whom was talking crazy, like a dream-junkie.
“Course, had to cure everyone I came across, which only made it longer.” They didn’t react to the MEC and only shifted in the haze of Jak’s vision. “But couldn’t let a-”
“Unit 378-A-HNDR!” The MEC shouted, and its words vibrated against his body. If he could, he would have covered his ears, but Jak couldn’t move and a liquid trickled down his jaw from his ears. “Switch into Inert-mode, and power down.”
“A massive failure of 4th generation cybernetics,” the strange said, “probably installed poorly, given the rest I’ve seen, due to molten steel and altritium - I’m assuming a power cell left to rot, yes?”
“UNIT 378-A-HNDR!” The MEC repeated, just as loud and another drop of blood fell from Jak’s ear. “Switch into Inert-mode, and power down.”
“Severe facial deformation, with remnants of the metal still embedded throughout torso, left shoulder, arm and leg. Possible acute radiation poison. Prognosis: fatal.” They placed something in front of themself, and Jak guessed they dug through, pulling out various things only to put them in front of them.
More boots, maybe dozens this time, running over metal and glass, approached and halted behind the stranger. Jak still couldn’t see them. “UNIT 378 -”
“Fuck, jackson, you see this?” one of the newcomers said. At least Jak’s ears stopped hurting, evne though there was this ringing that wouldn’t go away.
“Suggested treatment: termination,” the stranger continued, “Course of treatment: removal of all steel and altritium, repair muscle damage, restoration of-”
“UNIT 378-A-HNDR,” a young man shouted now. Jak heard the hum of some air filter, then felt the static of a pulse rifle turn on. “This is your last warning.
“Damn it, you sent us after them?” the first MEC unit said. “What were you thinking, sir?”
“This is a lost asset,” the booming voice said. “Do you know how much-”
The stranger in front of Jak stood up. “Please be patient a little longer Jak. I have another delay before I can cure you.”
They turned around, and a red light erupted from behind it, enveloping the stranger in a blood halo. “That’s not an asset, sir,” the first MEC speaker said, “that’s the MAD Doctor.”
“Suggested Treatment,” the stranger said, their voice changing pitch and tone to a much rougher, angry, almost multi-layered voice that made Jak shiver just as much as the cold or the burning metals, “elimination of viruses.” | \[Sun & Star\]
"Huh," Icesurge grinned to himself. A small crowd of citizens gathered in the library parking lot in front of a wooden stall. It was a pleasant, sunny afternoon. A sign proclaimed it belonged to "The Mad Doctor", but it reminded Icesurge of a child's lemonade stand. That interpretation was helped by the pair of teen girls that seemed to be manning the stall. One was blonde and the other had chestnut curls with pink highlights. "..this'll be easier than I thought." He strode forward with his back straightened in full swagger.
"Which one of you is the Mad Doctor?!" Icesurge raised his voice once he reached the crowd. He plunged the temperature in the area just to make sure he had everyone's attention. Everyone felt a chill and they noticed their breath in the air. He expected the citizens to flee; but, they only scattered around the parking lot without leaving the area.
"That's me," the blonde waved at him with a smile. "If you want some help, you'll have to wait your turn," she said.
"I don't want your help," Icesurge said. "And, they don't deserve it," he gestured at the various citizens standing at a distance.
"Well, that's certainly an opinion," the blonde teen nodded. She did not lose her smile; but, she shrugged. "I'm going to keep helping," she added. She made her point by turning to the closest stranger. "Next?" she asked him. He was a balding, lean man with a silver beard and his arm in a cast. He cast a nervous glance at Icesurge, then at the Mad Doctor. He took a step forward and Icesurge grew annoyed.
"No more!" Icesurge bellowed. He swung his arm in a wide arc and flung an icicle at the blonde. A plume of pink smoke erupted between Icesurge and the Mad Doctor and swallowed the icicle. The other girl with pink highlights stood between them holding the icicle in her hand when the smoke cleared. Once she had Icesurge's attention, a pink flame ignited around her fist and the icicle melted.
"You might want to mind your own business there, pal," the teen said while she stared into his eyes.
"I'm not your pal," he shook his head. "My name is Icesurge, let me show you why," he threw his hands up wildly and half a dozen frozen stalagmites erupted out of the ground around the teen. They came out at odd angles and seemingly crisscrossed through her. Her t-shirt and blue jeans were impaled and hung on the frigid spikes. Icesurge laughed; then, several things happened at once. He felt a sudden, sharp pain on the side of his lower back and he heard the teen's voice in his ear.
"My name's Alis," she said. "I'm sorry about this." Before he could even register surprise his knees buckled and he went slack. He started to fall through Alis' arms, though, she did her best to guide him down gently.
"Nononono, don't die!" the Mad Doctor dashed around the ice cluster and wooden stall to kneel next to him. She put her hands on his stomach and they began to glow with golden light. "Phew," she giggled lightly after a moment. "That was close," she said.
Icesurge was feeling drowsy, but he knew enough to try and stay conscious. He didn't feel any pain anymore and the Mad Doctor's hands felt warm.
"Sorry...," Alis apologized to the Mad Doctor. "I didn't know he'd be that weak."
"It's fine," the doctor shook her head with a smile. "He didn't die and we don't have to start all over. If that happened, I definitely would have demanded an apology," she giggled. Icesurge listened to the conversation as it became easier to breathe. He didn't know what to make of it, nor why they were helping him. It was easier to stay silent.
"So, you healed a dozen citizens and a supervillain. What's next?" Alis asked.
"I still need one more citizen," the doctor shook her head. "Then I need to heal a superhero. After that, I'll need the full team for the last step. I have to heal villains and heroes on the field during a super battle; but, I can only use healing skills. You and the team will have to keep me safe."
"Ohhh, that doesn't seem too bad," Alis nodded. "You made it sound pretty important, so I thought it was going to be a long quest chain."
"It's short," the doctor nodded. "But, it's pretty important. Most pro teams require their Healer to do this quest. Completing the quest lets Healers target opponents. "
"Why would you want to heal the other team?" Alis asked. The doctor shrugged.
"There are niche cases," she replied. "And, I'm done." The golden glow around her hands dimmed and she pulled them away from Icesurge. The pair of girls looked down at him as he looked up.
"You're not going to cause any more trouble, are you?" Alis asked.
Icesurge had heard their conversation and didn't know what to make of it. They helped him and weren't holding a grudge; he didn't know what to make of that either. And, try as he might, he had no idea why he was so upset. The rage he had was gone and left him feeling empty and unsure. At the very least, he trusted they wouldn't harm him if he didn't provoke it. He took a deep breath and sat up slowly.
He was worried about lingering pain; but, there was none. He looked at the girls, then shook his head as he stood up.
"Not today," he said. He began sliding away on an icy path. "Thanks for everything, doc."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1732 in a row. (Story #286 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/). | 2022-10-13T13:05:23 | 2022-10-13T12:54:40 | 305 | 41 |
[WP] You work at a crematorium, and one day a prank played on you made you realize that you could see the last minutes of a person's life by consuming their ashes. | I pour myself a drink, trying to remember how many I've had tonight.
I have been dreading this day for months. The urn that had been getting ever lighter for the past 8 months rests in front of me. Its shadow flickers in the glowing light of the living room fireplace.
Every night, for the past two weeks, I have been staying up for hours, staring at the urn, contemplating if now was the right time. I grab the urn and open the lid, seeing the last few bits of ashes at the bottom. I know this will be the last time and I should make it count, but the thought of going one more night is absolutely unbearable. I quickly tilt back the urn and let the last bit of dust of her ashes fall into my mouth.
The darkness of the room slowly begins to turn to light until I find myself looking at her beautiful face. With all of her sickness, she still looks like the most beautiful woman in the world. I touch her soft skin, even though I know she can't feel presence. I lay next to her in the hospital bed and watch her chest slowly rise and fall, ever so slightly.
For these few minutes, all the agony and unbearable loneliness melts away. I can remember how it was when I had her. How she always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better. The long nights talking about anything and everything. The look on her face when we saw each other for the first time after I was away on business trips. The way her warm embrace felt as her body pressed up against me. Her soft lips as they pressed against mine. The fact that nothing else in the world mattered as long as I was with her.
And just like the many times before this, her breathing gets slower and slower until it comes to a stop. After a two year battle, she is finally able to rest in peace. As painful as it was for me to let her go that day, I was relieved that she was no longer in constant misery.
Her face slowly started to fade. The bright hospital room starts to dim until I once again find myself in the dark living room.
The empty urn rests in my hands. This was the last time I would ever see her face. Even on her deathbed, she was the most beautiful person to ever walk on this Earth.
I will never see her again. She will forever exist only in my memory.
I pour myself another drink. | I have the worst. fucking. friends. in. the. world. Here's why:
I work at a crematorium. Three days ago, my "friends" decided it would be **hilarious** to put a shit ton of hallucinogens in my salad, wait until I was completely out of it, and tell me they had just fed me the ashes of Old Man Jenkins, the dude I had cremated earlier that day. They topped it all off by sitting me down in front of a bad movie about a miscellaneous old guy being murdered and convincing me I had just relived Jenkins' final moments.
Anyway, the next day I went to the police with my new found "powers", hoping that I would be able to use them for good, ya know, catching murderers and all that shit.
Turns out the police **don't** approve of **any** of the following: consuming hallucinogens, believing you have super powers, or eating the ashes of dead people. Apparently that last one is especially a no-no.
So....... now I'm in jail. And I need new friends. | 2015-05-26T19:34:13 | 2015-05-26T18:47:06 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] The news were shocking. In one week, a gigantic meteor was going to hit the Earth and obliterate it. Chaos ensues. Anarchy breaks out. Governments fall. A week later, everyone braces as they see the meteor… miss the Earth, barely. Things get awkward. | I grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him close, digging my face into his chest as he held me tightly. Nothing was going to save us from the meteor, so we embraced our timely deaths as the bright light of the meteor grew larger, cutting through our atmosphere. I admitted, finally, to myself that I didn’t quite love this man. He meant a lot to me, but my love was somewhere else. Somewhere alone. It was too late to change any of it, so at least one of us would die happy. At least Harrowing would die happy. I took my last deep breath, savoring the life I had and reveling in my mistakes and guilts before it happened. The meteor happened. The wind picked up and I could feel Harrowing’s dark hair fall out of his own short ponytail as he didn’t have much of it. I felt him whisper to me that he loved me and he squeezed me tighter. The light was blinding and the wind was heavy, and then it died off suddenly.
The meteor had went right past us, flew through our atmosphere, passed us. We pulled back from each other to look around. I pushed back a bit, feeling the guilt and embarrassment set in. I stared at the ground as Harrowing was looking around, spinning like an idiot. I pulled my toes in under me and bit my lip, fighting back tears. He looked at me, suddenly and quickly. “What’s wrong? We’re safe, we’re alive, Daisy! We can be together!”
I began shaking my head, hair going everywhere and falling out of my ponytail. “No.”
“No?” Harrowing asked
“No. This was a mistake. You’re not it.”
Harrowing looked puzzled and hurt but asked anyways “what do you mean I’m not it?”
I choked on my words as I tried to answer him, “I don’t love you, we should have died. You should have died happy. But we are alive and I need to go.” And with that I ran. I ran and ran through the empty streets of Manhattan and I didn’t look back, though I could feel the pain I just put Harrowing through. I broke his heart and I knew it. I knew he probably was wishing the meteor would have killed us as I ran away.
Within fifteen minutes I was on my knees, gasping for air as I banged on the old apartment building door. The paint was chipped and the metal numbers were gone, leaving a faint hint of what the numbers used to be where the paint had faded. “Go away, enjoy your life somewhere else.”
“Killian, Killian it’s me, open up!” I yelled, trying to catch my breath. The door flung open and I got off my knees and met with Killian’s eyes. His blonde hair was a mess hidden underneath his hood. His brown eyes locked into mine and I had never seen them look so dark before. I broke more than one person that day. I hurt everyone, including myself.
“Why aren’t you with Harrowing? You chose him and not me. You shouldn’t be here.” I could hear the resentment in his voice, and it hurt. It cut me deep.
“I was wrong, I realized right before the meteor flew by! I came for you, I love you!” I felt my words slipping and the tears welling up in my eyes.
“Obviously not enough, your boyfriend is behind you.” Killian stepped out and shut the door behind him, and I turned to see Harrowing. | Hello, this is John Johnson for the channel 8 nightly news covering the great birth boom. It’s been 9 months since humanity narrowly avoided complete annihilation and the explosion of custody and child support cases has taken our world by storm.
With a new birthdate that makes the end of World War 2 look like a drop in the bucket the American government has struggled with how to handle this unprecedented issue. Three weeks earlier Congress and the president in a desperate attempt to handle the problem legalized polygamy to support fathers who were a little too energetic during the great craze.
We have senator Dave Dilby to talk about the controversial Family Support Through Mandated Marriages act they sponsored that made its way to the president’s desk during a now common moment of bi partisanship, something only last year would have been thought impossible. Senator, what do you think of our government’s current solutions to these problems?
