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[WP] The body snatchers have replaced your family so they can observe human society. At dinner one of them makes an awkward mistake that should reveal everything. They watch you carefully, but you don't say a thing about it. After living with those jerks for years the aliens have been a joy. | It’s not that I didn’t care for my family, it’s just my parents had always been the type to believe in the nature over nurture business. And to them that meant that they could send me out onto city streets to play without supervision. I don’t really think the concrete jungle really counts as nature.
My sisters weren’t that different of a story either. So, when they all changed I didn’t really mind.
It was my oldest sisters Allie’s birthday when I first noticed the difference.
“Daddy, don’t you think I deserve my own room?”
Ally gave big puppy dog eyes to my father who was busy stuffing his face with cake. She tried again looking over to my mom whom gave a skeptical look. She nudged Jess to help her out. The two had been reluctant roommates ever since I was born and the two couldn’t be more different. Jess shrugged at Ally as she gave her the death stare. Apathetic as usual.
I sliced a piece of somewhat messily frosted chocolate cake to try to give to Allie. I had made it myself, from the box but I was still pretty proud. It was an impressive enough feat for a 12 year old. I had even managed to write a pretty enough looking ‘Happy Birthday Allison’. On I, I even was able to dot it with a little flower. The whole thing, including some cheap metal nibs earned from nabbing loose change from the house and looking on the floors of the local arcade.
“It’s not like Jess would bother Becca. Jess is usually holed up in her room and Becca is out who knows where. It’s perfect!”
I sat the piece of cake in front of Allie. All night she hadn’t said a word about it, but my kid brain thought a corner slice which I had bravely defended from Dad’s hungry gaze would help my 18 year old sister to notice. I mean corner prices were always her favorite.
I remember waiting for her to say something to me. If she had just asked me about the room I probably would have given it too her. If she had said ‘this cake is delicious’ I probably would have given it to her too.
And that’s when Jess noticed. She
had a piece of cake in front of her she had barely eaten. Her fork was still clean. And yet suddenly, she jumped slightly only I noticing as she looked around the room at my father and chose to take a bite. And then another and then another. And then she said louder than I thought was possible to escape her mouth.
“This cake is delicious!” I smiled to myself, looking down proudly at what I had made. I waited for mom to say something. It’s only box cake- anyone could have made it.
And yet she didn’t. Instead she turned, looked at my Father who had been nodding in agreement as he continued to stuff his face, and began to do the same.
“This stuff is delicious!” She exclaimed.
I beamed, blinded by my Mom’s excitement. But when I looked at Allie she looked exasperated.
Allie exclaimed “ What are you-“
She cut off and began to look down at the piece of cake I had given her. Looking around just as everyone else had, she took a bite.
Somehow it still was a surprise when she said “This is delicious!”
I jumped out of my chair then, and grabbed Allie in as big a hug as my tiny arms could give.
“You can have my room Allie!”
She looked down, I’m sure confused at first at the final family member left to possess. Giving her such warmth and excitement and offering something she did not care about.
Her voice was gentle, not loud or demanding like Allie’s usually was.
“Who made the cake?“
“I did!” I said happier than I had ever been.
She sat me back down with a smile and looked back down at the cake. It was almost eaten except for two words.
“Happy Birthday!” She said to me, mirroring my bright naive smile. Everyone was smiling at me, their eyes fully attentive for the first time in my entire life.
I didn’t feel scared somehow, and maybe that was on purpose. Some sort of magic or science like they kind that took my family. But somehow, despite how much it tears me up inside to say it, I don’t think it was. | Dear Diary: I shouldn’t be discussing this. They might find out. I’ll do it anyway, because I just need to write this down. I’m going mad. This happened a few weeks back.
I walked in on my family, like usual, for dinner. Mom says “Hey, Gregory, can you tell… uhhh..”
“Tell who mom?”
“Him.” and points at me. The fuck? Mom apparently forgot my name. As a joke, I said “Do you not know my name?” in a sarcastic tone. The eerie silence told me everything. I let one more line of dialogue go, “Do you, Mom?” I could see them all sweating.
As soon as I knew what was going on, I hid it. “Mikey, that ring a bell?”, “Ohh, sorry sweetie Mikey! You know I get in a lot of paperwork, so things just aren’t going so swell for me..” I get as a reply. Bullshit, I’m pretty sure everybody around me was in on her bit.
A few nights ago I walked into my brothers room. “Hey, you remember when Mom couldn’t remember my name?” His grin noticeably faltered. “Oh, yeah, that incident. Sorry for being so silent about it.” Hm? An odd thing to say, so I repeated with the same joke as before, “I’m guessing you don’t know my name either, haha.” …
Silence and sweat could only describe the room I was in. “Come on, Greg, it was 2 weeks back, and I’m pretty sure you’ve heard my name before at Wednesday, why are you so quiet?”
“Don’t sweat it, Jacob.”
“… That’s not my name.” Fucking caught him in the act. My own brother, fails the same test my mother faced. He even had insight beforehand. Is he really that forgetful? Did all of my family get dementia overnight? Christ.
“Oh— fuck it, what is your name?”
“Mikey, or Micheal.”, “Oh, right, I’m a bitch.”
… It’s finally time I say it. “Is there something I don’t know going on in the family? Why.. don’t you know my name? What? Am I being haunted by ghosts? Aliens? Shy Guys? Just, answer me, Greg. What the fucks gone on?”
Silence filled the room. Greg, or, supposedly Greg, was forcing a smile. He definitely gives off the vibes of “Oh fuck, he knows.”
“Silence speaks a thousand words.” I told him that. “No, wait, I can explain.”
“Then explain.” Silence yet again.
I left the room without saying anything. At night, Gregory now checks on me, same time, same second. My family’s become a lot more social now.
They want me to forget. No chance in hell. If one of you are reading this…
What did you do with my real family? | 2022-08-22T22:41:18 | 2022-08-22T21:23:06 | 36 | 20 |
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid. | Sleet poured down outside. It was a dreadful night, but after a hard week even the weather wouldn't stop the working men of Lareton from enjoying a drink. The tavern itself was warm enough, the beer had only a little water, and the stew was hot. What more could one ask after a long week? Oh that's right, a little fun!
"The Dark Lord," I shouted, "Should stop trying so hard! He'll never be the man his *MOTHER* is!" The patrons around me guffawed with laughter. The men needed a good laugh, and it was an easy crowd. Unfortunately, a drunkard at a different table decided to give it a go.
"The Dark Lord is so stupid," the fat peasant slurred as he stood up, "that he makes Brody look smart!" He pointed to the innkeeper's mute child. The joke fell flat on the room since everybody liked the sweet and generous boy. Sure he hadn't spoken since seeing his mother brutally tortured and killed, but he was always making sure the other kids were looked after and didn't go hungry. It was my fault that he was mute. My henchmen who mistook his mother for her traitorous sister. Nothing can really make up for that so when I wanted to be just me I picked this bar. His dad could use the cash.
I smiled and weaved my way over to the fat one with poor humor and put my arm around his shoulders. "Leave the jokes to the professionals. I know EVERY Dark Lord joke ever made!" I really did. I have a collector whose job it is to find out these things. "The Dark Lord's family tree" I announced as I walked the drunkard to the door and politely pushed him out of it, "Must have been a cactus. Because how else would it produce such a PRICK?!" Laughter ignited again throughout the room.
The jokes and banter continued for several minutes, but even residual chuckles died away as the door slammed open. A hooded figure stepped in out of the night. He stared at everyone from under the hood of his cloak, "What. IS. This?!" His sinister voice seemed to cut through the tavern. The bouncer began to rise, but the intruder's sword was drawn and placed against his throat in the blink of an eye. Everyone stood very still. The intruder lowered his sword from the bouncer but did not sheath it as he began to stalk around the room. He examined every patron as he spoke, "A fat peasant told me that someone in this tavern was besmirching the good name of my Master - Lord Algrim."
When he spoke the Dark Lord's name and claimed that man as his master, the tavern went from quiet to deathly silent. Brave men suddenly stared into their cups or focused on something at their feet. No heads were up, and no eyes met those of the intruder. Except mine. He walked over to me and spoke again, "The description he gave me was of you, old man. You dare to speak so boldly against the Master?"
"Who, exactly, are you?" I asked. I have been around many years and done a little teaching here and there, but I have a good eye for faces. His was not one I had seen before. Ever.
"I am the Dark Lord's Apprentice." he whispered fiercely, "And you *will* show respect to my master." His face was young now that I could see under the hood. Just a boy, really, and clearly an idiotic one at that.
"Alright," I said. Perhaps the wine was making me feel indulgent. "We were just having a bit of fun. No need to get all upset about it. I'm sure the Dark Lord would understand peasants blowing off some steam. Let me buy you a drink."
The young man took a step back and spoke loudly enough that the whole room could hear, "Nobody speaks in such a manner about my master and lives. On your knees, dog, and if you beg I *might* dispatch you quickly."
Bloody hell. My one night off and this moron has to ruin it. Option 1, I let him think he's killed me. A little stabbing won't do more than ruin my shirt and be slightly inconvenient. On the other hand, I won't be able to show this face in town again without being resurrected somehow. Option 2, I kill him first. On the other hand, everyone will know who I am if I do that. Evil sorcery is a bit obvious. Option 3... I took too long pondering the options and the idiot was trying to stab me. Well at least that makes the decision easy. With a wave of my hand I broke both his legs and the arm holding the sword. He can keep the other arm so that none of my guards have to waste time feeding him while we question him.
As the young man lay screaming on the ground, and the patrons around stared at me in horror I sighed. Little Brody would probably never speak again at this rate. "Idiot" I snarled at the imposter. Looking up at the other patrons, I dropped my peasant disguise. "This imposter," I muffled his screams with my magic so that I could be heard, "This imposter thought he could use my name to commit crimes. I may be a dark lord, but this is MY kingdom! Crime of any sort must be sanctioned by ME, and ME ALONE! If any of you fools, having seen this, think that you can claim my protection to do as you like, I encourage you to come by the palace gates next week. I'll have them hang what's left of this idiot out for the birds."
Floating the imposter along behind me I vanished into a cloud of smoke. I took the imposter to the dungeons and gave the torturers very specific instructions about how to handle him. As I climbed the stairs to my chambers, I yawned and sighed at the thought of my half-drunk beer. *Wait a minute*, I thought to myself, *I never paid my tab!* A brief effort brought up just enough of a smoky portal that I could reach my arm through and drop a gold coin on the bar in front of Brody's father. I always tip well. | Her eyes were like rubies ablaze.
"Stop insulting the Dark Lord," she said from beneath a black hood, "or I'll make sure you'll never speak again."
Spunky. He liked it.
"Oh yeah?" the Dark Lord teased. "How are you gonna do that? I bet you've never even met the guy."
The girl brought her hood down, revealing hair as fiery as her eyes. "Maybe now you'll reconsider your actions."
He burst into laughter. What was she doing?
"Am I supposed to be impressed? No, wait. Intimidated? Now I'm positive you've never met the Dark Lord. He wouldn't take in somebody as young as you. Do you even have a wand, girl?"
Then, his curiosity was piqued, as the girl pulled out a coffee colored piece of wood.
"I'll give you one last chance," she warned. "I've been studying under him for months now. I can suture your mouth shut or burn your lips together. Take back what you've said against the Lord."
The Dark Lord, interested to see if she really could do those things, a girl so young, decided to test her.
"The Dark Lord," he began, "is a hack. A troll. He is nothing more than a con-artist. He can't even cast spells, that's why he has all his little followers do his work for him. He hides away in a cave, like a scared baby bear, afraid of society. In fact, I've heard the tale of a woman who once saw him. She found him so ugly she---"
The sound of a zipper traveled through the air. It lilted and drifted aimlessly until it landed upon his lips.