Well John, I think it goes without saying that during these unprecedented times we’ve been forced into unprecedented solutions. By making this bill contingent on the Increasing Responsible Fatherhood act of 2036, we’ve actually seen widespread approval of these legislative actions.
But senator, don’t you think that this act strips away the rights of American citizens in favor of a nebulous goal of helping children?
Listen John, no one wants an entire generation of kids with no father, and mothers without money to raise those kids. This is the single solution that we have for this now. Consenting mother’s are married to their children’s fathers and we help them with additional funding. We’re solving civilizations woes with this bill you hear.
But senator, aren't you just queuing up problems for tomorrow.
LISTEN, If everyone just used the damn free condoms we were handing out like TICKER TAPE, we wouldn't be in this situation. If you want to avoid these issues, you need to avoid making them.
Thank you for your time senator. I hope it works out as well as you think it will. Back to you Tricia. | 2022-06-15T10:51:41 | 2022-06-15T10:15:08 | 31 | 22 |
[WP] In this world, salaries are determined by the desirability of the work: if everybody wants to do the job and it's fun, it pays minimum wage. But if it's hard or awful work that nobody wants to do, the pay is high. You decide to apply for the highest-paying job in the world. | The secret to happiness is not through effort, but resignation. Money can do so much good in this world. For myself. For others. Just last week I bought a family a used car, made their lives a little easier. I'm fond of hiding cook outs, I volunteer on Sundays... But god do I need it. I need it more than they need me, almost. It's all to make me feel hope where no hope can be had.
It makes me feel as if there is some chance we may be okay.
But this: THIS. This is not okay. There's no way, no twisted way that this could be okay. I had stopped vomiting long ago but that didn't stop the nightmares of things I saw. Today this took the cake. I shook. I trembled. I wished to cry and tried to think of the others I could have helped.
It was like to fight the scene before me. 12 years old laying in a pool of her own blood with a broken pelvis. It has cracked in childbirth and you could see the limpness of her hip bones. How could so much blood come out of something so small? The twisted nightmare of a child laid like the trash that surrounded them between her legs. Both were dead. The baby, maybe fetus, was deformed beyond all reason. Born dead as a doornail.
I had come to check in, I don't know how I hadn't seen it 3 months ago with her in that oversized jumper. I knew something was wrong but without proof my hands were tied. I was gagging. She must have been here for at least a day, her family long gone.
The officers had to escort me away, tears rolling down my face and drool spilling from my lips, I vomited down my shirt and let him wipe it off my face. I knew him. Officer Jones, a decent man with three kids. I didn't know how he was still standing.
"I know she was your case, but you have to come in for questioning. Nobodies going to be okay with this. Does CPS really pay you enough for this?" He asked me a question that I felt almost repulsed by. If I didn't give it away, I'd feel filthy. I already did, covered in vomit.
"... Maybe."
"Maybe fucking not."
I'd need to adopt a whole dog shelter after this. | It's not like John really wanted to be a history teacher in an all-boys private high-school in the UK. But, he was clean for a year (it was coke), did his year in prison (tax evasion) and also needed to hide from certain people (ex-girlfriend, nothing cool or gang related). He wasn't a bad guy, John, just started hanging with a bad crowd while trying to finish uni and had a firm belief in progressive taxation, specifically that he should be paying 1.3% less.
He was ready for a new start, ready to accept challenges and he needed the money for his big project.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
''So, boys, any opinion on the history of workers' and women's rights?''
He never went back to coke, but the legalization of cannabis in 2020 in the UK did help. | 2018-08-02T15:48:07 | 2018-08-02T14:20:23 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Write a story about something you don't understand. Do NO research. Make everything up as you go.
**Possible subjects:**
*Fly-Fishing
*Open-Heart Surgery
*Supply-Management in the Canadian Dairy Industry
*Making Hollywood Movies
*Guidance Counselling for High School Students
*Storm Chasing
*Electrical Repair in High-Rise Buildings
*The Large Hadron Collider
*Love
EDIT: Oh God, what have I done? | She reached into her bag and pulled out her white pad things, not the sort of white pad thingy that had wings but the other one that was small cylinder and had string attached to it for some probable reason. She was in the women's toilet of a dingy local bar and like all women's toilets was outstanding in its size and beauty...probably. The fountain as the centerpiece was a shimmering monolithic structure and the harp player in the corner had settled into her stride and played delicately. She hated this time of month and the certain set of days which was greater than one but not more than seven for which she was on her period. She had started getting stomach cramps earlier on in the day which were probably similar to getting kicked in the balls but also different in every possible way. She inserted the period equipment in the correct manner, be it, string first or cylinder first and then urinated or didn't urinate depending on whether it would be bad to get the stringed equipment wet maybe. She lifted up the skimpy lingerie she had on, similar to the kind that all women wear for any occasion ever, pulled up her skirt or zipped it up depending on whether skirts have zips, which they probably do somewhere unless they are elastic but that's highly doubtful and strode out of the bathroom wearing the stilletto heels that women wear at all times that never cause them pain at all.
She marched past a round table meeting of women currently discussing david and his cute butt which is a thing women talk about in the toilets. She walked passed the harp player who had taken some time off to file her nails. She stopped at the mirror and stared herself down. She looked at her naturally flawless skin with slight increased in reddening at the cheeks which is completely normal and a thing that all women have naturally. She decided she needed to put more of the eye makeup on. Not the kind that was to make your eyelashes longer but the kind that makes your eyelids darker because that's sexy for some reason. She decided that now she sorted our her eye makeup she needed to sort out her mouth make up and put on her bright red lipstick, not the cheap kind that you can buy everywhere but the inexplicably expensive kind that women get pissed off at you for wasting on drawing penis's on Pete's body while he's wasted. She looked herself in the eye and said "you can do this" and walked out of the bathroom completely intending to have private relations with the man who previously said that she had a nice pair and then looked at the ground when she turned her gaze towards him. | The Azurus Basilicum Imperator is a constrictor snake exclusive to the Amazonian forests, where it can very naturally slither high into trees for cover. Generally 15(2.8m) feet in length on average, they can grow up to a whopping 40 feet (12.3m).
This incredible reptile preys on a wide variety of animals, from birds to even small crocodiles depending on their size. At their largest, one could even digest an entire human.
They are most well known for the blue diamond pattern on their underbelly- a magnificent blue meant to replicate the indigenous flowers near its habitat. In these flowers, it can roll upside down and blend into its surroundings, waiting for an unsuspecting animal to meander by unprepared. They have scent glands near the base of their tail which secret a pheromone normally in the flower's pollen, to mask themselves entirely.
During the winter, to preserve body heat, they wrap themselves up in trees. Their blue underbelly pattern faces outward in order to absorb sunlight into their system and maintain a stable body temperature. From an aerial view, the trees almost seem to sparkle, as if littered with blue gems. | 2016-02-01T22:32:48 | 2016-02-01T20:35:12 | 507 | 112 |
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will | "No."
"What did you say, asshole?"
Words have power.
Sometimes, they have power only in your head.
That is often enough, for your head is where all of the most important things happen.
Sometimes, if you are particularly lucky, words have power in *other* people's heads.
&#x200B;
"I said *no*," I told the two superheroes.
My voice was calm and collected, despite the zipties on my wrists and the unpleasant tingle in my stomach.
Because my words held power *outside* of heads, too.
"You can't have my freedom."
&#x200B;
The tall blonde hero laughed at that.
He was called Reaper - and if the rumors about him were even half-true, he was probably the deadliest super in the entire West Coast. You don't stay long in the superhero business unless you're the apex predator.
Most superheroes died, got arrested, or retired within months. About one in ten managed to survive the first year.
Reaper had been doing this for a *decade*.
"What are you going to do about it, klepto?" the man asked.
"Nothing, Reaper." I brought my hands from behind my back, rubbing my wrists, and saw Reaper's eyes widen. "All I'm saying is, you *can't have it*."
Reaper looked at my hands.
Then he looked at the other hero, a 17-year-old pipsqueak of a girl who wore glasses and, in true superhero fashion, reflective spandex.
In true superhero fashion, spandex did not suit her.
"You ziptied him, Foresight. Hands behind the lamppost. Right?"
"Yeah," she muttered, looking down at me. "Didn't even notice him breaking out until he did it. Looks like our kleptomaniac is an escape artist, too."
I shrugged and started getting up. "You can't have my-"
Reaper's fist rammed into my mouth, and the world flashed white.
"Stay down!" I heard him yell, the sound oddly warped by the pain. "Don't even try this shit!"
&#x200B;
Reaper was renowned for his punches: he was strong, he was fast, and he knew *exactly* where to hit.
But the secret ingredient was probably in the metal-plated gloves of his suit.
Had I been a normal human, I'd probably be down for a good long while, moaning with pain until Reaper got sick of it and shot me with a tranq gun.
After a hit like that, even I struggled to gather my thoughts.
"You can't have..." I hissed through broken teeth, "my... health."
The pain disappeared, and I felt the teeth mend. My head was clear again.
By making my claim where he could hear me, I had *retrieved* what he took from me.
Retrieving things was my superpower, after all.
It's just that until a few weeks ago, I had no idea just how *many* different things I could retrieve.
&#x200B;
"Don't try anything, Expropriator," Reaper scoffed, his boot prodding my side. He didn't seem to notice my flesh mending. "You're playing head games with us again."
"Retriever," I growled through clenched teeth.
"What?"
"Retriever. Expropriator is my old name, and *you can't have it.*"
"Whatever. Foresight, get Expllrgh-" Reaper paused, confused. "Erprogggh."
I looked up from the sidewalk. "Say my *real* name, Reaper. You'll feel better."
"John St-"
"You can't have *that* one."
"Strrbh. What the *fuck*?"
&#x200B;
At that moment, Foresight's eyes widened and she stepped back. "Reaper, we have to kill him!"
"What?" Reaper said. "Why?"
"You can't have my life, either!" I blurted out.
What did she see in my future?
"Now!" Foresight yelled, clearly panicking. "KILL HIM! BEFORE-"
"*And* the knowledge of my plans!"
Foresight staggered, as if hit, and put her hand to her head.
"Null- I think. What was I saying?"
Yeah, that was the weak spot of precogs. The only thing that *truly* scared them.
Their powers weren't mere parasites like with the rest of us, but more like a *part* of the precog's mind.
So if you shut down their power, you were shutting down their mind too.
&#x200B;
Reaper looked at her for a moment, then glared down at me.
"Ohh. Okay, I get it. You can expropriate *anything* now, not just things."
He reached for his stick, and it sprang a curved blade, a blade that traced bluish-violet light as it moved.
The blade that could cut through anything. It even split atoms.
The blade that he reserved for the worst offenders - and, if you believed the rumors, for anyone whom nobody would miss.
Reaper raised his scythe.
"I bet you can't retrieve anything once you're dead. Let's test it, shall we?"
&#x200B;
I started to roll out of the way, but he was faster.
I heard the blade whistle, and the clothes parted at my chest.
But when I finished rolling away, I was still in one piece.
He couldn't take my life, and he couldn't even take my health. They were *mine*.
All he did was take my clothes' integrity.
I grinned, triumphant, and started getting up.
&#x200B;
Then I saw Reaper take a swing at the lamppost.
My blood went cold, and I sprang forward from the half-crouch I was in, the severed shirt flaring out behind me as I jumped.
I could retrieve anything that was *taken* from me - but my power did not apply if I accidentally *lost* something.
And I was pretty sure that being crushed by a lamppost counted as *losing* my life.
&#x200B;
I was almost fast enough.
I felt my bones crunch as fifty pounds of concrete landed on my shin.
This time, I couldn't help it. The pain was too great.
"Fucker!" I screamed. "Vandal! Murderer! *Wastrel!*"
The moment those words left my mouth, I realized how stupid I sounded.
But I wanted to hurt him, and plenty of heroes hated it when someone caught them breaking the law.
"Hah." Reaper, it seems, was not that sort of hero. "Your power doesn't extend to gravity, does it?"
Reaper admired his handiwork, then turned to the wall of the building looming above us.
"Aww, fuuuuck," I moaned, and the moan turned into a whimper as the pain in my shin started to really hit me.
Reaper sank his blade into the wall. | Many people think that telekinesis is useful, but not that dangerous. Guess what ? They are wrong. But, first things first.
When I awakened, I was euphoric. I thought that my life would turn 180 degrees and I would become rich.
What ? Thinking about money instead of some noble ideas ? Please, don't judge me so quickly.
I wasn't some superhuman xianxia protagonist nor had personality like one. I couldn't split mountains with simple attacks and fly in the sky on a sword. I was just your everyday average joe.
The kind of guy that you would pass by on the street without a second thought. Also, I wasn't young anymore. My health was on decline.
I worked in a factory from dawn till night. Inhaling a lot of dust, I was frequently running out of breath.
Even running 2 or 3 miles was a challenge for me. And those goddamned back pains, they were killing the shit out of me.
That is why I was overjoyed when I awakened. But instead of getting some isekai like cheat, I got something different - telekinesis.
And to make matter worse, my telekinesis was 'slightly weaker' than it should've been.
Instead of freely manipulating thousands of pounds, I could manipulate a tenth of a pound at most. I thought to myself - don't worry man, it will grow over time. Well, guess what, it didn't.
Instead of growing in strength, it grew in radius. By the time a month has passed, I was able to use telekinesis within the radius of 10 feet.
I thought to myself : 'Fucking great, I cannot even lift a beer with this shit.'
I was training every single day increasing my precision and radius, hoping for a miracle to come. To my surprise, it did come. But in a slightly different form from what you might expect.
It wasn't an encounter with a sealed expert, nor finding a thousand years old ginseng. Instead, it was an encounter with simple goblins. Sounds strange and dumb, isn't it ? Well, hear me out first.
On a certain sunny Sunday, I decided to relax while strolling through the forest. The weather was lovely, birds were singing and flowers were blooming. In short, it was a perfect day. Perfect for a stroll to soothe my nerves after an exhausting week in work.
I told to myself, 'Nothing can go wrong, right ?'. Wrong once more.
Thirty years ago, mana appeared on earth and human began awakening and gaining various abilities. But nothing comes without a price. Just like awakeners began to appear, monsters decided to visit humanity.
Their appearance took the form of 'gates'. Gates as the name may suggest were portals. Portals to the lovely place called abyss. Abyss was a place that looked differently with each gate.
Sometimes it looked like a scorching desert and sometimes like a green forest. Sometimes it even took form of a medieval dungeon. But one thing always remained constant - the presence of monsters.
Dragons, wyverns, gnomes, goblins, wolves of a horse size, you name it. And they have to be killed, or they will escape from the gate and wreak havoc.
To do that, you have to go inside the gate but here's funny part, once you are inside, you have to kill every single monster. Otherwise, you are fucked, cause you can't leave and no one can enter.
Why no one can enter ? It's simple, several minutes after the first human go in, the gate closes itself. And it remains closed as long as there is any human in it.
The interesting thing about gates is the fact that they appear randomly. Usually in desolate places without humans. So you can guess how surprised I was, when one appeared on top of my face.
Because of that, I automatically entered. As soon as I was in it, I saw scenery that resembled a medieval dungeon.
Then I heard a shriek and a goblin appeared in my field of vision. As soon as he saw me, he rushed towards me with rusty sword in hand.
Since I haven't had any weapon with me nor was I a trained individual, direct combat was out of question. Also, I was literally sealed inside the gate, escaping was out of question.
The only thing I could do was to somehow kill everything within this gate with this ability of mine.
Goblin was rushing towards me, while I was lost in my own thoughts. Gears in my mind were turning at fearsome speed. An idea appeared within my mind.
When goblin was sufficiently close, I used telekinesis and prayed to gods for a miracle. Suddenly, just a few feet from me, he collapsed and began shrieking and wailing in pain. Several seconds later, he died.
What I did was pretty risky, but it worked well. I used my telekinesis in place of his chest, trying to form needles within the heart made out of coagulated blood.
That was the moment I truly realized how terrifying my telekinesis can be. The rest is history.
Many years later, I became known as the strongest awakener - 'God of Death'. Nothing within a thousand feet near me could survive. It didn't matter what I encountered inside the gates.
Goblins or dragons, it didn't matter, all of them shared the cause of death. Needles within their hearts and brains.
Who would have thought that a 'simple' encounter with a goblin would change my fate.
---
If someone finds some mistakes ( with usage of times, gramatical errors or something else), please notify me in the comment. That would help me improve my future prompts.
Thanks for reading and may hydration be with you. | 2021-09-11T12:05:24 | 2021-09-11T11:56:22 | 318 | 54 |
[WP] The end is here. Well... the ends, rather. Every apocalypse scenario has unfolded simultaneously, creating a delicate balance that has kept civilization almost entirely intact, stable, and seemingly indestructible.
Inspired by [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/worldbuilding/comments/4abmif/apocalypto_the_land_of_every_apocalypse/) and [this joke.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aI0euMFAWF8) | "Wait, okay. I need a second to, uh, process." Felix paused. He pushed up his glasses. "Process all that."
He fiddled with his wrist watch. Around him the world was filled with billowing lab coats, flying papers, and constant screaming.
He got up and shut his office door. Through the privacy glass, he could still see the blurry image of scientists running about. They're noise, however, was thankfully muffled. He could hear himself think, and Arthur talk.
He sat back down. "Okay, So planet X."
"Yes," said Arthur.
"Planet X is real."
"Uh-huh."
"It's real, it showed up--"
"It was hiding behind the sun--"
"Of course, *Christ.* Okay. It was 'hiding' behind the sun."
"And the enormous solar flare the Mayan's predicted, now if you remember, I crunched those numbers over and over, I *told* you--"
"Oh God, Arthur. Not this! Go marry a Mayan Princess."
"--and you told me to do that in response. Repeatedly."
"I stand by it." Felix let out an enormous sigh. "I'm sorry. End of the world. I'm agitated."
"Right, so the flare goes off."
"It goes off, and knocks Planet X..."
"Off its collision course with earth. It's a little early to tell, but I suspect Planet X is now caught in our gravity well."
"You're saying Planet X is now *moon* X?"
"I am saying that, yes. With about 80% certainty."
"80?"
"85, maybe. It'll be a year before we can tell, for sure, but when it comes to the astrological disasters, uh... well..." Arthur shrugged. "Crisis averted."
"And there's more."
"More?"
"Again, it's too early to tell, but early sightings of Planet X suggest its hospitable. I mean, it lacks an atmosphere--"
"And it just got hit by the biggest Solar Flare ever recorded."
"--that too, but by the time it reaches stable orbit, we calculate it will have cooled dramatically. Now the lack of an atmosphere is a problem *now*, but atmospheres are formed by--"
"*No.*" Felix slammed a hand on his desk as he realized the conclusion of Arthur's research.
"From gasses released from a planet's core. And as you can imagine, after being blasted with a solar flare, we're seeing a *ton* of volcanic activity. Now, this process is going to take *ages,* but we can help it along, using the R&D we've done on our own climate issues--"
"Arthur, it was an issue twenty years ago. You can call it what it is."
Arthur hesitated. "Disaster," he continued. "Now, it typically takes a long time for an atmosphere to form, it took ours--"
"Half a *billion* years." Finished Felix.
"Right. Long time. But Planet X is considerably smaller than earth, and, a billion years ago, earth didn't have *us.*"
"What's your prediction, realistically?"
"Well, it won't be habitable in our lifetime, certainly, but if we get to work as soon as Planet X is in orbit, well, um... your daughter could be the first to see the sunrise on a new celestial home."
Felix tilted his head. "You're kidding."
"Yesterday we thought the world was ending. I'm not in a kidding mood yet, but if my calculations are right, I'll be in a good enough mood to do stand-up on open mic night."
Felix ran his hands through his hair. "All this work, all these government dollars, and you're telling me all we had to do to save the world... was *nothing?*"
"Nothing."
"Well," said Felix, letting out one more exasperated sigh. "Your tax dollars at work, huh?" | The moment came not with screaming terror as I had suspected, but with silence. Sheer, terrifying, absolute silence. I am not ashamed to say that I wet myself, most of the world did too.
A wave of radiation blasted out from the sun. Four figures on horseback, riding through the streets of London. The anti-Christ standing atop the statue of the redeemer in Rio di Janeiro, cracks evident at its base. Azezal burst free from his chains deep within mount Tabor, the Sea of Galilee turning to boiling blood. Kimaris overseeing his troops across the plains of the African Savannah.
After changing my pants and verifying that the Internet was well and truly down, I went for a walk. The church and synagogue were packed full, soft sobs escaping tired throats. The pubs were fuller, tempting to me too, but I had bigger problems. I was far from guaranteed a place in heaven. Lust, Greed, Wrath and Sloth - my vices of preference. I paused to listen to the silence between trees. No birdsong. They'd either flown the nest or been dragged to one side or the other. I headed towards the local tube station, London my destination. I exited at Great Portland Street, watching frightened tourists stuff their faces of a last meal from the roadside Wasabi. Jealousy must have clouded my face, a tourist offering me a bite. I declined, I wanted to make sure my ticket to heaven was first class, no more room for greed. I came across the first of the horsemen, pestilence. The smell of rotting flesh making me vomit before I got near. Spitting the last of the bile from my mouth I came closer, the other people staring in shock and fear.
"Hello", I announced my presence.
The demon turned and assessed my face, "it's you..." He observed out loud.
"It is", I replied, unhelpfully.
The silence was punctuated by the sharp nasal breathing of a nearby tourist.
"My lord", he smiled a greeting at last.
"I've changed my mind", I announced, regretting not grabbing that mouthful of food earlier, "I don't want the earth any more".
"So I had noticed" he replied with a sigh. Understandable really, I keep his soul indentured for years waiting for this day. A bit of an anticlimax, waiting for my signal to begin.
"Let's go stop the others then" I announced, perking up. I can't wait to taste some demon death after all these years... | 2016-03-14T12:17:59 | 2016-03-14T07:04:27 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone in your family gets one wish upon reaching age 18.
I would love to see replies where this is known by the public and where it is not. | The grandfather clock ticked towards midnight.
A screen above the command desk provided a digital countdown and much more accurate measure of my fate. We were in the basement of our family home. Our secret seat of power. My uncle paced in the background while my father sat across from me in a comfortable leather chair. The only other person in the room was a hulking secret service agent by the door. He had a machine gun at his side and his finger near the trigger. I looked at my father. Despite his sleek suit and calm face I could tell he was worried. I had always worried him.
“Do you want to go over it one more time?” he asked me.
I sunk back into my own chair and looked at the screen. Five more minutes. “No,” I replied.
“You are going to wish the President of ISIS suddenly wants to call me and tell me everything he knows. This is incredibly important son. The fate of both our family and the nation rests in your wish.” He continued, ignoring what I had said.
“I know,” I said, looking at the screen, not wanting to meet my father’s eyes.
“He better not fuck this up,” said my uncle, a shorter, fatter version of my dad.
“He won’t” said my dad. “Will you son?”
I didn’t reply. Outside this house the world continued to turn, unaware of the importance of this moment. Economic strife and warfare dotted the globe. The nation of ISIS, the last superpower to resist America, had achieved nuclear weapons and stood poised to attack. I wondered what the world would be like if my family didn’t have its own secret arsenal. An arsenal of magic wishes.
When a male of my bloodline turns eighteen years old he gets one wish. It’s as simple as that. It started with my Great Grandfather. He was an archaeologist and explorer. He was the one who found the statue in a forgotten temple deep in the Amazonian jungle. He was a very practical man. When the demon gave him one wish he wished that all his future male descendants would get one wish on the day they became a man. His own son, my Grandfather, was five years old at the time.
For the next thirteen years he tried to prepare his son for what was coming. He educated him as best he could and repeatedly explained the ramifications of his decision. My Grandfather thought him a fool. On his eighteenth birthday he didn’t wish for any of things he had been urged to wish for. Instead, mostly to get his crazy father to leave him alone, he wished to be the strongest man on the planet. No one of was more surprised than him when it came true. You might have heard of my Grandfather. Larry ‘The Crusher’ Johnson. The most dominant heavyweight in the history of boxing. When my uncle turned eighteen he was ready. He had seen the things my Grandfather could do, grown up surrounded by the wealth the boxing provided. When he turned eighteen he wished to become the richest man on the planet. A few years later my father wished to become the president of the United States.
Now I sat in a room with the two most powerful men on the planet. They glared at me as the clock ticked down. I knew my duty. Knew what I was supposed to do.
The clock hit zero. I took at deep breath.
“I wish I was Superman.” I yelled before anyone could stop me.
I would deal with ISIS on my own terms. Then I would deal with my family.
Edit: small stuff | I am one of nine children, the youngest in fact. It puts a lot of pressure on you hearing what they all wished for and realising one day I'll have do that. All of them have been pretty interesting really; even my parents say that back in their day they wouldn't have had the nerve to ask for what my siblings did. Danny, he's my dad he wished for the best motorbike in the world and my mum wished to be a teacher, pretty normal things really. You'd have thought they might have asked for money, or true love but that's one of the rules. You just can't ask for things like that. Now my siblings were much more adventurous; my oldest brother Molokai asked for a rocket because he had this bright idea of travelling to the moon, it got 3 feet off the ground and crashed back down. My Older twin sisters, Jenny and Ria, they wished to look different, you could see where they were coming from but now they're different colours. My brother Stu, he asked for a library in a mountain; that was pretty cool what I remember of it; except he forgot to ask for a ladder so he's spent most of his life trying to build one tall enough to reach the books at the very top. Maria asked for a yacht and Simone and air balloon. Reece asked for a bus, a red double decker bus because they just look cool. Sian asked for her own wedding to be organised by the best people that money, or wishes, could buy.