"I warned you," the fiery girl said with a sigh. "Don't leave the tavern, I'll remove the seal in an hour. During that time I want you to think about your actions."
Wow! Amazing! Incredible! Awesome!
How could she do that? So young! So powerful! The Dark Lord smiled as the girl put her hood back on and marched away. Of course, her magic wasn't strong enough to truly stop him from talking, but still, he could feel it on him, the raw and unrefined potential.
Either whoever was training this girl was very good, or, more likely, the girl herself was very special. Thousands of wizards pretended to be the Dark Lord to gather a following, but this was the first time one of those followers showed promise.
An hour passed and the girl returned. The Dark Lord watched as she approached, and then he let out a giant, toothy grin. The girl realized what she was seeing; her magic had been dispelled.
One last test.
Without a wand, without an incantation, without any mana, the Dark Lord cast that same Silence spell on the girl. The entire tavern watched as the spell drifted in the air unpredictably, like a falling leaf. Nobody knew when it would strike, when it would escape from its ennui and finally latch onto the girl. Only the caster had that knowledge.
Or, at least, that was supposed to be the case. As soon at the spell gained conviction and charged towards the girl she stepped aside, letting it just graze her cheek. It slammed into the ceiling and some dust shook down.
She passed. Wow! So young, and can already sense the magical intentions of a spell. He was not going to let this get away from him.
He stood up from his seat, and with all of the tavern's eyes on him he wiped away the fake face he had on.
Chaos erupted.
People knocked over chairs in a frenzy to the exit, women screamed their heads off, and the barkeep reached under the counter for his staff. Everyone was going crazy except the redhead girl standing in front of him, stars in her eyes like she had just met Santa.
But it was too loud. He could barely hear his own thoughts.
So, the Dark Lord held a finger to his mouth. Shhh. Suddenly all the screaming stopped and all the people froze in place. Chairs, sideways and in the air, were suspended there. On the tip of the barkeep's staff a fireball was starting to form; it just kept swirling in place, never fully actualizing. A waterfall of beer was flowing out of a tipped mug, never reaching the ground. Nothing in the tavern could move unless he wanted it to.
And then, the girl took a step forward.
He held out his hand.
"What's your name, girl?"
"Amber. Just Amber, never got a family name."
A perfect name for a girl so red.
"Well, Amber," he said, taking her hand in his, "you can stop going to that fake Dark Lord you've been training under. From now on you are my pupil. You're going to become something you've never dreamed of, I promise you."
Tears swelled in her eyes and she couldn't talk, just nodded. He had never seen such pure happiness before. Amber wrapped her arms around him and gave him his first hug.
And, for a brief moment in time, just half a second, the Dark Lord became one shade lighter. | 2022-01-14T15:38:28 | 2022-01-14T15:36:02 | 2,794 | 713 |
[WP]using his last wish to free the genie he was led to a well hidden cave. Upon removing a boulder blocking the entrance the genie said “thank you for using your last wish, here are some more, just promise me you’ll do the same for them”. Left Inside the cave we’re thousands of glistening lamps. | "I wish you were free my friend."
"Thank you!" he snapped his fingers and appeared in front of me as a normal human man. We were suddenly transported to a cave that he easily moved a boulder from the front of it. Inside the cave was a glowing light.
I saw the odd shape at the end of the cave... it appeared to be lumpy. I walked in and turned to look at Leroy, my Djin friend, "Is this safe?"
He pondered my question, "Define safe. We could leave now, and I would put the stone back. but, they would still be trapped."
"They who?
"It's safe for you to go look, if that's what you are asking. " He smiled for a moment. "I believe you know what I am asking."
My eyes adjusted and I realized there were hundreds of lamps (if not more) in this cave. I walked to the closest one and picked it up. It looked similar to Leroy's former home, but slightly different, as I glanced at others at my feet, they were all slightly different from each other. I walked over to Leroy.
"Genie?" pointing at the lamp, "Genies? Ginea?" as I pointed to the others.
"Genies, in plural. My brothers and sisters, captured over the centuries in this dimension. I believe you know what to do."
I rubbed the lamp. Just like with Leroy, the smoke came out, but it was a female of Leroy's species.
"Who has woken me from my slumber? " She surveyed the room and turned to look at Leroy. "YOU!"
"NOW, NOW Melody, I can explain." Leroy looked flabbergasted. He possibly didn't expect this to be the first freed.
"Who are you mortal, and why are you with *him?"* She didn't look back at him. "I will grant you three wishes then my lamp will disappear, you obviously know the drill. No asking for Love, no asking for more wishes, although... I believe you have almost unlimited wishes here. Why are WE here?"
"I wish to free you"
"That's your FIRST wish?" She looked shocked.
"Leroy took care of the others. I'm good."
"He has been freed as well."
"Granted" she snapped her fingers and she appeared in similar dress as Leroy, a nice snappy business suit with sensible shoes, a briefcase at her side. "Now what do we do?"
"I told you, Leroy took care of me. I'm good. Now I am helping the rest of you. I'd ask for some food and drink, but maybe I'll ask this guy or gal here." I pick up the next lamp and give it a rub.
" Who are you mortal you have freed me from the lamp... Oh Hey Leroy and Melody, " he paused and looked back at me, then to them. "You finally found a good one."
"Hi, I hope so. I hate to ask this first wish, but I was short sighted and didn't bring food and drink, or a more comfortable shelter here. it's going to take a while to free you all. Please don't be offended, but would you please bring food and drink for us?"
"You gotta say the 'I wish' part", he winked at me.
"I wish"
"Your wish is my command!" and there was a table filled with food and drink, even an ice bucket and some bedding. "What is your next wish?"
"I wish you were free."
"You've got another one coming... you sure you want to do that?"
'I do. Leroy took care of me." Leroy nodded.
"I think I have a long night ahead. You should all catch up" I picked up the next lamp. | It was fun; running around in our wild adventure, just the genie and me, getting p to who knows what with the wish always there to bail us out. And really; I liked the guy. Funny, a little eccentric at times but I chalked that up to 1000 years of solitude in a dented lamp.
However; those times were meant to be once in a life time; god I did not want to go over Niagara Falls on a flying carpet again (the spray clung to me like a drowning cat, I came out like an icicle after). And yet there was a nagging feeling throbbing at the back of my head; one telling me to do something. That or the gold champagne had finally caught up when me.
So, as I stood in the entrance, casting my long dark shadow across the thousands of glinting metal lights, I made a plan. The tantalising taste of beckoned my feet to take a small step into the we’ll start air, greed pushing me to take another. This-this would be fun.
~
Cops pulled around either side of an old shabby house located on the corner of Main street, Manhattan. It didn’t look like much, walls sinking and sagging at the seams; only just tall enough to be considered 3 story. Police poured I to the area, guns ready to unleash hell on whatever moved within their sights.
“COME OUT! WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED!”
Inside a young man stirred awake, lifting his tired body up and stretching with several satisfying pops heard. He plodded over to the window, noticing how the birds had stopped singing and the air tasted foul with apprehension. He peeled away an old curtain, small layers la dust effortlessly gliding towards the ground with the slightest disturbance.
They were here already. Interesting.
As the man meandered downstairs, he grabbed a jointing metal pot near the door, rubbing it slightly as if to wipe off some microscopic dirt on the emasculate surface. Suddenly, blue smoke billowed from the spout, pooling around him and collecting together to create a life form few had ever seen.
“Okay, your time to shine, sorry you were the last one. Please could you make them out there forget I exists, then you are free to go—as in your free,” the figure nodded eagerly, lips drawn into a wordless smile, “good; now I’m going back to be. Night!” And with that the ban store out the room, leaving an utterly confused yet excited genie to complete her tasks. | 2020-09-24T18:04:41 | 2020-09-24T18:00:31 | 805 | 99 |
[WP] “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.” | “Don’t get too comfortable, kid,” said the Captain. “Most people who sit in that seat don’t stay long.”
I’d met guys like him before. Think they are bad asses because they used to fly in the military. They have a chip on their shoulder for guys like me who never served. The only way a civilian learns to fly is if their family has money. Mine did. Then the Feds came pounding on the door of my father’s firm. Now he is at home with an ankle bracelet and I’m a copilot for a Cheap Ass Airline on the route from Chicago to San Francisco. “Nice to meet you too, Captain Marcus,” I said with a smirk.
I expected him to keep busting my balls, but he just looked sad. “You’ll see.”
We still had time before preflight, so I went back to the cabin to help welcome the passengers. Okay, I’ll be honest. I was there to be with Sherry. She was one of those Flight Attendants you saw in old movies where they were still called Stewardesses. She had curves that stood out even under the dowdy Cheap Ass uniform. Since we would be flying together on a regular basis, I defiantly wanted to get to know her on layovers.
As the passengers filed in, I stepped out of the cockpit beside her. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Brad. The new copilot.”
“Oh, hi,” she said distractedly.
That wasn’t the response I hoped for, so I upped my game. I leaned in close. “Excuse me, ma’am. Do you know if there is a lot of turbulence on this flight?”
She turned to me. “Well aren’t you the eager beaver. Don’t get your hopes up. Copilots come and go on this route.”
“I like to stick around until the job is done,” I said with my best sly smile.
“Great, kid,” she said walking off to help a mother and her baby stash their luggage into the overhead bin. The child held onto a plush blue bear. “Don’t get cocky.” I love a girl that quotes Star Wars.
Back on the flight deck, Captain Marcus and I methodically went over the preflight. He did it mechanically, as if every step were like walking through mud. I tried to lighten the mood. “So that Sherry, she’s quite a looker.”
He looked at me, again with a sense of sadness. “They all go away, kid. They all go away.” Jesh. I’ve had my problems with women too, but no reason to be such a sad bastard about it.
After what seemed like forever we got clearance from the tower and the big engines of the old plane pushed us off toward San Francisco. Captain Marcus didn’t say a word. Frankly, I was glad for sound of the engines over his smug old ass. As we crossed over Nevada, I finally had enough. “All right, man. What is your fucking deal? Did I offend you somehow? Yes, my dad is a crook, but that isn’t me. I didn’t break any laws. I didn’t know those kids were being abused.”
He just looked straight ahead and closed his eyes. Then the plane began to shake. The engines roared. The passengers screamed. Masks dropped out of the overhead compartments. A white light began to fill inside my head. I opened my eyes and all I could see was white light.
When I opened them again we were on the decent path for San Francisco. “What the hell was that?” I asked.
“They hardly ever get anyone in the cockpit,” he said looking down. “Something in here is different. Sometimes we remember.”
“Who?” I asked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’ll see,” he said.
The gangway attached and passengers began filing out. I looked around for Sherry, but she was nowhere to be seen. The mother she was helping walked by. I noticed the blue bear on the floor.
“Excuse me, Miss,” I said handing it to her. “You’re son’s bear.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s not mine. I don’t have kids.” She walked off the plane. I searched the seats and didn’t see the child anywhere. Sherry wasn’t on the plane either. I ran out to the boarding area looking for her. Where the hell could she have gone?
Captain Marcus was standing at the boarding gate watching me with his same sad eyes. “Do you understand now, kid? They all go away.” | *Tranquil Bar*
On the first glance, it's just a normal casual bar. People sitting around after work, drinking alcohol and chatting, maybe playing a game of pool or cards in the back. But the real bar is the one situated below, in the basement. But this bar isn't the same as the one above. It doesn't sell alcohol, but special cards. Cards that only members can scan and read the info encrypted inside it. And what's the info in it, you asked? Usually a name, an address and a request. Whoever's on it will not have a very good time.