Looking at everyone sat in the room, no-one speaking as they're dressed in their fancy black clothes I realise I never thought of a wish. My mothers weeping in the kitchen, I can hear her through the door that's ajar a little. Jenny is crying openly to Sian and my fathers scowling at them, trying to keep his own grief quiet by methodically sucking on his pipe. Looking at all of them, I think I might have wished for them to be happier than this... | 2015-07-07T05:55:23 | 2015-07-07T03:26:31 | 77 | 26 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicated yourself to good and helping the community, but today while knitting beanies for the homeless, you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick, it doesn’t even drip. | I pull the needle back, wincing, and examine my finger. All I see is a small black smudge, but when I try to brush it off, it smears onto my other fingers, thick and sticky. I examine the wound more closely, squeezing slightly, and more black sludge oozes from the prick.
Panicking now, I try to wipe the blood from my fingers, but all the motion does is draw attention to me. I frantically hide my hands under the beanie I’m knitting and excuse myself under the guise of getting more yarn. I scurry into the bathroom, my heart pounding.
Why is this happening to me? And why now?
As a senior, I’m excused from final exams, our school choosing to allot this time for us to prepare for the traditional graduation ceremony tomorrow. Our viscosity scores will be the strongest determinant in terms of our future career prospects, which is why I’m hosting this Knit-A-Thon at my apartment and why the school encourages as many seniors as possible to participate in these types of events. Our scores are a reflection of their ability to prepare us for the real world, and high scores are a huge embarrassment, a literal black mark on your permanent record.
The highest viscosity score I’d ever seen was during my older brother Callum’s graduation ceremony. I was seven, antsy as we waited for the long line of graduate candidates to submit to the bleeding. The boy standing one place ahead of Callum dutifully held his hand out as his family cheered and the rest of us politely clapped. The administrator sliced his palm with the knife in a practiced motion, then recoiled suddenly as a thick grayish liquid dripped from the blade. The viscosity assessor grabbed the knife with a practiced hand, deftly depositing a few drops into the test solution and recording the figures into the ledger before grimly announcing a score of 7.4. The family’s cheers choked off suddenly, and the administrator shuffled the boy off the stage, looking somewhat shaken.
As a small child, I remember disbelieving that anyone, particularly this innocuous boy, could be any darker than Callum, who often left bruises on me where he knew no one would find them. I remember vividly waiting, knowing in my heart that if this random stranger’s blood was that thick and dark, Callum’s certainly would be too.
The administrator stared at Callum, a little dazed as the boy’s mother began to sob in the audience. He gulped, the knife shaking in his hand as he raised it above Callum’s palm. Callum flashed an insolent smirk at him before grabbing his hand and dragging the knife across his own palm. Callum grinned triumphantly as his blood ran freely, clear as water, dripping down his wrist and soaking into the cuff of his sleeve, where it left no stain at all. His score, 0.6, was the lowest the school had seen in several years.
My family will be expecting similar results from me. I’ve dedicated my life to helping others, preparing for a life at my family’s company. But there’s no way I’ll be able to do that with blood like this. I’ve never even seen anything this dark. And they’re due to arrive here any minute.
I’m fighting back sobs, frantically trying to wash off my hands, but the blood is too inky and thick. I jump suddenly as the door bursts open, grabbing the beanie and needles to cover my hands.
“What have we here?”
Callum has arrived, and as usual hasn’t bothered to knock. And he’s staring right at my hands, an evil grin I recognize spreading over his face. I can see the wheels turning in his mind as he thinks of all of the ways that he can use this against me.
I’m shaking as he moves closer to me, laughing softly.
“Callum, please don’t tell anyone,” I beg him, backing up as he inches closer to me.
His predatory grin is growing wider by the second as he sees how scared I am. He knows he has me, and he’s going to take advantage of it. My breath is coming faster now, and I shoot into full-blown panic as Callum’s hand shoots out, encircling my neck.
“Don’t worry, sis. That would ruin the fun. And I have a feeling we’re just getting started.”
My vision starts to blur, and I’m having a hard time breathing. I scrabble for purchase, trying to get him to loosen his grip, and all I can hear is his laugh. My hand closes around the knitting needle, and I stab viciously.
Callum swears and releases me, falling to the floor and holding a hand over his wrist to stem the tide of clear blood spilling from beneath his fingers.
I keep the needle pointed at him, and realize with a rush that this is the first time I’ve been able to get the upper hand in one of our confrontations. I decide to press my advantage.
I poke the needle into the soft skin below his jaw, speaking softly as I stand over him.
“That is the last time you touch me,” I whisper, digging the point of the needle into his skin for emphasis. “And you’re going to help me figure out how to get through this graduation ceremony tomorrow.”
“I think you’re going to be fine. Looks like we’re more alike than either of us thought,” he says, glancing significantly down to my hands.
The prick on my finger from the needle is bleeding freely after our struggle, but now, my blood runs, thin and clear, in a small trickle down my finger.
I stare at my hands, and once Callum leaves the bathroom, I finally allow tears to come. I wipe them away before heading back outside, and although my hands are still streaked with blood, you can’t see anything at all. | The dark, thick blood oozes out of the pin prick, as if it were toothpaste being squeezed out of a tube with a small opening. The mere sight sparks off hysteria within me; rivulets of tears burst their banks and gush down my eyes. The taste of salt is bitter. Why does it feel this heart-wrenching when I've known it all along?
I wasn't always the man I am today. Over sixteen years ago, I was a refugee in my own land, a stranger in my own city. The shadowy underbelly of this city engulfed me, as it does to millions of unfortunate souls. The worst part about homelessness is how it slowly murders your self-belief. Even if you do have dreams, and hopes for a brighter dawn, everybody else is hell-bent on putting you back into your place. You are an ant, working harder than any of the giants roaming in the vicinity, but the truth is, one wrong step could cost you everything.
The streets are a tragic place to be for those that have nothing. You see, hear and smell everything that the world deprived you of. On nights I knew I had to go hungry, I'd sit outside my favourite bakery and quell the angry rebellion in my stomach by letting the aroma lull me to sleep. Everyday, people dressed in finery, smelling like lavender flowers, earthy musk and citrus (and not of stale thoughts and hopelessness like me) would walk past, seldom a compassionate eye to look at the downtrodden slouching away in the nooks and crannies.
The only thing worse than being homeless, is being desperate. This helplessness concocts a sense of grave injustice in your heart, and an overwhelming urge to take life into your own hands. So from the time you're sitting outside your favourite bakery, your instincts push you to walk inside with a borrowed gun, and stick the cold steel barrel down the throat of an innocent baker. You feel it just when you corner one of the smug bastards in an alley, watch them acknowledge you... fear you.. respect you, in the moment as they surrender their wallets and even their lives to your mercy.
Seven years ago, when I finally found someone willing to trust me with a job, I found something real to believe in. Depression's greatest enemy, is a sense of purpose. I was writing new pages in my life but my eyes would always fall on the words from the past; indelible marks I'd engraved into my own soul like scars from a war, a history that no one could erase for me. Knowing I could never get rid of those terrible burdens, I did the only thing that made sense. I gave my life to creating sentiments that would tilt the balance on the right side of my moral scale. For every day of those seven years, my conscience has weighed me down- tainting every thought with the words "You know what you've done."
And now, a little pin prick had unraveled it all. They say that trivialities should never bring you down, but I've been floating on a rubber boat, on an ocean that stretches in every direction. One little hole is enough to send me slowly sinking to the depths.
"You're worried about what you see, don't you?" says the man standing in the alley, a few feet away from me. Strangely, I hadn't registered his presence. Had my thoughts pulled me so far away from reality?
"You are not the man you were. If you believe you are, then you will never know what it is like to heal." As if sensing my confusion, the man smiles at me, before continuing. "The finest desserts in life are often bittersweet. You are as much as you are because of the past, as you are because of your present. Never forget that."
"But... but..." I stammer. "This blood is dark. Heavy. Ominous."
"Taste it," the man say, nodding solemnly.
Slightly repulsed and a little shaken, I give in to the man's warm gaze. I slip the bleeding finger into my mouth. My eyes widen in astonishment at the complexity and balance of its flavour - strong, yet subtle, sweet with a hint of bitter, silky yet viscous. It tastes of everything that I am.
"What does your blood taste like, friend?" the man asks, will a pleasant smile.
Tears of relief and joy fall down to my cheeks. "Treacle," I say, gratefully.
r/whiteshadowthebook | 2019-05-09T22:05:05 | 2019-05-09T20:55:45 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out. | I stood and tapped lightly on my glass until the room fell silent. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Most of you I know already, as friends or employees, but for those who I don't, my name is Peter. I have the honour of serving as best man, and I'd like to say a few words about the bride and groom on this joyful occasion."
"To his family, the groom is known as Richard, but to me he has always been my pal Dick. We've known each other all our lives, and Dick has always been my right-hand man. At school, at college, and then at the company I founded. Dick isn't just a friend, he's a part of me, and for the longest time, I didn't think any woman could make him happy. Then I met Christina."
"When Christina came to work for us, she was a wide-eyed innocent, fresh out of college. She lacked experience, and me and Dick had to whip her into shape. I'm afraid we had to ride her a little hard for a while. There was a lot of late nights and even a few weekends. There was a lot for her to take in, but she never said no. She would moan a bit, but she always came through in the end. Before long she had mastered the job, and since then she's excelled in every position we put her in."
"Now, Christina is a beautiful girl, and I'm sure every guy in the office noticed her. But right from the beginning, she only had eyes for my Dick here. I know she was a little intimidated at first. She's a petite girl and he's a big guy, but before long they were inseparable. It's wonderful to see her smile when she thinks about Dick, to see her face light up when she knows he's coming, and the love all over it when he does."
"And Dick, I know how happy Christina makes you. Whenever she's around you seem to stand up a little taller than you ever did before. I know you like to tease her occasionally, or to give her a harder time than she deserves, but I know that deep inside you only want to make her as happy as she makes you. And she's lucky to have you. You're strong and hardworking. You're handy around the house. Oh, and you're a great cook, old friend."
"Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, I won't take up any more of your time. I'll only reiterate that it gives me immense pleasure to see Christina and Dick together, and I look forward to that continued pleasure for many years to come." | "I remember when I first met Carly," X said as he finally got to make his speech. "We knew each other since we were kids but nothing has ever happened between us. And now look at her, getting married. It seems like yesterday where we were meeting up for hugs and kisses, nothing else happened of course. I remember this one time where we went to this hotel room with our good friends Zack and Jenny. In the hotel room, all that happened was that Jenny played with Zack a little, nothing erotic of course, while me and Carly just held hands and talked. After we left the hotel, it felt like we were being followed by someone whose name probably was PI but I thought little of it. After Carly and Jenny went home to meet their wonderful soul mates, I stopped hearing from them until the next week. As I drove by their house, Carly's soon to be husband's shirt was strangely wet. Ahhhh I will never forget that day where I met up with Carly for hugs and kisses. Cheers to you, newly weds."
If anyone actually reads this I'll have you know that I'm too lazy to try harder on this little essay. | 2015-04-03T01:14:55 | 2015-04-03T01:13:10 | 214 | 16 |
[WP] The orbit around Earth suddenly fills with thousands of alien ships. Turns out the moon has just been made a stop in a galactic game similar to Pokemon Go. | "Look, I'm just saying if your mother-in-law wants to stay for a month, she'll need to...honey?"
*Ggrrrrok! Jmfftigny!*
Marvin swallowed his tongue, fell to his knees, and urinated on himself.
**Bjurfng, Tgnik, tgnik!**
Can someone pee their pants twice in a New York Minute? Just yesterday, Marvin has would have answered in the negative.
"Hello? Is this better?"
Marvin stared up at the colossal, green tentacled mess that slithered before him where his kitchen table had just been. Its face, if one could call it that, was a cavernous extension of smaller tentacles that resembled a Venus flytrap. It didn't speak so much as spit syllables that formed the crude underpinning of words.
"It still doesn't understand us, idiot! Do you even know how to work your translator?"
The second voice, though very high-pitched and inflected, was more understandable. Though it seemed to be coming from everywhere Marvin couldn't locate its source.
"I programmed it right! Why are you always so mean to me, Xinthipop?"
"Because if he can't understand us, we'll have to dispose instead of train him and..."
Marvin let out a yelp. "No! Don't do that!"
The tentacled monstrosity waved its appendages high and fast. "See? I told you!" it growled, arching its head.
A soft red light began glowing above the creature's head, blinking faster as the second voice spoke. "Greetings, human. Please excuse my ape-ish friend here. Is that the correct terminology? For an entity that exhibits crude behavior?"
Marvin focused very hard on the question; it seemed to help him with his bearings. "Um, yes. That is the correct usage. You are correct. With the usage. Of that." He would have continued for quite a while, had the light not interrupted.
"Splendid. I have been studying human culture for some time now. As our legendary Pokemaster Ippie Bulco says, 'One must know his prey, to capture him.' My name, as you may have heard, is Xinthipop. My compatriot is Wigz."
"Please to um, meet you. That's an interesting name, Wigz. I had a hamster named Wigger once and he...look, did you say that I'm captured?"
"Quite so, friend. You are the 112th Pokemon we have found, and the 18th from Earth. This is quite the thriving planet!"
Marvin's train of thought was fast derailing. "But I'm not a Pokemon! he protested, "I'm a human! You said it yourself!"
The light began to glow rapidly in succession, and Marvin would have sworn it was a sort of chuckle. "Well, obviously! It wouldn't be any fun if we were running around, capturing fake pixels on a low resolution display now, would it?"
Marvin began to pout, and then sniffle, and then finally a full wail of a sob. "But I don't want to live in a zoo," he said, "I want to go home."
"No, never go home! Got to catch 'em all!" spat Wigz.
"Hush, you lumbering ox! Is that the right term, ox?"
Marvin nodded between racks of sobs.
"You won't be living in any zoo, friend," Xinthipop continued. "Wigz, give our lovely ragamuffin here some candy."
With shaky hands, Marvin reluctantly reached out and accepted a small, red ball from the oozing tentacle. *May as well*, he thought, popping it into his mouth.
It tasted like sunshine, happiness, and clean puppy dog tails, if such a thing were possible. Marvin smiled despite himself. Suddenly, his body jolted and a huge, painless explosion permeated from his gut outward. Looking down at himself, Marvin gasped.
His body had busted out of its t-shirt and jeans. A massive, rippled chest and abdomen met legs that resembled tree trunks. His arms were wider than his head, and biceps wider still as he flexed. Marvin felt like he could juggle cars.
"And that's just Level 2!" Xinthipop chimed proudly. "Now, are you ready to train?" | "Oh! Oh my! Hurry, check your screen! Check your screen!", shouted the Tiny Alien #1 to his alien buddy, Tiny Alien #2.
"What? What is it... OH! OH MY! IT'S A DRAGONITE!", he shouts back while he jumps for joy in a space chair made for midgets.
"YAY DRAGONITE!" they both yelled in unison as loud as their tiny alien screeches could go.
All of a sudden, they hear their comm system beeping like crazy. At first, it was just a few beeps. Then after a few seconds, their headphones were bombarded with so many that each one blended together to sound like one constant beep in their baby alien ears.
"dude... please tell me you muted the comm system? Please, for the love of holy dragonite, please tell me the whole colony didn't hear that?" said Tiny Alien #2, as he gave his copilot his one and only evil eye.
"Well... I don't really know if I did mute it and we'll never be able to know anymore, so that's that. No one can prove anything" responded Tiny Alien #1, crossing his arms and flailing his head dramatically away from Tiny Alien #2's penetrating gaze.
"Screw it. Pump the hydroheliumthrusters and strap yourself in. We are heading to the human's Moon. Off to CATCH EM ALL. DRAGONITE TIME BABY"
"Oh, goody, goody! Dragonite here we come!"
__________________________________________________________________
*A few hours later*
"President, NASA has just informed us of a potential world ending threat. They said it was UFOCODE22422424ALIENAREA51"
"Oh, sweet Jesus... Why could it not be a UFOCODE22632426ALIENAREA51." he says, his elbows resting heavily on the desk while his face sits in his palms.
He looks up, his eyes that of an immortal war god looking to taste blood. ALL the blood.
"Nuke it. Just nuke the damn moon. Don't tell the media about it. We'll make it a cover up... somehow. Just tell them it was Aliens... people love Aliens."
"Sir, I don't mean to be counterproductive here but what about the fallout? I am pretty sure we will all die. You can't just blow up the mo--" says a random cabinet member.
"YOU SHUT YOUR ASS AND KNOW YOUR PLACE!", he snaps, interrupting the man while completely shitting on his ego.
"Nuke that bitch, suckas"
And the moon was blown to a billion pieces. Dragonite was said to have flown away. To this day, no one knows where Dragonite went but we for sure know one thing... He'll never be back to the moon ever again. | 2016-07-23T21:54:28 | 2016-07-23T21:15:39 | 184 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone in the world is able to choose exactly one superpower. The catch: the more people select a certain power, the weaker it becomes.
Example: if many people choose telekinesis, they'll only be able to move small, light objects. If many people choose time travel, they'll only be able to go back a few seconds. | (my apologies for any mistakes or if this sounds disjointed. I have a mild form of aphasia and frequently sound like a ESL speaker/writer without editing. I am trying to improve it, as all I've wanted to be is a writer.)
I stepped up to assigned spot in front of the council and waited for them to talk to me.
I had been thinking of what powered I wanted for quite awhile now. I was eighteen now, just yesterday in fact, old enough to choose my own power.
My mother and father were among the first few thousand to have powers. Mom had told me stories of being able to fly high in the sky with the birds, but now she could only hover an inch or two off the ground. That was nice when there were puddles, but otherwise useless. Dad used to be able to lift huge boulders, but now his limit was a pencil, maybe a few playing cards. (He liked to do 'card tricks'.) When there was that huge earthquake in china a few years ago - tens of thousand dead - he was able to transport his cell phone to him for several weeks, until more people picked telekinesis.
There were several forums on the net discussing rarer powers and how to get the most 'powerful' ones, but soon after they were posted, people picked them and the power level went way down.
"Kate Doyle?"
"Yessir." I said to the old man with a long beard that seemed to move on it's own. Huh. Power to control hair, or just the beard? The latter was probably a little more powerful, if I remembered reading the the power lists right. I wondered if he could control the growth of the beard or just the movement.
"Have you decided on your choice?" asked a woman with suspiciously sharp index fingernails. Controlling the length of fingernails was unusual but not unheard of, but only index? Rare.
"I have." I fiddled with the bracelet on my wrist a little. I had researched a LOT and had a feeling that if kept quiet, this was a good one.
"And?"
I straightened my back. This was the moment, and wording was extremely important "I wish to have the power to voluntary transform my period blood to scorpion venom once it leaves my body." There. That would do it.
The bearded man's eyebrows shot up. A few other council members muttered to themselves.
The woman with the fingernails smirked. "Granted." She turned to the rest of the council and talked with them in quiet tones for a moment. "Miss Doyle, in exchange for the first 500 ounces of venom that is...transformed, we are prepared to keep your power classified."
I smiled. "I see you are aware of the price as well. Are you in agreement that a contract should be made to make sure that neither of us floods the market?"
She nodded and stood. "We are. Come with me, I am sure we can find a great agreement in this."
(this is absolutely crap) | I walked into the room where we got to choose the powers. I had anticipated this moment for years. Finally I could stop being weak and small. All those bullies would regret ever picking on me. They had picked unique powers, the ability to turn themselves to Damascus Steel, and the ability to sprout giant bat wings, they were cool. I wanted them. There was a large metal container that looked like a tanning machine turned right side up.
"Hello, my name is John and I'll be your power broker today. The rules are: 1. I am not allowed to tell you how many people have already chosen the power, 2. Do not exit the chamber when the power is being assigned, and 3. You are not allowed another power."
That's fine. I won't need another.
"Please enter the chamber and say what your desired power is."
The door opened and I walked in.
"Please state the name of the power you desire" an automated voice commanded
"I want... the power to steal other people's power!"
"Processing" the voice said "Completed"
I thought I was an evil genius. I thought I would be the most powerful person in the world. I thought all the people who doubted me would be utterly powerless in the wake of what I would do to them. But it was not to be so.
"Congratulations on your new power. You are currently the 9313th person to have this power. This means you can steal 1/9313 of a persons power. Have a great day!" | 2015-05-05T07:49:49 | 2015-05-05T07:48:37 | 78 | 50 |
[WP] You design a sensor that can detect probabilities of catching diseases from eating or drinking stuff. One day, your device detects "100% of catching ancient curse" from the seemingly harmless free samples provided by a woman in a supermarket. | [100% Chance of Catching: Ancient Curse.]
Sam looked suspiciously at the table of moon pies. She scanned each one, and they all had the same result.
“Is something the matter, sweetie?” the old woman asked. Her skin looked like sun-baked dirt, full of wrinkles. Her store uniform was a faded blue, of a different style than the other employees she had seen.
“Nah. Gimme a box of these.”
Sam went to the park with her box of cursed snacks. She sat on a bench, and opened one of them. Seagulls crowded the area around her feet.
Sam was a little taller than average, with clumsy feet and hands. She had messy brown hair and perpetually squinting eyes.
She broke off a piece, and tossed in the air. The seagulls fluttered up, snatching the crumbs from each other’s mouths.
The one that got the biggest piece was covered in flies and mosquitos by the time it landed. It dove into a nearby pond, then came up, picking bugs off with its beak. Other birds crowded around, eager to share in the feast.
The bugs kept coming, and the seagull tried flying away. Some of the other birds followed it, but most came back to Sam.
She threw another piece in the air.
One caught it in their mouth and promptly exploded, showering the air in feathers.
“Oh shit!”
A few minutes later, blind seagulls were walking around clumsily. There were three seagull dolls sitting on the path in front of Sam. And a few had simply disappeared.
“Okay, that’s enough.” She didn’t want to run out of birds for next time.
Sam went home and hid the moon pies in her secret spot in the cabinet, where she normally kept Oreos and other things her family would steal. Just in case, she also wrote a sticky note that said “Sam’s - do not eat”.
She took a shower. She had a little exploded seagull on her.
Sam’s sister Tammy heard the water cut on. Finally.
Tammy was nine years old. She had curly brown hair and spent a lot of time drawing ninja turtles.
She snuck into the kitchen and checked Sam’s secret spot. She never took more than a little bit. Sam would catch on that way. But it wasn’t fair that Sam got all the good stuff to herself.
Tammy took a bite of one of the moon pies.
The pie fell to the floor.
Thousands of miles away, inside a pyramid buried underground, Tammy screamed. Out of nowhere, it was dark, and she was scared.
After a few seconds, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She saw a faint blue light, and followed it.
It turned out to be a refrigerator. It was clean, white, and anachronistic, like Tom Cruise in the Last Samurai.
Tammy opened the door. The top shelf was filled with boxes of moon pies. The bottom half of the fridge had bottles of water. She took a few out, then closed the door.
When she opened it again, the fridge was full once more.
Tammy ate a moon pie with a worried look on her face. She was probably going to miss school Monday if they couldn’t find her. This was a real good news/bad news situation.
Sam walked into the kitchen, hair still drying. She saw the box lying in the floor. Her sister had disappeared, and could have been exploded or worse.
“Whatever. I left a note.”
______________________________________________________
39/365. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated. | Ever since Jerry developed the sensor, it had been in high demand. Clients ranging from restaurants to food distributors had booked his schedule asking him to test their stocks. And until he could overcome the manufacturing snag that was preventing production scale-up, he and his trusty prototype were left doing the footwork.
The alarm blared, flashing “6:30 am.” Jerry rubbed his eyes and reached for the reset button, knocking his sensor off of the nightstand. He picked it up, cursing the long day of testing ahead of him. At least he was getting paid well.
Sipping coffee, he checked his agenda. First stop was the LoGro farm store just around the corner. They wanted to validate a shipment of organic quinoa that had recently been shipped using a new eco-friendly preserving technique. Should be a standard check.
Before the caffeine had time to kick in, Jerry was waiting on the manager, Bertrand, to finish signing for the cruelty-free tofu. Pacing the aisles, he was approached by a girl wearing a beanie over stick-straight hair and carrying a try full of kale chips.
“Want to try a sample?” she asked, smiling.
“Sure, thanks,” said Jerry. He’d run out without breakfast.
After rapidly downing several chips, Jerry lazily aimed his sensor at the samples, thinking he’d give it a test run before starting the day’s real work.
“Ancient Curse, 100%”
Jerry stared at the screen for several seconds. His heart skipped a few beats before the scientist in him quickly restored order to his thoughts. Curses don’t exist. He aimed the sensor at the samples again and squeezed the trigger.
“Hammer Toe, 43%”
What the hell? He tried again.
“Plague of Locust, 12%”
Making his excuses, Jerry left the store and headed back to his lab. Years later he would recount this story to his niece, an aspiring chemistry graduate student.
“Always recalibrate your equipment, especially after a traumatic event like falling off of a nightstand. And remember, no matter how bad your results are, there are no such things as curses.” | 2018-02-08T23:30:01 | 2018-02-08T21:11:04 | 63 | 27 |
[WP] You are a vampire. If one of your victims isn't completely drained of blood, they reanimate as a newborn vampire, which by law, you are now responsible for. You have always carefully avoided this, until one morning you notice a sticky note on the door of your apartment: "I lived, bitch." | Alucard glared at the note, his eyes burning like hot coal in the darkness. A single pair of footprints snaked in through the gate to his property, rounded the frozen fountain, and made a U-turn on the porch before returning back through the snow-coated garden. The prints were smaller than a man's but larger than a child's. His nostrils flared as he took a measured step into the freezing night.
Like a chilling breath, Alucard drifted between the skeletal birches that clawed hungrily at the moon, leaving no trails in the virgin snow. Through the streets of sleeping London, like a shadow stretching between the houses, he became one with the night. As he passed by their windows, the citizens turned in their beds and pulled their blankets tighter, darkness and blood seeping into their dreams.