You must have a pretty good idea what kind of bar this is. It's not just a bar for normal people. It's also a kind of a safe haven for mercenaries and assassins. The kind of people that you don't ever want to cross path with. Each mercenary or assassin would have to pay a monthly fee to keep being a member. But the benefit is that they will have a steady stream of work available. The bar get a cut from each verified card - cards that have been fulfilled and verified by a staff member - and the rest would be cash out or transfer to the mercenary.
The number of the members are a close kept secret of the bar. But most people who frequented the place for work are all familiar with one old man named "Lion." No one really know his real name, but everyone call him Lion. There are multiple stories about him, but no one know if any of them have even a sliver of truth to it. One story even told that he got the nickname "Lion" because he shouted someone to death. If you were to asked Lion himself, he'd just smirk and change the subject. The fact that the guy has possibly a hundred tales to him isn't the most impressive one, but it's the fact that he's the only merc I've known that lives to be his age. In this business, you'll get a bullet or two sooner or later. That's why most of us are just young fools with too much to drink and too little to care about that accepted this dangerous path in life. You will almost never see an old man doing these kind of jobs. There were few desperate enough, but most of them never came back for seconds, or came back at all. But Lion is different, he would accepted a card, fulfilled it and came back for more. Some suspected that a group of people hired him so that they don't have to pay the monthly fee for membership of the bar. But that was proven to be false.
And so, the old man became a special kind of legend. He'd showed up after a job, bandaged and wounded, yet he's still there for more. He only works with people he knew a long time, but every regulars here respected him. Rarely do we see new guys sticking around here after a job or two. But not Lion, not the old man whom always around, always ready for another job. That old man really reminds me of an old saying:
"Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.” | 2018-07-15T09:44:03 | 2018-07-15T08:11:37 | 61 | 18 |
[WP] A woman wakes up and realises she has the ability to talk to and understand her cats, after initial excitement she realises her cats are sociopathic bullying monsters.
I have always liked the idea of unfortunate superpowers, stuff that should be really great but turns out to be horrible. I have three cats and thought maybe they would actually be bastards if they could talk.
Thanks for all your great responses, if anyone fancies writing some more unfortunate superpowers stories I have loads of ideas, I can't write for shit but I have ideas coming out my earholes. | Decidedly crazy and perpetually alone, Kara May had been living with her thirteen cats for several years now. She once had nearly eighty-seven (there was a pregnancy or four) but the vicious government had intervened and taken many. They were placed in other homes, with other families. Families with pig tailed girls and baseball playing boys. Kara May didn’t like that at all. So, she slowly begun catnapping her children back.
Kara May was an old unmarried, bookish, quiet and dissatisfied woman, a grotesque in every way. Her only joy in life came from her cats. She very carefully locked all doors, sealed all cracks and crevices and kept her cats in a circular room. There was food and water, of course. She wasn’t cruel, just fascinated. She hand built several cat trees with newly discovered carpentry brilliance and watched. Kara May leaned against a rounded wall and watched.
That’s when it happened. Roof disregarding lightening or extremely radioactive ooze or simply insanity struck her, and the cats began to talk. Kara May would be offended by this description, because her cats could always talk, and she would always aptly listen. The defining difference now was that she could clearly understand their diction.
It was fantastic. (Disregarding the fact that they were entirely cruel, self obsessed, and mercilessly harmed one another. Those were merely details.) Kara May’s obsession, her love, hated her back. But it didn’t matter. She could still watch them in rapture, which was all she had ever wanted anyway. It didn’t matter that she would be discovered weeks later, eyes clawed out. It didn’t matter that she had never really owned cats at all and was entirely crazy. So, it really didn’t matter that her cats were assholes, because she loved them all the same. | When Joanne woke one morning it occurred to her, as she reached for her glasses on the nightstand, that--shock-horror--she'd become a cliche.
'Oh god, a cliche,' she said.
At about that moment her cat named Cat sprang nimbly onto her chest and sat there, silent, watching her.
'What the fuck do you want?' Joanne said.
'It gets worse, bitch,' Cat said. | 2014-04-02T05:25:27 | 2014-04-02T04:31:55 | 78 | 18 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | "Well, what are you waiting for? Press it."
I glanced back up to the priest. His arms holding out the box to me were steady, but the tension in his posture suggested a certain eagerness about him. I guess that made sense, considering his whole speech about the *Dark One* and *End of the world* and all that jazz. But still. Working at the pawn shop always made me hesitant of people who were a little too eager.
"What's it do?" I asked.
The priest let out a short exasperated sigh. "It doesn't matter. I told you, it would take me a very long time to explain, and you wouldn't believe me if I did. Right now we don't have a lot of time. Just press it."
I took half a step back. "Okay. Hold up for a sec, because this is kind of a lot. You come in here to my shop, you know my name. You do that weird magicky thing with the lights. So yeah, fine. Let's give you the benefit of the doubt that you *are* some ancient wizard or priest or whatever, and not some crazy stalker. How do I know that that box you're holding isn't just going to electrocute me or something when I press the button?"
"No, it won't. Trust me. Just press it. We don't have a lot of time lef-"
"Then *you* press it."
"I CAN'T PRES-" the priest snapped. I saw something sinister flash across his eyes, barely noticeable, yet unmistakable. He caught himself within an instant.
"I'm sorry," he continued, after a deep breath. "It's just that the fate of the world rests in your hands. I can't press the button. It has to be you. *You* are the chosen one. I know it sounds crazy, but I promise I will tell you every last detail after you press it. I will grant you anything in my power. Fame. Riches. Magic. Anything. Just press the button. Please."
I looked him in the eyes. I held his gaze for a long moment. I watched his eyes hungrily dart to the box as I slowly reached out. I watched his eyes widen as my finger hovered inches above the button.
I paused.
"10 dollars." I said, subtly adjusting my button-press gesture into a business-like finger-gun point at the goods he was holding.
"What?" he replied, flatly.
"10 dollars." I repeated, grabbing my notebook to write up the offer. "It's not typically the kind of thing I could resell here, but it's an old-looking box. Kinda cool. I'll give you 10 bucks for it."
I could see him trying to fight back the anger as it bubbled up inside him. The lights flickered.
"You have no idea the forces we're dealing with here! This isn't a game!" The shelves all around us began to rattle. "If the dark one is released, the world is doomed. He will kill *millions* of people!"
I kept writing in my notebook. I could feel the magical energy radiating off of him.
"No I won't." I replied calmly, glancing up from my notebook. Before he could fully register what I'd just said, I clicked my pen, and waved it like a wand in his direction.
The priest froze in place, a taken aback expression on his face. I stepped forward and plucked the small box from his hands. I turned it over and touched the button to one of his frozen fingers. Both priest and box swirled together, and with a *pop*, they both vanished. A miniature stone figurine in the shape of the priest clattered to the floor. I tore the perforated "$10" price label from my notebook, tied it around the tiny figure, and set it up on a shelf next to the others. | It was a story passed down in my family for generations. Every 5,000 years a chosen one will rise a defeat the dark lord. I leaned back into my chair, dumbfounded.
According to the legend, 20,000 years ago my ancestor lead an army against the Dark Lord, the greatest evil of all time. Right. As his body laid bare, grasping for breath, he vowed to return and that he would have his revenge. Riiiight.
They say my next ancestor, 15,000 years ago, united several kingdoms in order to combat the Dark Lord's return. Four or five of them I think. I never really listened to the elders. It seemed like something out of a fantasy novel. Not to mention there are no historical proofs these things happened. No fossil records. Nothing.
I swivelled around hopelessly, trying to grasp onto what little sanity I had left. I rolled my brain back through the "records," the stories I was told. 10,000 years ago, they said the dark lord was beaten by magic. The high priest was granted clairvoyance, and foresawe the Dark Lord's return. And my ancestor was standing there to run him through, no sooner than he returned. They say it was a sight to behold. Or so they say.
5,000 years ago, my last ancestor.... What was his story? I play a lot of computer games, which everyone says rots your brain, so maybe that's why I can't remember. Maybe it's the stress from today. Today, right. So my last ancestor travelled halfway across the world on foot, from Europe to china, to fight the Dark Lord, one on one, and triumphed. Today is November 9th, 2020. How could you blame me for thinking this was made up. I always got yelled at for doubting the stories.
I looked back behind my shoulder at my Father, who had been watching over me the last hour or so, very nervously. He was happy now, probably more so than me. Some high priest. I look back at my screen, which I've seen hundreds of times before, and I slowly clicked the "OK" button below the words Victory, and my Father burst out rejoicing.
I wonder if this is the truth behind all of the legends. Five thousand years from now they will tell my story of how I rallied an army against the forces of the Dark Lord and stood victorious... However all I really did was win a round of Starcraft 2. | 2020-11-09T12:35:03 | 2020-11-09T12:11:29 | 422 | 106 |
[WP] Your friend sets you up on a blind date and the most unbelievably attractive person sits opposite. Halfway through the meal you get a text from your friend saying that your supposed date cancelled. Puzzled, you start to notice some irregularities about the person you’ve been talking to.
[deleted] | “Canceled??” I yelped, before realizing my predicament.
I returned to a whisper, “What do you mean canceled, Claudia, he’s right here and he’s gorgeous!”
I glanced over at my date’s tailored suit which was offset by his easy smile and handsome features.
Claudia was speechless for a moment. She apologized and said that the date she had set up for me definitely canceled. She paused for a moment and then asked, “are you 100% sure he is as gorgeous as you say?”
I hung up on her and stared at the floor for a moment. Claudia thought she had set me up with someone else. Not only that, but she had set me up with someone that she did not think could be considered gorgeous. But here was this man; polite, kind, and as sexy as ever.
“How is your friend, Maria? Is she well?” Frank smiled in the most heartwarming way.
“Uh, yeah. She’s fine. How did you meet her, by the way, she didn’t tell me how you guys met.”
I hoped that my anxiety didn’t show.
“Oh, I know Claudia from a long time ago. She thinks so highly of you and so I told myself that I must meet this amazing woman Claudia keeps raving about!”
I looked deeply into Frank’s eyes. For a second it seemed like they moved independently of each other.
“That’s so nice to hear. Are you from around here?”
“Well, not originally. You see I’m much older than I look and I have been around. But I am glad to have settled here. It is the right place for me.”
His forked tongue licked his lips as he waited for me to continue the conversation. I looked down at my meal of salmon and raspberry sauce. It would have been delightful if my stomach were not tying itself into knots.
“Do you have many siblings? Or family in the area?”
“Oh, yes,” he chuckled, “very many siblings. We are all over the place. I can’t keep track of them all.”
He looked back at me, leaning forward, eyes narrowing into slits.
What about you, Maria, are you alone?”
I did not know how to answer. This felt creepy now. I stood up to excuse myself.
“I need to go to the little girls room for a moment.”
I slipped away towards the washrooms but then I doubled back to head out the front doors. Then, I ran.
I ran all the way home without thinking about what I had done. I frantically opened the lock and ran inside. Slipped my clothes off and hid under the comfort of my bedsheets.
I had a terrible sleep, full of nightmares involving this Frank guy. I tried to put it behind me and get on with my life.
Claudia called me. I let it go to voicemail, still rattled by my dreams.
“Hey Maria, I am sorry about the weird cancellation yesterday. Maybe the guy actually showed up after canceling. Anyway, I am happy to tell you that I didn’t have one nightmare all night. It’s amazing that I can have them every night for years and then they are gone instantly. Anyway, talk to you soon babe. Bye bye!”
I didn’t think too much about the voicemail. I tried getting my own nightmares out of my head, keeping myself occupied until the next evening. I lay in bed and tried to think about normal everyday things. But when I closed my eyes, I saw Frank’s face, turning into the face of a snake.