As the church clock struck twelve in the distance, Alucard stopped in front of a small townhouse by the side of the road. The wind howled in the nooks, crying out a shrill warning for the residents. The tip of his tongue whipped across his thin lips, revealing a glimmer of razor-sharp whiteness at the corner of his mouth.
With the sound of a gravedigger hacking his shovel into frozen soil, his knuckles hit the door twice.
The wind tugged at his hair as he hooked a dark lock behind his ear. No footsteps or heartbeat came from within the house. No rush of blood from someone roused from a deep slumber.
Pure silence.
Then the handle turned and the door creaked open. The pale face of a girl looked up at him, the pupils of her green eyes dilating at the sight.
"You found my note," she said, crossing her arms.
Alucard tilted his head to the side, a flicker of amusement touching his lips. "You've got some nerve."
"Well, you murdered me!"
"Can I come in?" He pushed past her, not waiting for a response.
The confidence drained out of her posture and face. "Wait. How?"
"You said it yourself, Abi. You're dead. This house belongs to no one." Alucard swept into the kitchen and melted into the shadows near the fridge.
Abigail slammed the door shut and hurried after the vampire. "Don't call me that."
"You liked it two nights ago," Alucard said, letting out an icy chuckle.
"That's..." She clenched her teeth and hugged her elbow. "That's beside the point! You said..."
"I know what I said." Alucard opened the fridge and started dumping the food onto the floor. "It doesn't matter now."
"It doesn't matter!?"
"That's right."
"You drained me and left me for dead! You said you were only going to take a sip!"
"I guess I was thirsty." He shrugged and closed the now empty fridge. "Soon you will be too."
"Hold up, okay?" Abigail said her face twisting under her blonde bangs. "I didn't ask for this. I'm not going to drink... *blood.*"
"That's entirely up to you. Most spawns perish within the first couple of days after they turn." Alucard sat down at the table and ran a sharp nail across its wooden surface. "You either drink... or you don't."
"Why did you come here?" she said, sourly.
"There's an ancient law that says I'm responsible for you now." Alucard leaned back in the chair and propped his feet up on the table. "So, I'm here to watch over you until you can stand on your own two legs or decide to waste away."
"So... you're like my guardian now?" Abigail said, narrowing her eyes. "You have to look after me?"
Alucard sighed and closed his eyes. He didn't like newborn vampires. They were always trouble. Always reckless.
"I'm supposed to teach you how to hunt, but if you're not interested in drinking blood, that'll be tough..."
He sniffed the air and opened his eyes again. "Abi?"
Only silence and darkness filled the room. Alucard cursed under his breath and flew out of the house and back into the chilling night. This was the exact reason for his careful feeding practices. He was too old to nanny unruly vampire children.
| ######[](#dropcap)
The small cough from the alleyway catches my attention. I flick the note to the ground and sigh, kicking away the small pebble at the entrance of my house. "You can come out now."
For a moment, there's nothing but the patter of the occasional raindrop dripping from the eave to the cobblestone below. Then a shuffling sound from the corner of the alley, and a girl appears. She's just twenty three, her skin deathly pale. But there's life in her eyes--a fiery determination as she stares at me.
"So you lived," I say simply.
She can barely stand on her shaky legs, no different from a newborn fawn. "That's right."
I sigh. This wasn't what I was interested in. There were those around me whose hobby was to collect humans--for harems or pets--but I lived alone. I'd been careful too. If it wasn't for that rat bastard that called me. Curse Azerrad. I would have to call on him in the next couple of days and kill him again.
Nothing too permanent. Just leave him dead long enough to get back at him for all the trouble I was about to go through.
I gave the girl a side eye. "Come on in."
She pauses, suspicious, then takes a step forward. This is going to take forever. But I've got nowhere to be. I haven't had obligations for the past five hundred years. I can wait.
It takes her nearly five minutes to walk the fifty yards from the corner of the alleyway to my apartment and another two to climb the flight of stairs. Stelian will have already prepared a bed for her upstairs after hearing our conversation downstairs. He's a nosy bastard, but it comes in handy at times like these. Although, it's impossible not to develop a bit of rapport after living together for a hundred years.
A low ring sounds at my waist. I bring the phone to my ear. "What is it?" Edmund is my official contact in case of reanimation. All of us are assigned a contact and a specialized phone, but mine has never rung until today.
My brows furrow at Edmund's rapid-fire speech coming from the other end. "What? Another reanimation? But I only took blood from a girl last night. One."
He's adamant.
Stelian walks down the stairs, then raises an eyebrow. I roll my eyes. Eavesdropping again. "I'll be back in a bit," I tell him, then shrug on my coat before opening the front door. A prickle runs up my spine. There's something strange afoot. That much was for sure.
"Good luck," he tells me.
***
r/AlannaWu | 2018-12-20T08:30:21 | 2018-12-20T08:16:55 | 130 | 46 |
[WP] You and your best friend made a pact to marry one another if both of you are still single at 30 years old. It is now time to fulfill that promise but over the years, your best friend became the leader of a notorious crime syndicate and you just got promoted... as the city's prosecuter. | "We're going to get married. You need to come now!" Rachel said, tying her hair in a knot.
"Okay, let me get dressed up. I'll come down in a second," Josh said and hung up. Ten minutes later, Rachel saw Josh coming walking out of his building wearing a black suit with a goofy smile on his face. It was obvious to her that he expected a compliment, but Rachel was already fuming.
"What is this? Why are you in a suit?" Rachel asked, trying to remain calm.
"I thought you said we are going to get married. Given that no sane guy is going to marry your ass anyway till you're 30, I thought we are fulfilling our pact tonight," Josh said.
"How wonderful!" Rachel shouted. "How could you think I'd marry a useless bloke like you, that too, now when I'm with David? Do you not never use the limited amount of brain cells you have?"
"Ah, I didn't think-" Josh said but was cut off when Rachel held up her hand.
"You never do, Josh. Go get dressed up in normal clothes. David's waiting for me at the altar and I cannot be late!"
"Okay. Just give me 2 minutes," Josh said, went back up to his apartment, and then came down after an hour to a fuming Rachel.
After three insults, and one playful kick to his shin, they were off. David and Rachel were married, and although they kept in touch for the next few years or so, Josh and Rachel rarely met anymore. Both were busy in their respective lives. Josh became the city's prosecutor by the time he was 29.
Rachel, on the other hand, got divorced and changed her career a couple of times till she became famous for being the leader of Anarcho- the criminal syndicate that ran the city. Josh always thought that Rachel was joking though about her career whenever she told him about her criminal escapades.
Throughout the years, they kept in touch, called each other to tell them every little detail about their lives, and slowly, as fate would have it- they were both thirty, single and ready to go on the date that they had promised each other.
It would've been just old friends meeting up they said. Josh didn't believe that Rachel was the leader of Anarcho. Rachel wholly believed that Josh was the city's prosecutor, and she knew that he was still her best friend all those years later.
She just needed to know whether Josh would give his old friend a pass or would he continue his legal trials against Anarcho. Josh, on the other hand, wasn't aware he was meeting with the leader of Anarcho despite her confessing that to him several times. Rachel was his best friend and he knew that the date he'd be going on was his last chance to make her fall in love with him.
\-----
r/abhisek
If there's enough interest, I'll write a part 2 (The date scene). Comment below if you want that! |
“David.”
“Sarah! You’re absolutely glowing! I’m so happy to see you, and to hear about your… Advancement.”
She knew this call would come one day. She’d made a promise. She just wished it was under better circumstances. A better day. With a better person.
“And you’re just as charismatic as I remember. It’s no wonder you’ve ‘advanced’ yourself. How’s the drug trafficking going? Or the slave trade? I hear it’s wonderful this time of year.” She did well to show her disdain for this… Human- if he could even be considered one anymore- staring at her through the screen. You couldn’t hide anything from David, so there was no point in trying.”
“Et tu, Sarah? I thought this call would be a happy one! An announcement of engagement! Or did we forget the promises from so long ago? We could do great things together. Many things...”
“Oh I remember fully, David. But do you really expect me to uphold the promise of a child? You know I can’t do that. Not with who you’ve become.”
“I expect your full cooperation. You’re my way in, my love. You see, if you don’t.. Then who’s going to protect you?”
“I can take care of myself, thank you.”
David let out a forceful laugh. “You poor, blind girl. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve paid off to stay away. The IEDs removed from your coupe. You’ve pissed off a lot of monsters, Sarah, but they’ve been kept from your cage for long enough. Time for it to be… Unlocked.” | 2020-08-25T08:51:21 | 2020-08-25T08:09:24 | 52 | 35 |
[WP] An alien parasite has taken up residence in your brain, but now they regret that decision, and you’re not letting them go any time soon. | *You will __not__ consume that.*
Glancing down at the cup I held in my hands, I whispered aggressively.
"Oh yeah? You know how to stop me."
*This is not __fair__ I __begged__ you to go enter stasis at sundown last cycle.*
"I had work to get done, and you decided to leave me hanging and peace out."
*You were not hanging from anywhere, and I take my stasis time very seriously.*
I shrug, and raise the cup of coffee to my face. Deeply inhaling the scent of roasted grounds sent a shiver down my spine.
"Don't do that, you know I hate that."
*You know that __I__ hate this infernal liquid. And yet here you are, threatening me with it.*
"If you were more cooperative I wouldn't have to threaten now would I?"
Another involuntary shiver runs down my back. I know that Frank is forcing the stimuli, probably with slimy tentacles or something. The imagery of a grey octopus spread across my brain sends a real shiver down my spine.
*That one wasn't me.*
I sigh inwardly, and raise the cup closer to my mouth. As I open my mouth to take a sip, I feel the foreign mind inside my head panic.
*Fine, fine! I'll scrub your brain! Please, just no more caffeine!*
A ghost shudder ran through the mind in mine.
*It took me days to recover last time you drank coffee.*
As I set the cup down I feel the sleep fog in my mind dissipate, like I had just awoken from a midsummer's nap.
"Thank you" I say under my breath as I stand up from the table, leaving my cup untouched on it.
*Please, just begin your stasis earlier tonight. I can't do this every day.*
I can feel another phantom shudder in my mind. Smiling as I walk to my first period class I focus on the mind in mine.
__I'll do my best, but I wouldn't have to be up so late if you remembered things for me.__
*How are you doing that? Why are you so loud?*
__I've been practicing.__
*No you haven't! I'm in your mind! I'd know if you were practicing!*
__What time did you enter stasis last night again?__
*I... I see...*
__So what do you think?__
*I think you're loud, and no I will not help you __cheat__ on your examinations! It is dishonorable!*
__And hitchhiking in my head isn't?__
*You agreed to be a part of the student transfer program!*
A sharp exhale through my nose accompanies my mental laugh. Frank's character had grown a lot from the strange foreign brain slug that he had been when I first allowed him access to my mind. He had grown a lot too, and it made me thankful that he sat on my shoulder in his containment mechoid instead of in my skull or sucking on my head. I don’t actually know how he would naturally integrate with me, but the artificial neural link is probably more pleasant for both of us.
*I'm __not__ a brain slug*, Frank said through the mind link, accompanying the verbal rebuttal with a physical pinch on my shoulder.
__You're my shoulder slug, and you're slimy.__
*You're my mobile coat hangar, and you're walking the wrong way.*
Sighing I quickly turn around and head back to the turn I missed. Deep in my mind, where I know Frank can't see, I allow myself to feel grateful for my adorable shoulder slug. | "KILL THEM ALL!!"
"No, shut up, I'm trying to study here."
"COLLECT THEIR BODIES, STUDY THEM!"
"Shut up dude, I have an exam in a few days and if I fail it, I'll be sure to punish you."
"PUNISH ME HOW FOOLISH HUMAN? HOW WOULD SUCH AN UNREMARKABLE EXAMPLE OF AN ALREADY PRIMITIVE SPECIES CAUSE ANY HARM TO ME?"
"I'll be sure to get the biggest serving of ice cream I can find and get the worst brain-freeze ever recorded in our "underdeveloped history"."
"YO-you wouldn't dare."
His highpitched voice was starting to shrink. His confidence - vanishing. He knew he had no power, but he didn't want to accept it. He was a mere guest in my brain, and even if I couldn't evict him, I could make his existence miserable.
*A few months later*
"That was bullshit!!! WE ARE NOT LIKE THAT AT ALL. We are not that savage, well not most of the time anyway. BUT that thing paints us in a bad light. I refuse to believe it!" said the tiny, high-pitched voice in my head. "I have never seen or heard about something like that." it added.
It was funny seeing it get riled up like that. Kind of cute too, in a way? It was perhaps starting to grow on me. Is that why they call humans incredibly adaptive? We could even adapt to a freaking parasyte living in our heads.
"It's not meant to be real..." I sighed and started to explain, for the 2nd time this week. "It's a movie, it's meant to be fictional."
"I SEE. it grumbled. And added the smallest "iknewthat" after it.
"Anyway let's watch ALF, and you tell me how close we got to something out there."
"Okay, but let's conquer your planet after that!!" it replied. The words themselves were chilling but the intentions behind them was lacking. That much was obvious after coexisting for a few months in the same brain.