I jolted upright and looked around my room. I felt silly for being afraid but it felt so real.
I lay down again, determined to reason my way out of this nonsense.
My door creaked open slightly. *It could be been anything*, I told myself.
Frank’s familiar voice floated to me from my doorway.
“Hello Maria.” | I text my friend the same thing
‘Can I go home?
Ughhh its so borrrrring’
And all that crap. I’m not the extroverted happy go lucky type. Just give me a good computer with good games and I’ll be happy for the rest of my life.
Then, as I scrolled through old text messages on my phone, a man sits down across from me.
My mouth nearly dropped.
He had beautiful blonde hair with bright astonishingly blue eyes. He had no beard, and when he smiled he had dimples.
Oh my god.
He was perfect.
“Hi, are you Phoebe?” He asked, adjusting his tie.
“Y-yeah...” I chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of my neck as I knew I was starting to sweat from how nervous I was.
“That’s a relief! My name is Kris!”
This was the worst thing and the best thing ever, and I smiled awkwardly and nodded
“That’s a cute name! One moment I better tell my friend your here..” I turned my phone back on, which had turned off after me being inactive on it for a bit.
‘He’s here! His name is Kris, right?’
‘Girl, are you high? The dude canceled the Blind Date!’
My blood ran cold, and I shut off my phone and stuffed it into my pocket.
Kris smiled at me, looking as cute and as confident as ever.
I shift in the so noticeably hard wood seat
“So, what are you getting?”
“Just some raw chicken with water.” Kris says this so calmly it caught me off guard.
“Raw? Is that like.. a tradition in your family or something?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. I guess. Ill have it cooked if that’s what you prefer.” Kris seemed to be a bit confused by the fact that I was weirded out by him asking for raw chicken.
I ordered my salad and we started to eat. Kris was used no fork or knife, he went straight in and ate with his hands. Okay, weird but.. that’s not soooo bad, right?
Then I got a text from my friend again, the bing of my phone making me jump. I pulled it out and read an Amber Alert, pretty much something along the lines of
‘Young alleged cannibal on the loose.’
It showed a picture of Kris. | 2020-08-01T21:14:36 | 2020-08-01T20:50:11 | 68 | 21 |
[WP] As a prank, you ordered something off the menu in a restaurant. Unbeknownst to you, the place is actually a front and you have just identified yourself as a top level agent. | “Hmmm” Ben mused, scanning the menu over another time. His eyes flicked from the allure of the appetizer section back to the soups. *The tomato looks good* he thought, licking his lips at the thought of the creamy bowl. *Then again, so does the clam chowder.* He looked up at the waitress who raised an eyebrow back at him while her manicured nails tapped her notepad.
“I’d like a bowl of tomato soup, please” Ben finally decided. The waitress mindlessly scribbled a note down on her pad and turned to Ben’s companion, Arthur.
“Are tomatoes even in season?” Arthur asked, looking back and forth between Ben and the waitress. They both shrugged, but he continued. “And don’t forget that Cuchillo’s had an outbreak of salmonella from tomatoes two weeks ago, risky business, Ben.” Ben rolled his eyes at the absent-minded statement, yet it seemed to find home in his psyche.
“You know what,” Ben began, addressing the waitress, “I’ve changed my mind, the clam chowder, is it Manhattan or New England?” The waitress’ eyes grew big for a moment and she leaned a bit closer to the table.
“It’s Rhode Island, sir” she said, looking back at Ben for a response.
“Hmmm, well I wanted New England, but Rhode Island should be good enough, I hear the clams are jumping into the boats this time of year.” The waitress jotted another note down, more precisely this time, and addressed Ben again.
“The soup also comes with a sandwich,” she said as she eyed him more expectantly.
“I’ll order it as an entrée.” The waitress’ eyes suddenly flicked from Ben to Arthur and she nodded, beginning to leave the table.
“Excuse me!” Arthur called after her, “you didn’t take my order.” The waitress walked back frazzled and ran a hand nervously through her hair. “May I have the fried calamari? You can pick from it if you want, Ben,” he added. The waitress hastily scribbled down another note and scurried back to the kitchen.
Passing through the kitchen, she entered a dimly lit back-room. At the center sat a thick, mahogany desk, flanked by two bookshelves. The left bookshelf was meticulously organized, classics such as “The Art of War” and “The Prince” prominently displayed. To the right side of the desk, a plethora of guns hung on the other shelf. At the top, a sniper rifle was mounted, followed downward by an assorted set of shotguns, Uzis and pistols. As for the desk, a large magnum lay atop a copy of “The Campaigns of Alexander,” and behind the desk, a large man lounged in a rich, leather chair. He took a long drag from his Cuban cigar, savoring the nectar of the smoke, and then blew out, the haze dancing across the dim light.
“It’s him,” the waitress curtly stated. “And he’s with a target.” The man nodded and raised a chubby finger, pointing to a bottle of cyanide on his desk. The waitress hurriedly took the bottle and withdrew to the kitchen. She approached the chef making the calamari, pouring a few drops from the bottle into the dish without the chef batting an eye. Then, she peered out the door, watching the two men converse.
“Wanna know what I think, Arthur? I think the waitress is into you.” Ben added the last bit while pointing his straw at Arthur’s chest.
“You really think so, Ben?” he questioned.
“Sure I do! Did you see the way she was fumbling around you, trying to be nonchalant? Hell, she forgot to take your order. Shoot your shot man.” He chuckled, getting a kick out of Arthur’s red face. “Look, here she comes, just watch and play it cool.”
The waitress walked back over with a steaming bowl of soup and a plate stuffed with calamari. As she was putting down the plate, Ben took an eager spoonful of chowder, recoiling and shouting at the sharp pain in his tongue.
“This soup is so hot!” He cried, quickly taking a sip from his water. The waitress jumped suddenly, spilling the plate of calamari on the floor.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry” she cried. “Let me go put in another order.” She quickly ran back into the kitchen and Ben smirked at Arthur.
“What did I tell you! She couldn’t even hold the plate steady, man. She’s got the hots for you bad.” Arthur flashed Ben a smile and took a long sip from his own water.
In the back-room, the waitress explained what happened to the big man.
“He gave me the callsign not to kill him. Must have thought he’d get a whiff of the cyanide in the calamari, wanted to do it cleaner. I improvised and dropped the plate.” The man nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip from a glass of bourbon. “I’ll standby and wait for any other signals.”
​
I have to go right now and can't give this any more time, but I had more planned and if anyone likes it let me know and I can certainly write more, hope you all find it enjoyable. | We walk toward the restaurant. It was a diner known for their good food, and well hospitality. Being up in Calgary, Canada, I turn on my phone and ask Siri what the weather is, despite knowing it's quite cool out. She says in response, "It's partly sunny with it being 4 Celsius,". So after that, we walk into the diner with my friend Tony ordering a salmon, and being here for years, I looked at the menu, and said "Do you have the Marmaduke? It was my favorite burger here at Anna's Restaurant," , and the lady at the counter said, "We don't have that burger on our menu anymore, but I'll make sure you'll have it Ryan, because you are our loyal customer,".
"Weird," I said to my friend Tony. "What's up with them removing the Marmaduke from the menu? It was my favorite burger. Well, I'm still glad they're making it for me,". My friend looked at me and said "You do know that Alice's Restaurant doesn't even have that burger? It's the restaurant down a few blocks, Anna's Restaurant that has it,". I look at my friend inquisitively, and weirdly noticing that he was right. Suddenly, the waiter came over and she said "Here you go. One Marmaduke burger," and it looked exactly the same as it would at Anna's. It's almost like they knew I'd order it ... but how? Unless we are in Anna's, and my friend Tony is pulling a prank on me. I know it's not Alice's. Or else I will be following a rabbit hole, which I certainty do not want to get into one. Good lord, do I have to literally live the movie as well?
I request the waiter to come back. Stupid move, I know, but I want to know her name. She said "Anna. I am the owner of the restaurant down a few blocks, and knew you were coming. I know how much you love that burger. Everyone tells me that the Marmaduke is our best selling burger, and you always come and get it every weekend. That's how I know who you are Ryan. It's no mystery. You are our loyal customer. Oh, and before you ask, your friend Tony informed me that you were coming here so I wanted to surprise you,". I look at her strangely, and then said "Well it's true, and Tony told you?" I asked while looking at him. "Anyways, I thought there was a movie named Marmaduke? It had a dog in it I believe? That's not important though,".
I ate the Marmaduke, tasting it's lettuce, cheese, onions, tomatoes, beef, ketchup, and ranch that goes on it. It was an extraordinary burger like usual. Just the way I like it. I go up and fill my cup with Coca-Cola Cherry and I sit back down and drink it. I tell Tony, "This is good," with me realizing he had no food still. Suddenly, Anna comes out of the kitchen and delivers him his food, which was the salmon he asked for. It looked delicious, and I got up, and went to the restroom. Suddenly, I felt a hand behind me and Anna said, "Come with us. You'll have to leave Tony behind. It's something sinister. It revolves around this revolver we found in the kitchen. You were trained as a Forensic Scientist to be able to identify this, are you not?". I tell Anna I have to use the restroom, which I do and afterwards, I leave through the kitchen, and a few minutes later, Tony texts me: "Yo, where you at? I can't just pay this myself,". I respond with "No problem, it's on the house. Anna took care of it. I have to go,". | 2019-01-22T11:44:03 | 2019-01-22T08:15:54 | 49 | 16 |
[WP] Ten year ago your mentor told you "Kid, here's a dirty little secret about magic. You can just make shit up and it'll usually work. Makes the guys who take it seriously really mad." Today you're one of the least respected (and most powerful) mages on the continent. | "FLOBULDYGLABGULDA!"
The other mages cried out in sheer panic as an explosion on par with Dwarven mining dynamite rocked the town, sending bodies and body parts flying as I smirked. When in doubt, blow shit up, my mentor always used to say.
"You know you guys are fucked, right?!" I yelled. "I can do this all day!"
"We can't allow you to continue besmirching the good name of magic!" one of the old coots shrieked, sending a few magic missiles my way. "It's not proper, I tell you! Shouting gobbledygook and casting spells on par with grandmasters!" I simply blew a raspberry at him, and the missiles dissipated into nothing.
"Shove it up your ass, you old fart!"
The man's face went crimson with pure, unadulterated rage, but before he could do so much as loose a hex at me I crossed my eyes, stuck out my tongue, and turned him into a toad.
I hadn't always wielded magic with such reckless abandon. I was like them too, once-strictly sticking to written spells and preapproved enchantments, always making sure I followed the rules to a T. But over the years, my own discontentment with those strict rules grew, and I sought out more... free magic, so to speak. At first all I could find was the evil sort of magic-stealing souls, making sacrifices to profaned beings from Hell and the Faerie Courts and even Outer Gods from the edges of reality, the sort of thing that I had no interest in. I was an ass, but I wasn't a selfish ass; if I was going to get power, I would be the only one paying the price, not some poor sap that hadn't agreed to it. But eventually, I found my salvation through my mentor. And with just one sentence, he had revealed the truth to me:
"All these rules? They're horseshit. They're made by elderly magi to keep the rest of us chained, keep us under their thumb. Lemme let you in on a secret, kid... you can just make shit up as you go along. Magic doesn't work through formulae or rituals. It works through you believing it'll work."
It wasn't long before I was known as the most powerful magus in the Five Lands, slinging spells that most other mages could only dream of casting and earning a name for myself as the Fool Wizard, he who used his magic recklessly and freely. Oddly enough the archmages themselves never bothered me, but lesser grand magi often sent assassins like these fellows to try and deal with me.