It was even starting to enjoy itself. | 2022-03-03T08:16:50 | 2022-03-03T06:57:18 | 64 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone can become infinitely powerful if they so choose, however the more power you gain the less you remember about who you are and what you wanted. The greatest beings in the land have no feelings on anything and are more an extension of nature than the deity's they had hoped to become. | "I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds. All fall before my inevitability." The Dark Specter seemed to suck the light out of the room. The floor undulated in slow waves. The giant spoon and fork hanging on the wall wavered as their molecules drifted between dimensions.
Julia stared at the Specter impatiently. "Yes, hun, but did you remember to pick up the milk?"
"Life and Death are one. The warmth of Life and the cold of Death are partners in the long dance of reality." As a dark tendril touched it, the refrigerator swung open, revealing a full gallon of milk, pulled into sharp relief by the aura of black that covered everything else on the shelves. The label flipped between Chocolate and Two Percent, refusing to settle into a stable quantum state.
"How many times do I have to say it. Get the organic milk." As she reached in to grab the jug, the label flowed into a new form, with a giant O marking it's brand. "Ah, nevermind. This is the right one. Now, I don't suppose you could scale back the darkness a bit and vacuum the living room?"
"The ebb and flow of power is itself a power. The absence of substance is itself a substance." The Specter hovered.
Julia cleared her throat and tapped her foot, just staring at the darkness. The darkness retreated, drawing itself into nearly a solid form.
"Uh— the absence of substance is a vacuum. The ebb and flow of dust shall end." The Specter hoovered.
"Thank you, hun. Now, I'm going to be making my Shepard's Pie for dinner, so please stay out of the kitchen. I don't want the potatoes spontaneously spoiling or the chicken reviving itself. Why don't you watch the game?"
"The games of man are inconsequential next to the powers commanded by gods."
"It's Arsenal vs Man U."
The Specter shrank and solidified. It fell onto the sofa as gravity began to affect it. One last tendril of shade flew forth to stab the television on. The faintest hints of red and white began to show through the black shell.
By the end of the game, the figure on the sofa was nearly human. Only the face was still in darkness when the oven opened and the smell of dinner wafted into the room. The man got up to check out the cooking.
Julia smiles when she saw him. "Dinner's almost ready, hun. How was the game? They try to walk it in again?"
"It was a ludicrous display. Dinner smells good. Uh— sorry I haven't been myself much lately." The darkness retreated to his eyes as he leaned down to kiss her. He turned towards the table and paused. "Why are there three place settings?"
Julia answered over her shoulder as she turned back to the kitchen. "Don't you remember? My mom's coming to dinner. She's going to stay a few days."
Smoke billowed from behind her as darkness flowed to cover the man. The Specter answered. "I am become Death."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\] | The land, the forest, the trees. They sleep quietly, calmly. I move through the ground itself, tending to my kin, my children, my *people*. The rains have been heavy as of late; mushrooms are sprouting. The beauty is incomprehensible and I take in every moment.
Noise. Sudden. Sounds like... loud, continuous roaring, high pitched and aggressive; the growl of a wolf pales in comparison as this is far more unnatural, not a part of nature. I move closer to investigate, the moss rising slowly as I travel and weave my way around the healthy roots.
I see it. Him. A man, machine in his hand emitting the sound. He seems to have ill intent towards the trees; my suspicions are confirmed. His machine loudly bites into the bark and I hear the tree cry out in pain. I feel... anger.
I lightly move my finger - the motion is almost imperceptible. In an instant, the man is enveloped with vines and roots and barely has the time to utter a scream as he becomes completely enveloped and dragged into the ground. His hand, reaching out for help, is the last thing seen before he's completely sunken into the damp, cold dirt.
The tree is wounded. But it will heal. Nature always does. I move on.
Something catches my eye. A pond. I gaze into it, see... a face. It resembles that of the man, though it is noticeably different with the coarse, bark-like skin and black eyes. I stare at it for a moment and it stares back. It reminds me of... before. What was before? Before the forest? Before nature? What... was I? It matters not.
It only matters what I am now.
I am Nature. | 2022-01-27T09:27:14 | 2022-01-27T07:55:30 | 103 | 19 |
[WP] The emperor laughed and boasted to the human leader. "That was a fun war! Let me know when your soldiers come back alive." "...Are you saying your people do not die? Forever?" "Wait, what?" | The alien emperor shot the translator in the head, killing it instantly.
He gave an order and a new translator approached.
"Your majesty apologizes for that. The last translator was malfunctioning. He wishes to congratulate you on your victory and as is custom we will wait for your soldiers to come back so we can resume the war."
"They are bluffing." The marshal turns to face John, the resistance leader. "Sir, I know them, I have been fighting them for 13 years. They die just like us."
John turns to the emperor. "How long will it take for your full army to come back alive?"
"Another 6 years, we are already at 40%. He have the first wave ready. Of course since you are the victors we will wait for you."
The marshal steps forward to the emperor. "Can we see the first wave?"
The aliens seem confused for the first time.
The Marshal looks back to John and gives him a triumphant smile.
"Of course." The translator's english is perfect and doesn't seem disturbed by the dead body of his co-worker. "How long do you need to resume the war?"
"There will be no more war, we won." John hands a folder to the guard on his right. "Here are our demands. We expect you to fulfill them completely or we will resume the attack immediately. There will be no negotiations"
The guard inspects the folder and gives it to the translator who reads it aloud to the emperor who is growing increasingly annoyed and confused.
"What is this? You are breaking all customs and laws of warfare." The translator's words are monotonous, but the Akeri are known to be very fond of traditions.
"Let's calm down and take a seat."
At that moment the tall doors of the right hall open and the soldiers of the first wave start marching in.
John looks at his Marshal, his face is unchanged, but he is clutching his fists, they are turning white. He fought against the first wave as an infantry soldier and rose quickly through the ranks.
The marshal moved to his leader without turning his back. For the first time, John heard fear in his voice "It's them."
&#x200B;
This is my first time writing! Ever! So any and all feedback is welcome. Thank you for reading. | "Oh gods.... what have you done?!" The Emperor exclaimed, pointing one long, jeweled finger toward Hugh Manleader.
"What have I done?! You started this whole thing!" Hugh fired back petulantly.
"You send thousands of your own people to die because of an affront to your pride? What sort of monster are you?" Emperor Tolt said in horror, staring down at the man from his crystal throne. His guards looked between themselves and stirred, unable to retain their stoic demeanor in the knowledge of what stood before them. Hugh looked around hopelessly, searching the faces of everyone in the room for some hint at the joke.
"I- you- it's just what we do...." He sighed, just before the halberd of the nearest guard cleaved his head from his shoulders. | 2021-07-13T10:29:34 | 2021-07-13T10:16:16 | 391 | 59 |
[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed. | I was happy to know that I could get out of the office for a few months, especially from the constant bullying from my Boss, I thought it about high time I took a break from my work. I had no clue who had been arrested for the murders I committed either, so I was eager to find out. Especially after almost being caught in a police chase which coincidently drove me straight past my office building.
Luckily after seeing the face of the "killer" I didn't recognize him, but he did have similar looks to my boss which made it somewhat satisfying. After months passed of trials and many pieces of evidence that I recognized and had my heart skipping a beat at points. I had stayed fairly quiet around the other jurer's as I usually am at work anyway so I didn't seem to our of the ordinary.
We were discussing the final verdict of the killer and it was at 50/50 and the final verdict was on me to choose whether he goes down or not.
"Mr Flenderson?" Said the head of the dury, "what will it be." without hesitation I said guilty, and that was it. A huge rush of adrenaline came over me and I knew that I had gotten away with it.
After a few months of getting back to work and trying to get more friendly with my boss. The more he bullied me the more I kept thinking about the case and feeling guilty for what I had done. So I decided that I would go into the prison and visit him and tell him everything.
I knew this wouldn't be easy and that it may end up with me behind the bars, but I knew it as the only thing I could do. I was I a small brick room no bigger the 10m by 10m I the guard was to far away to be able to tell what was going on, he sat down in front of me, and immediately on the look on my face he knew what I was there for. He had the look in his eyes that made me know he we going to kill me, so I knew there was only one way out of it. I grabbed his hands and forced them around my throat. I knew that this could go one of two ways, he would kill me and I would never have to feel the guilt of the case or bullying of my boss ever again, or it would prove that he was definitely the killer and he would be put away for longer. He had his hands around my throat for no more then 40 seconds, even though I had a firm grip on his hands and putting a large amount of pressure on them he managed to pull away. My neck was aching with pain and the guard immediately came in and detained him.
The ambulance came and have had to put a neck brace on me. I guess its poetic really, The strangling of the Scranton Strangler... And no one will ever know | He thinks that man is me
He knew him at a glance!
That stranger he has found
This man could be my chance!
Why should I save his hide?
Why should I right this wrong
When I have come so far
And struggled for so long?
If I speak, I am condemned.
If I stay silent, I am damned!
I am the master of hundreds of workers.
They all look to me.
Can I abandon them?
How would they live
If I am not free?
If I speak, I am condemned.
If I stay silent, I am damned!
Who am I?
Can I condemn this man to slavery
Pretend I do not feel his agony
This innocent who bears my face
Who goes to judgement in my place
Who am I?
Can I conceal myself for evermore?
Pretend I'm not the man I was before?
And must my name until I die
Be no more than an alibi?
Must I lie?
How can I ever face my fellow men?
How can I ever face myself again?
My soul belongs to God, I know
I made that bargain long ago
He gave me hope when hope was gone
He gave me strength to journey on
[He appears in front of the court]
Who am I? Who am I?
I'm Jean Valjean! | 2018-09-11T20:16:58 | 2018-09-11T19:47:46 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy. | "Idiot fuk human design shit-tier spaceship get all Brogga friend kill't. End all. Stoopt fuk. E'ryon kno warp spacetime. E'ryon kno break litspeeding. E'ryon kno crate warm hole. E'ryon kno cut mass half. E'yron cept idiot fuk humans. Y d'sign dumb shit-tier drive can't fi'ure out nuttin'. Cant warp spacetime. Cant break litspeeding. Cant crate warm hole. Cant cut mass. 'Stead idiot fuk human burrow down subquark stangelet bullshit risk implode entire quadrant for fuk newmatter. Y? Too dumb, tha's y. Now Brogga stuk dumb idiot fuk human ship on oth'r side galactic spinward fr'home. Idiot fuk human get Brogga kill't, get Brogga friend kill't..."
The muttering was cut off by a bang, followed by curses unutterable by the tongues of men. Poor old Brogga had been clanking about underneath the hullward dash for the last three days, almost without a break, muttering the entire time.
Say what he would, Brogga was nothing short of a mechanical genius, being the only Broggan capable of working on the Subquark-plated external combustion Engine. It took a particularly pliable mind to make an external combustion engine work, particularly when one was compressing- and burning- pure vacuum. The only real downside was the slight chance of creating decay, but if that happened it wouldn't matter as the entire tanker would be destroyed within seconds. I supposed it would have mattered to the rest of the Universe, but Brogga wouldn't have cared for he would have been the first to go.
Well, okay, there was a second slight problem. See, by burning pure vacuum they wore away a little strip of the cosmos. It was so small that it probably didn't matter, and the Universe was expanding anyways, but certain routes did get more traffic and engines were getting more efficient all the time.
"Idiot fuk human shit design fuk"
More clattering and banging from underneath the hullward dash.
"Idiot fuk human, try now"
Brogga's curses were rewarded with a shuttering rumble as the external combustion engine roared to life.
"Well that's curious" Captain Froy remarked, staring in disbelief at the guages.
Normal external combustion engines were able to operate somewhere between 10,000% and 100,000% efficiency, and for every joule of vacuum energy burned 100% efficiency would yield 10 kilo-joules.
The digital display read 10^89 % efficiency.
"Brogga, I think this gauge is busted."
"Idiot fuk human replace it then. Brogga sleeps."
Then, with customary swagger Captain Froy shoved the throttle open and pulled out, easing back into his seat for a cozy nap. However, when Captain Froy awoke several hours later he was not where he expected. In fact, he was not sure where he was at all.
You see, Brogga had accidentally upgraded their engine. Nobody saw the display, but if they had, they would have seen Brogga, Froy, and the rest of the crew tearing ass across the Universe, ripping a cosmic-scale gash in the vacuum like God's holy zipper. Of course this hole rapidly closed up, but in the time it would normally take them to travel a few hundred lightyears they had soared clear of the "observable Universe" several times over.
In fact, they had traveled so far they weren't entirely sure how to get back.
Thus began the journey of Brogga and the idiot fuk humans who wasted 600 years of his life and destroyed his capacity to speak properly. | The Octo generational-carrier-ship hung over the blasted world. The only readings were the residual effects of the heavy radiation from the countless fusion bombs dropped on it.
A youngling pondered aloud "Why would we destroy a sentient species?"
"They broke the galaxy, youngling."
"How?"