Speaking of magical assassins, I noticed one of them was beginning a ritual to summon a demon. Forbidden magic... then again, desperate times called for desperate measures. I lifted my arms to the sky, and with a wiggle of my fingers a very familiar and very annoyed angel popped into being in front of me, clad in a bathrobe and wielding her usual flaming sword.
"Fuck's sake, Crowley, what do you want this time? I was about to go to bed."
I merely pointed at the abomination clawing its way from Hell. She rubbed her eyes and sighed, then lunged forward to deal with it, leaving me to deal with a very angry mage with an ice knife.
"Just die already!" she hissed. I flipped her the bird, and rather fittingly transformed her into a flock of swallows that fluttered off into the skies.
"No thanks," I replied as the chaos died down. Seemed she was the last of them...
Rather abruptly, someone smacked me in the back of the head. Hard. Must've been Alita.
"OW! What was that for?! I thought we were friends!"
"We *are*, but that doesn't mean you can bother me every five damned seconds, Crowley!" Alita griped. "Swear to Pelor... I'm going to go to bed. I'm going to get a good night's sleep. And so help me gods, if you summon me *one more time* in the next twelve hours I am going to dip you in honey and toss you into a vat of fire ants you inconsiderate nincompoop. Good night."
And with that, she was gone again in a flash of light. I glanced around at the destruction and sighed; maybe I shouldn't have created such a big explosion... then again this was a ghost town. Nobody was around to care.
With one final shrug of my shoulders, my hands went back into my pockets, and I returned along my way to wherever my own fancy decided to take me next. | >Magic is will made manifest. If you believe in it working, you can make it happen. Ever notice that idiots always seem to make it through. They're not imaginative enough to do anything without beyond mitigate catastrophic outcomes. But what if they were? Kids after the other side, all imagination with no will.
Lex had explained this one night, taking long drags from a pencil as if to prove his point. Smoke billowed out as he exhaled. "All those incantations and gestures help them believe it's going to work the way they want. If you believe and understand what you want, you can make it happen like that." A snap punctuated his sentence but his hands were busy with the pencil and beer that he pulled out from nowhere. He hit the beer on the table and top popped off.
"What was all that about gestures and you pretend to pop open that mystery beer?" I was incredulous at this, but Lex smirked. "It's not beer, it's a boilermaker. And i didn't use magic to open it. Don't be lazy and use magic for everything." The night went on with us escalating with getting weird effects with no verbal or somatic components.
I attended an Archmagi Symposium. Bloviating and stodgy, just like Lex had described them. I spoke to an old man with a conical hat adorned with moons and stars. He spoke about the importance of flaring the wrists, of enunciation, and was flustered when I told him I never really found them to be important. He called me a charlatan and demanded to know how a fraud could get in here.
"Through the front door." Was not the answer he wanted to hear. He harumphed at this, I'd forgotten there wasn't actually a door. "The only way in here is utilizing the very secure portal! So I demand you tell me how you got in!" He was thundering at me, I could feel him groping around in my skull, but I put him in the head of the homeless guy i passed on the way in. This was not a good idea.
If you've never done a psychic deep dive on someone it's intense. If they're not aware of you it's not a lot of effort, if they're watching your and resisting, it's a lot of effort. Going to deep can cause you to get a little lost in there, and that's with a well adjusted person and a slightly too strong of a push. That Archmage was neck deep in crazy homeless. Oops.
I finished his drink while he stood there furious and motionless. The fury was the last thing he felt before getting stuck for what turned it to be 30 seconds, but it felt like years to him. Her saw me walk up to wall, pull open a door that wasn't there, and walk down a hallway that didn't exist before the wall clacked shut like a normal door behind me.
Needless to say, I'm not allowed back. I still go to their parties though. Turns out when you know no one will recognize you, you can eat for free. They even made new divination spells, which i stole so i could circumvent them. Those edeots thonk using the wrung leters prevants meening. | 2021-08-26T19:21:49 | 2021-08-26T19:06:09 | 110 | 58 |
[WP] Zombies appear one day, and people are thankful for zombie media teaching them how to survive. Unfortunately for them, a cure is discovered just a few days later, and many are put on trial for shooting the infected that could have otherwise been saved. | We did what we thought anyone (and everyone) else would do: we shot first and asked questions later. Christ, that first time I saw one was terrifying - it had some poor kid on the ground and was trying to eat it alive. I'd thought zombies were the stuff of movies and paranoid syfy freaks. I'm licensed to carry, and all I thought to do was save the kid, so I shot the damned monster. Little did I know where it would get me.
It was before the outbreak really began. Hell, maybe that guy was one of the first. There were witnesses and security footage, so after a couple hours of questioning the police let me go and the DA declined to press charges. The kid was treated at the hospital, and a very grateful mother offered to show me her thanks, but thankfully, I declined.
A couple days later, there was a news story. Same kid, the thankful mom, and the babysitter, all shot by the cops as they tried to feast on their local church group. From there, things went to hell pretty fast.
The movies are both right and wrong. People quickly started looting and rioting, but most people tried to lock up their houses or get away. Not many could bring themselves to put a bullet through the head of what we thought was a former loved one or dear friend. I say 'thought', because, well - that's why we're here today and why I'm giving this testimony. Nobody thought there would be a cure - the stories always depict a collapsing society that will only survive if all zombies are wiped out. And if there was a cure, we figured that surely it would take years. The militaries of the world sealed off national borders, and their scientists wouldn't even talk. Who could have predicted that some smart fucking undergrad would make the breakthrough of a lifetime and be a Nobel laureate at 19? Not a single fucking soul, that's who.
So, yea, I was one of the guys that was willing and ready to protect my family, my friends, AND my community. And do you remember? Y'all asked me to do it. You asked all of us on trial to do it. To kill the fucking monsters and to let you keep your precious hands clean and not have to see the shit we do now, every night in our dreams. Our nightmares. Our crushing sadness and inability to cope knowing that maybe we could've saved those people, if we'd risked a little more to round them up. But how could we? So few of us willing to fight, asked to die, asked to say a prayer and shoot granny or little brother. We couldn't do it. So we did what we had to. Again, what we were asked to.
With the borders sealed, we never knew that the epidemic didn't spread. That the US was the only nation affected and infected. That the world quarantined us. And now, now... Those fucking arrogant world politicians... They demand not only proof of cure, but punishment for the dead. And you're willing to capitulate. To kill more people. Good, honest folk, who have suffered enough. All in the name of appeasing the global "community". How would they know? They didn't see people getting their faces eaten off. And for that matter, they want ME, and my team punished for killing people (who were zombies at the time, I remind you). And yet... The former zombies get a pass. A pass for tearing my brother apart. For tearing my wife apart. For tearing MY WORLD APART.
I'll tell you what. You bring me the folks who killed my family but have been "restored". Let me send them to hell. And then I'll be your sacrificial lamb. I'll take the death penalty they demand. And hell or heaven, I'll make them all pay for what I've lost. | *"Mr. Connell would you please approach the stand"* Judge Weathers demanded, his thick southern accent bellowing through the court hall.
Mitchell rose to his feet, his feet had fallen asleep as the case went on for hours. Standing made his anxious, he could feel the pins and needles stabbing his feet, working there way up his thighs. As he rose, the shutters and flash of cameras went berserk. Paparazzi had gathered around every available window sill trying to snap a shot of the first guilty man committed of murder of an infected. One tabloid would print a shot of him looking faint and sickly as he rose from his seat and headed to the stand to confess his crimes.
Clearing the thick, dry lump in his throat; gathering his shaky legs; Mitchell headed towards the stands. All on eyes were on him, the flashing lights made him look wet and sickly. Seated purposefully in his direct line of sight sat the Holbrook family. Now widowed wide, Liza and her two daughters, Mary-Beth and Chalie Ray Holbrook. Mr. Holbrook was now being studied in a lab over in Georgia. Scientist came and scooped his body from within Mitchells home nearly two weeks ago.
Mitchell gathered himself in the oak stands, facing the jury to the side of him, ready to give his side of the story. Preparing his speech for days, Mitchell was confident the jury would a-quit him of all charges in favor of his self-defense plea. Looking nervous, nervous and guilty, the flashing lights grew stronger, the boos in the crowd stronger, Mitchell was barely able to swear on the bible before judge Weathers had to demand order in the court.
These very hectic times in Hapscomb County, a town ravaged to hell was now ready to crucify someone who some call a hero. Mitchell Connell was being charged for murder of Mr.Holbrook, an infected man who was on a war path straight for Mitchell's throat.
*"Ready when you are"* Judge Weathers exclaimed, Mitchell cleared his throat, wiping the sweat from his brow. The court grew silent, Mitchell felt as if the lights were dimmed, a beating pain was coming from within his skull. He looked towards the crowd. Through a sea of hateful faces he searched for her. Sitting patiently in her yellow Sunday dress was Betty. With a flutter of her long brown eyelashes and a quick smirk, Mitchell felt his racing heart slow down. Suddenly, the lights didn't seem so dull.
*"I'd like to begin from the start, from when I woke on Tuesday afternoon, if that's aright?"* Mitchell asked the judge. *"By all means Mr. Connell, enlighten us"*. | 2018-03-07T16:30:42 | 2018-03-07T10:57:40 | 311 | 41 |
[WP] For centuries Elves held a Monopoly on Magic and only a select few Humans where taught Magic who were easily controlled. That's why they freaked out when a Human Bandit learned Magic. You are this Bandit and you are having the time of your live tricking and robbing those Elves in your Woods. | "Keep your eyes open," Captain Telandis said, "I refuse to allow that thief to steal ANYTHING from this convoy."
The merchant snickered at the ranger captain's resolve. "Captain, no offense, but have you seen this bandit operate?"
"I have not," Telandis responded, "and I don't need to. We're well aware of his abilities, which is why the magus is here." She indicated Acora, the blue-robed figure astride the horse next to the lead cart. "Bad enough a human is robbing us, but that he is a mage as well, one we didn't train?" She looked disdainfully at the merchant sitting next to her. "I should think you would be more concerned with the safety of your goods."
Elregor shrugged. "It's not like it will reduce me and my family to destitution if we get robbed, I hear he only takes food, some gold, and any books that might be around."
"Also, technically, I'm not robbing you," a voice said behind them, "robbery implies threat. I'm burgling you, is what I'm doing."
"It doesn't matt-" Telandis started to argue until the words hit home. She spun around quickly only to see a cloaked figure clap their hands, blinding her with a bright flash of light. Elregor pulled back on the reins sharply, and the horses pulling the cart reared back, whinnying loudly and drawing the attention of the rest of the convoy.
"HE'S HERE!" Telandis shouted, wiping her eyes clear of whatever illusion the bandit had cast upon her. When her sight returned, the bandit had disappeared along with one of the sacks of gold coins carried by that cart. Her bow was out and an arrow knocked as she leapt out the back of the cart, shouting orders for her troops to draw up and find the bandit. She could hear the mage attached to her unit already encanting a spell to locate the intruder, only to cry in surprise suddenly.
"Hey!" Acora shouted. "That's my staff!"
"Yeah, can't have you making things difficult," the bandit replied, wrapping the staff in his dark green cloak before whipping the cloak free. The staff was nowhere to be seen, and the mage's protests stopped dead in her throat.
"What... what did you do? Where's my staff?!"
The bandit smiled and gave a short bow. "Safe. You'll have it back before long. Professional courtesy and all that." Acora was surprised by the figure before her: human, as expected, but younger than she was expecting, with piercing blue eyes and a rakish smirk as he winked at her.
An arrow whizzed over his head, and he looked to see the captain knocking another arrow to her bow. With another whirl of his cloak, he was momentarily obscured from both the ranger captain and the mage, and in that moment, he was gone. Acora stared at the cloak as it fluttered to the ground.
"Spread out!" Telandis shouted. "Search the area! Mage or not, he can't have gotten far!" The rest of the guard company immediately surged out into the nearby underbrush. Teleportation magic required time to encant if one was going to travel any significant distance, which meant the bandit could only blink away a few dozen feet, at most.
Acora's eyes glowed as she turned her arcane senses onto the scene, only to be surprised yet again when there was no trail to follow. The cloak was itself unenchanted, and the local weave appeared completely undisturbed. Whatever magicks this human knew, they were completely alien to her and exceptionally frightening if they couldn't be traced. Her attention snapped to her left at the sound of a tree branch snapping loudly. She scanned the nearby trees but saw only a few squirrels and a rabbit running for better cover. Her brow furrowed as she turned back to retrieve the cloak for further study, only to gasp when it, too, had vanished.
An hour later, the entire unit had regrouped around the caravan as the captain spoke with the merchants. Their had been unsuccessful, and it appeared the Forest Bandit had escaped yet again, making them all look like fools.
"Honestly," Elregor said with a smile, "it could have been a lot worse. About a hundred crowns, some preserved meats, biscuits, and those books the princess requested. Not a bad price for a bit of excitement!"
"What about the spell tomes?" Acora asked, and Elregor gestured back to his cart.
"Still there, right next to my copy of *The Lusty Argonian Wench.*"
"Hey!" One of the scouts said. "Why'd he take my copy and not yours?"
Acora looked over the books in the cart. She had placed the tomes there herself, and she didn't think they looked like an obvious trap. Still, the bandit left them behind, possibly because he sensed the powerful tracing magicks laid upon them. She then picked up the aforementioned trashy novel (one of her personal favorites, she would NEVER admit to anyone). From the bookmark sticking up prominently from within its pages, a thought occurred to her.
"Were you reading it actively?" she asked the scout.
"I mean, no," the scout replied, blushing furiously as his fellows jibed at him for having it to begin with.
"Who cares about some smutty book!" Telandis shouted. "Why didn't he take the bait?"
"I shouldn't wonder..." Acora said. Her foot bumped against something under the cart, and she looked down to see her staff, none the worse for wear. *Just like he said,* she thought to herself.
////////
Penn and Teller had a bit on one of their British TV specials from the 90s that really shaped me as a kid. They started a card trick where a member of the audience picked a card, Teller shuffled the deck with a very obvious elbow move Penn would notice and give Teller crap for, and then Penn would ask the audience member if they felt the card they'd picked was sufficiently lost in the deck. THEN Penn would stake 100 pounds of his own money against the audience member's that the card was sufficiently lost in the deck, which the audience member immediately refused. Essentially, the routine was a discussion about why magic worked: when tangible stakes were on the table, a person becomes much more suspicious of what they experience, but when it's just an agreement between two people, when the magician asks "do you trust me" without anything at stake but a few minutes, that same person is willing to believe anything. In that moment, one could make an object vanish completely from under a handkerchief, cause a coin to suddenly duplicate at will, or ask someone to check their pocket for a named card that is supposed to still be in that deck of cards ten feet away from them.
As it turns out, the "stakes" to induce that skepticism need to be much, MUCH higher when the audience members are a bunch of elves, hundreds of years old, that not only know real magic but how to use it. Which is good for me, otherwise I would have starved to death or died much more violently months ago. As it stands, I'm a notorious forest bandit living the high life burgling what I need from merchant caravans that pass through the forest on their way between elven towns. Which, this time, included a dirty romance novel out of an *Elder Scrolls* game. Apparently, all the sleight-of-hand, misdirection, and snarky commentary is being interpreted as real magic, so I've ALSO stolen magic from the only people in this world to have it. Quite the feather in my con artist's cap.
Honestly, I still don't know a lot about whatever isekai situation I've found myself in, but I'm not complaining. I just hope that cute mage can't track me somehow. That would make things awkward. | Sam sat crouched in the shadow of a large oak, slowly creeping towards where the two elves had gathered. Dried leaves crunched and rustled with every step so Sam carefully threaded a path in behind a bush and listened carefully.
“Lydia,” an Elf snapped. “You better hope nothing happens the cache or Vacour will be furious.” Peering through the gaps in the bush, the Elf that was talking was just like the rest of them, Sam noticed. Light brown skin and a face made of misery. Long, dirty blonde hair, the Elf had the standard bow and arrow wrapped around his back. And there, between the two Elves' feet, nearly completely hidden beneath dirt and leaves. was a box. Sam knew the type. A delightfully designed box covered in runes and images of famous elves, long dead.
“Of course not, Brioch,” Lydia snarled. Even without seeing her face, Sam knew she was furious. “Nothing will happen to the gold. Relay that to Vacour yourself, if you want.” Neither said a word as Sam held his breath. Finally, Brioch broke the silence.
“Good to hear, Lydia,” he chuckled. “Sounds like you finally found your backbone.”
“What would you know about backbones, Brioch?” Lydia accused the male Elf. He only smirked and turned away from her.
“Oh and do be on the lookout for that bandit, Lydia.” smiled Brioch, who turned back to face her. “It would be awful to lose yet another Elf and cache to him.” With that Brioch disappeared, shifting quickly through the trees.
“Prick,” Lydia muttered, as she took a seat on the box and whipped out a smoking pipe. “And that Vacour too…” A brief look of concentration passed across the elves face and soon the contents of the pipe were lit and smoke plumed and vanished in the forest air.
“Talking to me about my backbone,” she puffed, another circle of smoke rose from her pipe before becoming lost between the giant oaks that surrounded them. “And him the most cowardly Elf in the realm. Probably long gone. Away across the forest, just in case the bandit shows up.” Lydia went silent for a while as she puffed away on her pipe, hardly looking up to check her surroundings. The forest became silent too, the only sound the odd squawking bird or a rustle of leaves behind him. Sam’s legs started to ache and protest his crouching but he ignored them as best he could. Focusing on his breathing, Sam realised he only needed to breathe once or twice a minute, the rest of the time given over to thought. Looking around, Sam took in his surroundings. Behind him lay the path out of the forest. He’d make it out of here with the box if no one close by followed him. Above, a red squirrel danced across the branches, catching both Sam’s and Lydia’s attention for a moment. Then, as quickly as he blinked, the squirrel dropped to the ground, an arrow through his eye.
“Aren’t you a lovely little fellow?” whooped Lydia, snatching the bloody animal off the ground and shoving it into some hidden inside pocket. “You’ll make a great starter tonight!” He’d have to think of something smart to make it out of here with his life as well as the gold. Stroking his chin, he thought back to the first time he had used his powers to ambush the elves.
It had been snowing, the forest was covered in a layer of cold, white. Snow-covered everything, from the branches to the caches. Thankfully, Sam had been watching them a couple of days before the snow arrived and having overheard two elves arguing, had figured out the location of a cache. Finding himself, half-buried in the snow, Sam soon realised just how much control he had over his magic. The Elf guarding the box of treasure had just thought that a storm had appeared from the depth of the forest. A snowstorm so harsh and centred on him, the only thing he could do was huddle up and wait till it was over. By that time, Sam had been able to sneak up beside him, and slowly lift as much gold as he could from the box. Closing the lid back down, it must have been weeks before they realised he had hit them. If they realised it at all.
Lydia’s beautiful and hypnotic whistling brought Sam back to the present. *No snow though*. Shifting slightly, from one foot to the next, the leaves beneath him crunched once more and Lydia’s eyes darted in his direction. Slowly, she rose to her feet, the bow appearing in her hand, an arrow already locked into place. Her footsteps never made a sound and if he couldn’t see the elf, Sam wouldn’t even know she was moving around. Drawing her bow, the arrow pointed right at the bush where Sam hid. *It was now or never.* Putting his hands to the ground and closing his eyes, Sam thought about fire, heat and warmth spreading out in front of him. Opening his eyes, he was delighted to see the leaves all around him had burst into flame, smoking bellowing, thick and black.
“What the?” Lydia cried out, taking a step back, pointing the arrow all around her now. Focusing on the smoke, Sam tried to keep it from drifting upwards, hoping to use it as a screen. Then, through the bush, an arrow zipped by, cutting Sam slightly in the back. Letting out a quick gasp, Sam forced his mouth closed, his teeth near snapping in half.
“I saw you, bandit!” Lydia called out. “The next one will be through your heart. Now step out and surrender yourself.” For a second, Sam was overcome with panic. *I’m dead. They’ll string me up. No! I’m better than this!* With all the magic he could muster, Sam, brought as much flame and smoke between him and the elf as he could, forcing her backwards. The fire rose, burning the bush in the process. The smoke thickened, the grey and black, swirling and around. Then, as it all slowly started to drift away, Lydia found herself standing all alone. Around her, the fire had consumed all the life it could. The tree’s, the leaves, the bushes.
“Bloody bandit,” she smirked. “Nothing compared to an elf and her bow.” Taking her seat once more, she never realised that the lid of the box was left slightly ajar or that it was lighter than before. | 2021-12-04T12:33:56 | 2021-12-04T11:44:23 | 58 | 23 |
[WP] Due to a rare condition, your field of vision is gradually narrowing . You know that one day you will lose your vision altogether so you go in search of the perfect image to be your last. | I wake up to the ever growing darkness. I sit up and reach out for my cane; my arms are stretched forward and I move them out in slow arcs, as if they are the shining beams from a lighthouse. To me that's almost what they are now: warning beacons protecting a dilapidated vessel from the rocks hidden below. I find my cane and clutch it tightly.
I see very little these days -- perhaps no more than a pin prick sized tunnel. And every morning I wake to find that the tunnel edges have been squeezed that little bit tighter together. My sight will soon be gone, Mildred. Just like you.
Showering is out of the question since my fall, so I wash with a flannel and a bar of soap. It smells of lavender. I clean my teeth and try to examine myself in the mirror, moving my head around rather than my eyes. A blurred vision of a withered, gray haired man looks back at me. *That can't be me. How could I have gotten so damn old? It was only a few years ago I was walking down the aisle with you.*
Some days I wish it was my heart giving up.
I stumble down the stairs and make it safely to the bottom -- more through luck than judgement. I will have to sleep downstairs soon, or else Christian will no doubt move me into a home. But I am not *that* old yet. *Am I?*
I often wonder what my last sight will be; the final image burned into my eyes and framed forever in my mind. I wonder if it will bring me comfort, when my only view is that of the starless night. Each evening now, I stare at a picture of *you* before bed, trying to lock in the image of the most beautiful woman I've ever seen; an image that I am all too quickly forgetting. When I look at the photo, I think that if I concentrate hard enough, that maybe when I wake I'll still remember your dusty brown hair and big green eyes.
*Or were they blue?*
I hold my finger under the tap. I will have to give up bacon; I burn myself too often now -- but the smell reminds me of better times, so I'm reluctant. I think I hear you for a moment, asking if I would like a cup of tea. It's too much, and I retreat to the sofa as warm tears trickle down the wrinkled passages on my face. They're not tears of sadness, it's just... I don't remember you as often these days, and it's almost overwhelming when a moment of such *clarity* comes through.
The day is slow. I argue with the radio, and try to watch some TV, but it is a tiny, blurred mess and it upsets me. I make some toast.
There is a moment of panic, when I think that *this is it* -- the darkness -- that my sight is going and I don't have a photo of you near. But I calm, eventually, when I realise the time and know that it's only the sun packing up for the night.
The doorbell rings. I don't answer it. I don't need or want any salesmen telling me how I *should* be living. I don't want the last sight I see to be their smug faces; that patronising smile they give to old men who don't even understand what they are buying. But the ringing is persistent, and I hear yelling now. I decide to answer it just to tell them to leave me the hell alone. With my cane in hand, I slowly make my way towards the door.