The commander-elect thought to chastise the youngling, but the thought was fleeting. No disrespect (which must be upheld for the group as a whole) was detected. The commanders ship was one of the heaviest damaged, and breeding has been going full tilt ever since.
"Youngling" , it made the squishy alien equivalent of a sigh, "Let me tell you of the name that named us ‘Octos’, a race that must name everything."
"A species-that-names made it this far technologically?"
"Yes, driven by a fear of the unknown, they managed to form a rudimentary science and built their own FTL."
"Aren’t those usually insanely dangerous and only a purview of non-corporeals?"
The commander-elect paused, and allowed the younglings who had gathered to look upon the dead irradiated world.
"They thought they had built a telescope that could use subatomic particles to see systems at a different rate than the speed of light. They named all of these particles of course."
"How could they maintain so many names?"
"They couldn’t, with each new discovery changing names and making the system more and more convoluted."
After another introspective pause, “This species created this machine,” and it called up an imagine in 4D. It twisted and reformed, and looked like a churning bucket of broken mirrors.
“This machine had found the signal of an ancient artifact. We have ships heading there now…”
“This artifacts signal can be detected in every system, its signal is identical non-chronologically; Every known system hears an identical signal no what where they are in relation to the artifact.”
“We know about the artifact. Everyone does. So how could their detector-”
“They didn’t build a detector. They didn’t even build a *receiver*” a collective gasp visibly echoed in the viscous atmosphere.
The younglings quivered all 7 tentacles awaiting the next words.
“The creatures whom called themselves ‘People’ in 100’s of different words, these creatures built a transmitter.”
“And without a second thought, these creatures activated it.”
“So you see now, we had to end the possibly of transmission, before the old ones could reply.”
| 2017-03-31T12:19:53 | 2017-03-31T06:56:53 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] You have been told all your life that you have a rare medical condition. It means you need regular special meals that your family has lovingly prepared. You now find out that your "condition" actually requires fresh human flesh and your family have become serial killers to keep you alive. | Mommy says don't go into the basement. She says there are monsters down there, so I stay away from the door. I like the door, though, even though it is scary. I like to look at it from my high chair while I wait for mommy to feed me. She always comes from the basement before she feeds me, shes always covered in paint. She always smiles when she sees me and I smile when I see her, but I'm also smiling because the red paint means its time to eat!
Sometimes I hear another baby down stairs. I dont know why the other baby always cries - I hardly ever cry. I only cry when I'm hungry but I'm never hungry for long. And the other baby lives downstairs where the food is from! Mommy sometimes gets scary when the other baby cries too loud, but I dont mind the sound, I kind of like it!
This morning Mommy left the door open. I was cranky because I had been hungry for a really long time. I cried all morning, but the other baby didn't cry at all - the other baby was probably eating all of my food! The door was open and all of its shiny metal necklaces were hanging down and now I hear it - crying! Mommy must be taking the other baby's food away! Mommy is going to feed me!
I sit by my high chair for a long time waiting, but Mommy doesn't feed me. I just hear that baby crying from downstairs again, its really, really loud and when it quiets down it sounds different. The big metal door in the back yard just slammed - that was scary. I want Mommy but Mommy is downstairs. I go to the door and take a peek down the stairs - boy it sure is far.
There are so many stares and its so bright down at the bottom. So much red paint! And food! I can smell the food all the way from up here and I am so hungry! I am crawling down the stairs now, one at a time, until I reach the bottom. Mommy is here, but I don't see another baby. Shes sitting on the floor and making the Baby Noises, all covered in red paint. She looks at me but doesn't smile, but I smile at her! Its Mommy and she has food! She has it in her lap! Its all curly and squiggly and it looks funny all covered in the red paint that she didn't wash off yet. I'm so hungry, I don't want to wait for her to wash it!
Mommy has been dosing off - she wakes up every once in a while to make more baby noises, but I'm having too much fun! There is so much food in her lap, it doesn't seem to ever run out! I've been pulling handfuls of it out of her shirt - shes so silly to hide it here! Mommy is making popping noises with her mouth and there is paint dribbling down her chin. Mommy never told me you could eat the red paint too! So I pick up some of the big squiggly food and start chewing and the red paint isn't red paint at all! Its saucy! Its like giant spaghetti! I cant keep my giggles in and mommy starts to get quieter.
Someone is knocking on the door now, upstairs. Mommy fell asleep a while ago but I'm still eating, there is so much food! I hear shouting now, lots of feet, maybe people are coming over for a party? I don't mind. I just keep eating.
When the big man in the blue shirt took me away from Mommy, she didn't even wake up. He was so nice until I spit up on him, then he got all white and spit up too. I dont know where they are taking me now, but its okay. I'm so full, I think I'll take a nap. Maybe when I wake up Mommy will give me some more of that giant spaghetti. | Perhaps I always knew, but I simply chose to ignore. Maybe even deep down I enjoyed it. Envied them for being able to do what I had dreamed about for so many long nights. The screams which had eventually terrified me were now something I looked forward to each night. But I wasn't ever sure if they were dreams or reality.
What I found even more intriguing was how you both hid it from me all these years, so diligently going about your daily lives, as though everything was fine. But it wasn't ever the same, was it? This facade that made me believe I was normal...yet something was always missing. I always wondered why the food at my high school cafeteria made me throw up. Why the flesh of other animals was never the same as that which was prepared for me at home. Why people seemed to hate me, just for existing. Why I lost friends as easily as I made them. Why I felt so alone, even though I had the two of you.
Perhaps I had chosen to block it from my memory, but I remember that night now. Karen was the last friend I had in kindergarten. We'd play house together everyday. The tea and biscuits she made were like thorns on a rose. So badly did I wish to grasp the rose, if only for just a moment, that I was ready to pierce myself with as many thorns as need be. I hadn't eaten the meat in a few days. Maybe I had already realized back then. Every time you'd bring me food, I'd say, "I'm not hungry." Of course, you both were worried. Then I came down with a fever. Karen stopped coming over. I lost another friend and so loneliness and hunger got the better of me.
You both knew what was going to happen. How this was all eventually going to end? Yet that didn't stop you both. Hah, maybe the routine had hit hard. Now it was all just like grabbing a morning cup of coffee. And those screams I dreamed of were more real then anything you ever said to my face.
But as I lie here between your rotting corpses, I realize. You wanted me to live, no matter the cost. I guess that's what parents do. From the moment I was born, your lives were no longer yours. I am now truly alone. But I shall survive. Your last sacrifice will not have been in vain. If the world chooses to hate me, then I shall show them what true hatred really is like, for I have nothing to lose. Now, it's my turn to survive and for the first time I can truly say, "I am hungry." | 2019-03-13T08:27:19 | 2019-03-13T07:36:21 | 58 | 23 |
[WP] An adventurer reaches the end of an epic quest only to be presented with two options; he may keep his life or learn the truth. | Deep breath, in and out. In and out. Tucker was covered in blood. Some his own, most his enemy’s. It had been a long time coming. After the king had murdered Tucker’s family and left him to die in a pool of his own blood 20 years ago Tucker had sworn vengeance. After finally gathering enough support he was at the front of the rebellion. And now, here he stood, sword buried in the man’s chest.
“Good,” a voice came from across the darkened room. “I always knew that you could do it. You were the only one that could do it.” It was the wizard who had put Tucker on this path after the death of his family. But what had once been an old man with long gray hair and an equally long beard was now a young man in his mid-twenties.
“Wizard, how did you get here? Why didn’t you help me?” Sweat dripped off of Tucker’s forehead. The battle certainly would have been easier with the help of a mage.
“It was not my battle to fight. Of course I could have won, but it was your story, not mine.” Now gone were the stately robes the wizard had originally worn, replaced by a shirt with sleeves shorn off, and archaic writing scribbled on it. “In fact, that’s what I’m here to talk with you about. Your story. Your reward.”
“Thank you wizard, but slaying this evil was reward enough.”
“Ha ha,” it was an emotionless laugh that burst from the wizard. “Yes, I should have expected that. No, I’m giving you a choice: you may keep your life, go home, wed again, start a family anew… or you may know the truth.”
“The truth? You were always cryptic but this makes no sense.” Tucker shifted uncomfortably, his armor seeming to weigh even heavier now.
“That’s all there is to it, I’m actually giving you a choice on this. Not many people get this opportunity,” the wizard smiled a little. “You’ve grown so much since we first began this journey a few weeks back.”
Surely the wizard meant years. “A family would be amazing, but my heart truly lies with those who have been slain.”
“See, when I first met you, I never would have thought you would say that! Such big changes you’ve experienced, I’ve been happy to take this journey with you.” The wizard waved a hand, a desk with a pile of papers appeared upon it. “So the truth then?”
“Yes,” Tucker said, the sword fell at his side and clattered on the floor.
“Well, normally I try not to go meta, far too difficult. But I wanted a challenge this time. Something I’d never done. Just to get me writing again, a quick way to get the creative juices flowing.” Tucker had approached the table, hands barely touching the paper.
“This… this is my story,” Tucker said, barely audible.
“Yes, a work of fiction.” The wizard sighed. This was surprisingly more difficult than he would have imagined. “But you’ve grown so much since when we started. I hadn’t even originally planned on finishing this story. It was simply supposed to get me writing and then I would apply myself elsewhere.”
“So the death of my family? It was—”
“That’s right. Character development. I needed something to get you to rise up. Use all that experience I’d given you.” The wizard had magicked up a chair and now sat in it, one leg resting on the other as he leaned forward slightly. “It wasn’t easy to do. But, the decisions that you made afterward. You became the most real character that I’ve ever written. It physically pained me to continue to cause you harm. But it made you stronger, it made your character better. So what do you think?”
“I believe… I believe that I understand.” A deep, cracking sigh escaped Tucker. “This, nearly borders on literature. Something beautiful.”
“Yes! Yes. And this part, I needed you to understand.” The wizard had risen. “To truly be as great a hero as you are you needed to recognize your sacrifices.” The wizard had returned to his original stately self, beard and all. “And that is why this pains me, but gives me an amazing sequel.” Tucker turned towards the man. “Now you must die here.” A bolt of lightning escaped the wizard’s hand and struck Tucker, blowing him backwards. After a moment of confusion Tucker scrambled, amazingly, his hand coming to rest on his sword. With a quick movement he turned and threw the magically blessed sword at the wizard and struck him fully in the chest. For a few moments the man flickered between wise wizard and the young man.
“I didn’t see that coming. I suppose it truly is a better ending this way.” | "BULLSHIT. Oh my god, such bullshit. You're railroading the whole campaign!"
The halfing rogue of the dungeoneering party threw down his bag of Doritos in disgust, knocking a few painted miniatures and some dice down from the table. The other party members groaned, and the elven sorcerer took a long sip of orange Fanta while the cleric re-arranged the pieces so they sat in their proper squares again. The dungeon master sat back in his chair, scratching at the bald spot on the back of his head. He looked exhausted.
"We are all level NINTEEN," continued the rogue, and the orc fighter sitting beside him nodded in agreement. "and you wrote this donkey-dick campaign that we've been questing in for weeks only to have us be killed off? What the fuck happened to starting a religion? I thought we talked about that, Mark!"
The dungeon master tensely flipped through his binder of character sheets. "I'm not Mark right now, I'm the leader of the cult you're trying to eliminate. If you forgot his name I can write it down on a Post-It note."
"We don't have to die," offered the cleric, pushing up his glasses. "I mean, he gave us a choice."
"Then what was the point of even doing this side quest? To loot the dungeon for some shitty gauntlets, Erica?
The sorcerer looked down guiltily, tapping her pencil on the table. "I thought they were really cool. +3 dex modifier."
"Yeah, okay. Whatever." The halfing stood up from the kitchen table, jostling the players' pieces again as he stomped to the fridge to grab another soda. He snapped open the lid with a sort of ferocity that only a man who had been in a dungeon for roughly a week could muster. "You know what? Just fucking kill my guy, I don't give a fuck. I'll write a whole new backstory and re-roll a paladin or some shit and then we can just move the fuck on from this."
Mark rose as the offending rogue sat back down at the table, removing the paper divider between him and the rest of the table. "You know what?" He threw a d20 down with precision anger. "Yeah, great! A natural 20. You decide you want to learn the truth and you fucking die, and you know what the truth is, Jake? You're a fucking asshole! Now no one else has to start over. Way to take one for the team."
"Fuck you," Jake scowled, taking a long drink. "Okay fuck you, fuck everyone else, and fuck this campaign! I'm done!" His chair was pushed out and he stood, slamming the soda down and spraying blots of Mountain Dew across the table. Angrily, he grabbed his bag of dice, a fistful of his tokens and miniatures and his coat. "If you decide to cast a resurrection spell on me, don't expect me to come back from the dead! You'd have to roll a nat 100 if you wanted me to ever come back to this dump!"
The front door slammed shut, and the rest of the party members blinked, still a bit numb from the whole siutation. After a pause, Ericka turned to Mark inquisitively.
"So...if we leave, I still keep the gauntlets, right?" | 2014-10-22T11:31:11 | 2014-10-22T10:59:43 | 57 | 18 |
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