It's Christian, and he's brought William and Harriet. They run up to me and hug me, and I hear them shout '*granddad*'. The tears return. Christian takes my hand and pulls me into the sitting room. We talk for a while, and I find myself smiling. Muscles around my mouth that I haven't used in a long time quickly begin aching. But I don't mind.
My grandchildren sit on my knee and ask for a story. I tell them about you, sweetheart. How we met, and how well you danced.
Halfway through, I notice that it's becoming darker again. I don't have the same gut-wrenching feeling I did before. I pull my grandchildren closer and look at their tiny, cherub-like faces one last time. Then, the light blinks out for good.
Christian asks me to move in with them. He doesn't hear the first *yes* through the sobbing, so I repeat it, and he hugs me. I feel the warmth of *his* tears on my cheek.
I can no longer see, Mildred. But I have them, and I have you. I still have light.
---
Thank you for reading. You can find more of my stories on /r/nickofnight | Eric sat in the passenger seat of his friend Darrel's Jeep. He had stopped driving himself weeks ago when he pulled out in front of a car he should have seen.
He watched the pine trees glide by in a blur of green as the Jeep sped down the highway. They had been driving for the past six hours toward their destination. There hadn't been much conversation during the drive, but neither man minded that much.
Darrel turned the Jeep down a small dirt road. A recent rain had washed out most of the road and it became a sluggish process of creeping around large holes in the ground and pits of mud.
"Almost there," Darrel said steering around a rut that threatened to break the axle.
Eric nodded and kept his eyes open. He didn't want to miss a second of anything. His eyes darted from tree to rock then to a small bird that took flight. He tried to remember every detail, every flash of green and smudge of brown. His vision had deteriorated to the point where it was like looking through a drinking straw.
The trail ended in a small clearing large enough for a car to turn around in. Darrel threw the car in park and hopped out. He grabbed their packs out of the back and met Eric at his door.
"Ready?"
Eric nodded, stepped out of the vehicle and threw his pack over his shoulders. The small hiking trail was slowly being overtaken by nature. Thick roots spread across the trail threatening to trip Eric with every step he took. After a few stumbles the frustration began to build. He swallowed tears and shook his head angrily.
"It's all good man, here," Darrel said tying a rope around his waist then connecting it to the strap of Eric's backpack. Eric grabbed the back of Darrel's pack and they set out again.
"How much time do we have?" Eric asked.
"Enough, we'll get there."
Sweat rolled down Eric's face as the sun's rays snuck through the canopy above.
*How could I have taken all of this for granted?*
A tear rolled down his cheek and he angrily swept it away. Regardless of how long he'd known Darrel he didn't want to cry in front of the man.
The trail began a steady incline and the forest began to fade behind them as they hiked higher up the mountain. The sun was beginning to it's descent as the men struggled.
"We're not going to make it," Eric said squinting at the dying light.
"Yes we will!" Darrel said stubbornly placing one foot in front of the other.
Both men were breathing heavily, sweat ran down in their bodies in thick rivulets.
"Only a few more feet Eric!" Darrel said triumphantly as he pulled himself up onto a large flat rock that created a shelf on the side of the mountain. He extended a hand and pulled Eric the rest of the way up. They collapsed onto the rock and looked out over the sea of green. The base of the sun had just hit the top of the trees.
"Thank you Darrel."
Tears rolled freely down Eric's cheeks as he watched the sun set for the final time.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories! | 2017-01-04T05:58:27 | 2017-01-04T05:42:31 | 1,909 | 34 |
[WP] Any time a baby is born in Antarctica, the baby gains immortality. | Rebellion Records #339, dated 22nd September 2335.
Its been more than 300 years since the Antarctic Conglomerate assumed power as the leaders of our world.
Every year, people suffer. The Antarctic Conglomerate is cruel and harsh in their laws and regulations. Yet, no one has ever been able to overthrow them.
The reason is quite simple. No one knows who they are. Even after so many years in power, nobody is absolutely certain where the people who control the Conglomerate are, how they do it, or even who they are.
But all that changes today. Because I have found conclusive proof as to who the Antarctic Conglomerate are.
It all dates back to a post on the website Reddit from the year 2019. In it, someone pointed out that only 11 people had been born on Antarctica, and that all of them were still alive. The post raised the idea that Antarctica had a 0% mortality rate, meaning everyone born there, was immortal.
For some reason, I could not find records of any more people being born on Antarctica after that post. I did however find an archaic CIA files about 'Project South P Baby'.
This made me extremely curious, and so I continued investigations. The only, and last trace of these 11 people, was one of the last articles of a famous gossip magazines.
The article followed on the stories of these 11 people, revealing that all of them were now successful business people. The article even suggested a series on them which gained a lot of interest. Funny how it got shut down so abruptly...
Furthermore, the remnants of the CIA file contained descriptions about the test subjects' inability to be mortally wounded. It looked into possibilities of the subjects being unkillable. From what I can see, the research is reliable.
Based on these evidences and the recent leak of the Conglomerate conference room, I strongly believe that the Conglomerate is controlled by these 11 immortal babies from Antarctica. The evidence is damning, and even though it sounds impossible, it is the most logical explanation.
I suggest leadership look into this as part of their rebellion plans.
Report filed under 'Speculation'. Notably, General Carter described it as 'useless, a bunch of baloney cowpoop'.
u/Ash_One_Seven | For many years Antarctica and it's secrets were unknown, it was really just a joke that anarchy was better than all government.
And it stayed that way for a hundred long years until the first babies were reaching triple digits, all of them living that long seemed ridiculous and all the babies that followed have been extraordinarily healthy.
It was only ten years after that that we truly became worried the babies were well beyond the normal age we stopped birth in Antarctica pulled out of it nearly entirely!
And now fifty years later only one of the fifty-seven Antarticians has died, scientists are researching ways to help put the fifty-six out of their misery.
And that is why we request you our viewers to help this cause as of now twenty-eight want to die and the others admit to being scared for what will happen when they too give up the will to live.
- yes my grammar is terrible. -
| 2019-01-05T22:11:38 | 2019-01-05T21:52:19 | 74 | 27 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished", he says. "You are the punishment." | First opening his eyes, he saw two paths. One was the cliche pearly white gates in the distance, a beautiful path towards them filled with life and vibrancy, the other full of crags blackened by hellfire and brimstone while leading down to a fiery pit. One thing though: the first path was blocked off by dark grey metal bars.
“I suppose you’re confused, mortal.” A deep and masculine voice boomed, and looking between the paths at a grey patch, stood a figure garbed in black cloth, hiding his features. “You see, with how you’ve been utterly faithful to the Lord, there’s only one task left for you to do before heading on up to Heaven. You see...” the cloaked man started to speak.
“Demons have been running rampant within their home, not even Lucifer can keep the amount of rebelling demons under control, and there is a very real risk of the demons reaching Earth if left as they are now. So God has decided to select one of his most faithful believers, and give them a choice.” The cloaked man continued. Looking to the hellish path, he sighed. “The choice of becoming the punishment for those within the bowels of Hell. In other words, you have a choice.” The unknown man spoke.
“Go to heaven, and live the rest of time blissfully ignorant of the situation, or.” The cloaked figure began. He then reached into his robes and pulled out a strange item. It was similar to the hilt of a sword, a circular cross guard with two moveable pieces crossed over the top of the circle, a strange symbol emblazoned on it in blood red crimson. A mark similar to that of a T, with a slash in the lower part of it. “Become that who would slay demons, and be their punishment. I will let you choose...
Flynn Taggart.”
Nothing more needed to be considered. Taking the device, Flynn Taggart chose the path of becoming the punishment of Hell’s fiendish residents, he chose the path that would eventually lead him earning a title feared by Hell’s denizens:
The Doomslayer.
(First time doing one of these, hope I didn’t do too bad! Originally it wasn’t going to end DOOM-related but I couldn’t help myself with such an opportunity.) | [Poem]
Well howdilidoodily I end up here
God I pray you can still hear
My life was always in your glory
Yet all around me is hell clearly.
I don’t doubt you almighty
By golly I’ll be alrighty
But what is my task here lord?
YOUR PRESENCE WILL HAUNT MOST
YOUR PRESENT STATE AS FLANDERS-GHOST
WILL TORTURE THOSE WHO SINNED DAILY
YOUR MOUSTACHED GOOD PRAYING
SELF WILL SHOW THE LIGHT TO THEM
FOR THEY HAVE ALL BEEN CONDEMNED
TO A LIFETIME OF FLANDERS-HELL
Well, gee, oh, Dee. Willikers. my presence?
Is a torture and life sentence?
Things that make you go:
D’OH! | 2020-01-10T17:59:07 | 2020-01-10T17:34:40 | 51 | 19 |
[WP] Something seemed off about the Holy Order of Saint Joseph. You, an investigative reporter, sneak your way inside, only to be caught by the Abbot. He explains that the Holy Order is a front for supernatural and unholy creatures, who are able to live relatively normal lives thanks to their faith. | Something was off. Most the doors were locked, from the outside.
I got lucky getting in but wasn't sure how I was going to get out. As I getting a tour of the outside there was a loud explosion-type sound from the western grounds and everyone ran that way. It left me the opening I needed, but once the commotion calmed how was I going to get out? Oh well, time to focus and figure out what was wrong. This place didn't seem right.
The deeper I went down the long corridor filled with locked doors the more uncomfortable I felt. Like something evil was watching me. I wasn't really the religious type though. I went to church around Easter and Christmas, but religion was never something that really grabbed me. It all seemed like a big hoax that everyone just kinda played along with.
All the more reason to crack open what was going on here. People shouldn't be lied to, and the Holy Order of Saint Joseph was probably the most secret order of all, and people didn't keep secrets unless they had something to hide.
I approached a large golden door with no lock on it. It was the first door I had seen in some time that I could go through.
Well, nowhere else to go from here so may as well check inside. As I pushed open the doors there was a loud creek. I grimaced but continued on hoping nobody was around.
However, somebody was around. It was the Abbot. "Crap," I said. "Sorry, I um..."
"How did you get in here child?" The Abbot had a deep resounding voice. The kind that demanded authority but also instilled a sense of calm. He was wearing clothes like the monks but had a mitre on. If not for that I would have no idea who he was.
"I was taking a tour and there was an explosion sound and my guide had to take off. I decided to look around myself."
"Ah, yes, the reporter. Well as you can see there isn't much to see here so it is time to go. I will escort you out." The Abbot said, putting a hard emphasis on the word escort.
"Yes, um, thanks." I couldn't very well argue with him. I was caught, he knew it, I knew it. Best thing to do now was just comply.
"Sir, why are all these doors locked from the outside?" I knew he wouldn't give me an honest answer but what was the harm in asking?
"To keep very valuable things away from people that don't belong in here." The Abbot grinned a bit as he said this. Like he was in on some inside joke that nobody else knew and took great pleasure from it.
"What sort of things?" I pressed on. I found that if I asked enough questions most people would slip up at some point. It was what made me such a good investigative journalist.
"Well, that's a secret. I doubt investigative journalists are very good at keeping secrets? If you would allow me a question, do you have faith child?" He seemed to be well-versed in steering conversations in the direction he wanted. He was trying to put me off guard.
"Around 65% of Americans are Christians." I didn't want to come out and tell him outright I didn't have faith. It seemed disrespectful.
"I see." The grin was back. Like he was proud that he already knew the answer I would give and his inside joke made it even funnier.
We were nearing the exit and I was still empty-handed. What a waste of time. I wasn't sure how I would get anything done now. The Abbot himself caught me sneaking around and I was sure every monk in the order would know to avoid me by tomorrow. Oh well...
I didn't get to finish my thought.
There was a loud explosion-like sound again and something came flying through the door.
I screamed!
"Behind me child!" The Abbot said with a commanding voice as he threw me back. He was surprisingly strong for an old man.
"Oh no! It's you!" The flying creature screamed in a high pitch. "Listen Belore, don't you..."
Before the flying creature could finish the Abbot flung what I assumed was holy water at it. At the same time, a burst of fire erupted from the creature hurtling towards the Abbot!
I dived to the ground thinking we were both going to be engulfed!
I can't really explain what happened but somehow the holy water evaporated the flame and landed on the flying creature. There wasn't nearly enough water to put out that flame. It made no sense, but neither did a flying creature like this that could talk!
"You son of a..." The creature shrieked as it hit the ground!
"Silence imp! You will not profane in my presence!" The Abbot boomed.
Imp? This was an imp? What did I get myself into? Were they going to kill me after seeing this? No way they would allow me to tell the world about what I had just saw! Was God real? My mind was reeling and I couldn't focus.
"You picked the worst day to do your escape routine Bean!" The Abot gestured furiously at me.
"I'm sorry!" The imp, Bean was it, screamed out still clearly in pain. "It just gets so boring here!"
"Report back to brother Ash...now...or maybe you need a bath?" The Abot's voice got low when he said bath as if the thought bothered him.
"No! I'm sorry! I promise I will report to brother Ash right away! No more escapes! Never again! Please just no bath!" Bean flew off quickly with his tail tucked up under his legs like a dog that had just been scolded.
"Well then, I suppose we should sit down and talk child." The Abot wasn't grinning anymore, his inside joke wasn't inside any longer. | Making my way inside was the easy part. Monks weren't exactly known to have the best security, and these ones seemed pathetically poor. Nobody outside the main gate, nobody patrolling the fence, heck, there wasn't a camera in sight. All I had to do was hop the fence, and start making my way closer. I walked around the outside, careful to avoid the marked paths. Luckily, the well trimmed bushes made for some excellent cover. Soon, I was able to see the monastery itself. It really was a beautiful sight, lit up directly under the full moon. Ever the documentarian, I pulled my camera around, and snapped a photo. Immediately after I did, a howl emanated from the Monastery. What the hell was that? All the research I did said the monks and nuns that made up the populace had disallowed pets and visitors. Was there a wolf loose around here? I had to know more. Carefully, I kept creeping forwards, until I made my way right up to the outer walls of the building. No cameras here either. It was almost like these holy people were determined to live in the twelfth century. I pulled out the photo from Google Maps, and tried to figure out where I was. Judging by the steeple, I'd say somewhere on the south-west side. The doors, or lack thereof, led directly into a large open garden, where I saw my first sign of life. There was a nun there, carefully tending to one of the flower gardens, wearing a large black cape over her habit. Was she deaf? Had she not heard the howl a few minutes ago? A part of me wanted to warn her, and try to get her somewhere safer, but the more reasonable part of me shut that down. Better to not let anyone know I was here. However, this would make a fantastic photo for the paper. I knelt down, and snapped a photo. Immediately, the nun whipped around, and I lowered the camera in amazement. The nun was stunningly beautiful, but that was the least strange thing about her. Her face and skin were bright purple, almost red in color. She had two little horns sticking out of the top of her head, and when she turned, a snakelike tongue wiggled out of her mouth. Licking her lips, she quickly scanned the flowerbed I was crouching in. I held as still as I could while internally panicking. What in the name of God is that thing? A hand appeared on my shoulder, and I instinctively jumped to my feet in surprise. I heard a man's voice gently ask, "My son, you do know it's quite rude to stare." When I turned to look, I saw an older man, with a greying comb-over atop an otherwise normal face. He wore the traditional black robes of an abbot, with a large cross resting on his chest. I tried my best to compose myself, and slung my camera over my shoulder. "What the hell is that!?" I asked, pointing at the nun. The Abbot looked over to her, and waved her away. The nun stared at me, seemingly looking me over, before smiling and bowing to the man. "As you wish, Father." She said, before walking away. The Abbot watched her leave, before turning back to me with a solemn look on his face. "That was Sister Bezel. A bit of a newcomer to our order. Poor thing is still struggling with her nature. I only pray that the Lord can help her."
"That... thing is one of yours?"
"She's a succubus. A demon cursed with an infernal desire that sustains her existence. However, the power of the Lord seems to be enough to keep her alive. She hasn't killed a man in months."
"She's *killed* people?"
"Not by intention. She let her desire overwhelm her better nature."
"You know how insane that sounds?"
"Of course, my son. That's the whole point of our order. To protect the world from such demons."
"... What else do you have here?" The Abbot didn't respond, but he turned to walk deeper into the monastery. Not wanting to be caught unawares, I grabbed my pen and pad, and followed. This was going to be a hell of a story. | 2022-10-21T20:19:40 | 2022-10-21T19:00:34 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Two random strangers are in couples therapy together. They both decide to pretend they're a couple, despite having met each other two minutes ago. | Part One
I looked across the waiting room to see her sitting there, twisting a damp tissue between her hands. Her eyes were red rimmed and exhausted. She checked her watch every few minutes.
As did I.
How ridiculous to be stood up at a therapist’s office.
We were the only two people in the waiting area. The small space, filled with generic art and fake plants, looked like a typical doctor’s office that someone had half heartedly tried to make more welcoming, but succeeded in creating a depressing and anxiety inducing holding cell. Or maybe that’s just my perception.
I scheduled this appointment as a last ditch effort to salvage the sunken ship of my relationship, torpedoed when my partner of 3 years decided she couldn’t handle my “issues” any more. Marnie had packed up and moved out while I pulled the graveyard shift at the warehouse. I came home expecting to see her getting ready for work with coffee on and at least a short good morning before I passed out after my 12 hours loading and unloading pallets of the junk people loved to order with free Prime shipping. Instead I found our small house dark. A note was on the two seater kitchenette table. She was gone, her things were gone. The damn dog was gone. Poof, like it never happened. Like I hadn’t asked her to marry me. Like she hadn’t said yes. Like every extra shift and hour of sleep lost and dollar saved into the bank account hadn’t gone to making her happy. Like I hadn’t broken myself to meet her expectations and be the person she told me she wanted. Gone. Ship sunk.
So I called the therapist and scheduled a session. I called Marnie and begged her to come. She told me she would show up, but warned me this was for “closure” and that I needed to say what I needed to say and let her move on. She told me she was happier on her own now and the only reason she would be here is so I didn’t get overbearing and refuse to let this go. I heard her. But hope is the thing with feathers. That’s what Dickinson said and I’m going with it. Or I was.
Marnie is never late. Ever. 15 minutes early for everything. She always has been. She said it’s because her mom was never anywhere on time and she was always left alone, calling for rides, while the adults waited impatiently with tapping toes and frowns for her mom to show up so they could go home to their own families. It’s a THING with Marnie. So I got here 20 minutes early. I wanted to show her how important this is for me. That I’m reliable. That this is so big I was here before she was. The appointment is at 1. It’s 12:50. Marnie isn’t here. Marnie is late. Marnie… isn’t coming.
I sat back as the full force of it hit me. She’s not coming. I’m here, in this stupid waiting room with my heart ripped in shreds, ready to bare my soul to some stranger to try and get Marnie to understand I will do anything to fix this. That I love her and our home and our LIFE and I even love that stupid yappy terrier and that if she’ll just come home I will be the person she needs. But she’s not coming and I’m stuck here with a therapy session for two, but I’m only one.
And then I have an idea.
The woman across the room was here when I got here. Same watch checking. Same look of desperation. She’s been stood up too.
I crossed the few steps and sat down, keeping one chair between us. 9 minutes until the session starts.
“Hey, you ok?” I asked, as she looked up from mangling the tissue in her hands. I noticed a pile on the small table beside her. She’s been at it a while by the size of the pile of shreds.
“Not really,” she said with a hollow voice.
“Did you get stood up too? I’m supposed to be here with my fiancée. I’m going to bet she washed out. Pretty sure I’m on my own.” I tried to keep my voice from cracking.
“He didn’t come either,” she said, tears shining through. “Our appointment was at 11. I’ve been here for almost two hours. I tired calling but… straight to voicemail. So I just waited. I feel like I’ve spent the last 6 months just waiting for him to show up.”
7 minutes until the appointment.
“Ok. We’re both here alone. We both got left at this. I paid for my session up front. I’ve got an idea, if you’re up for it. Let’s go in together. I don’t want to do this as a party of one at a table for two.” I realized this sounded slightly crazy.
“I’m not gay.” She looked me up and down. And quickly said, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. I’m just not. It would be weird to go in with you. I don’t know how to put this. Not weird with you. I’m sure you’re perfectly nice. I’m just… not gay. Lesbian. Not even bi. I… shit. I’m sorry. I’m Julia. Please don’t be offended. I’m a mess.”
I stuck out my hand. “I’m Sam. Samantha.” | ** DISCLAIMER: Whose Line is it Anyway? is an older improve show with a studio audience. **
---
"Okay Collin take off the earmuffs." Drew said.
Collin points to his ears and yells, "CANT HEAR YOU DREW IM WEARING EARMUFFS. HOLD ON I'LL TAKE THEM OFF. THERE WE GO. WAS I THIS LOUD WITH THE EARMUFFS ON? THAT MUST OF BEEN ANNOYING."
"Alright" Drew said, "Collin you're a couples therapist and Wayne and Ryan are here for their first session."
"Hope they know how expensive I am." Collin cautioned.
"I know I do" Ryan said out of character, "Don't take this one to Amsterdam if you know what I mean." He warned Wayne.
"Ok ok ok." Drew took over, "Begin."
Wayne opens the door and speaks in a feminine voice, "Knock knock, sorry we're late but *somebody* couldn't settle on a parking spot."
Ryan comes in behind her, "This again? I swear it's been nothing but parking lot with you since we met."
Collin says, "Oh don't worry about being late. It gives me time to Facebook stalk my clients to figure out what will *really* hit a nerve. Anyway, have a seat." Collin motions to the floor.
"Oh not the comfortable chairs over there?" Ryan asks a little out of character."
"Nope right here on this lovely couch." Collin insists while still pointing to blank air.
"Well I'm not rude like *some* people. I'd love to have a seat on this lovely couch." Wayne walks over and impressively holds a sitting position on air, clearly using a lot of strength. She pats the air next to her, "come on sweetie, don't be rude."
Ryan weighs his options a moment as Wayne starts struggling, "You know what, I think I'll just take in your beauty a moment." Ryan delays, "You know after all this time it's like you haven't aged at all."
Wayne collapses laughing.
Collin takes over, "Oh my help her help her. These are the moments that matter most in a relationship."
Ryan acts swiftly, "I got you I got yo- oof you're heavier than I thought?"
Wayne is faint in his arms, back of his hand on her own forehead, "Do you see doc? Do you see the way he treats me?"
Collin doesn't miss a beat, "I see the way you treat yourself. You didn't see me rush to help you up." Collin and Ryan exchange some overweight mimes.
"Well now that the introductions are over, let's get into it." Collin said, "Standing up, I guess. So what seems to be the problem?"
"What are you a mechanic or therapist?" Ryan asks.
"Don't listen to him" Wayne said, "We're having trouble communicating. It's like he doesn't know me at all."
"Oh I know you" Ryan's angry, "I know if it's not one thing it's the other. One minute it's all laughs then the next minute we suddenly need therapy. That's all it's ever been with you."
"Tell me about the sex." Collin asks eagerly.
Wayne answers sheepishly, "Okay. See first you turn off all the lights, have some wine an.."
Ryan interrupts, "That's not what he's asking. He's asking about *our* sex." He turns to Collin, "And we're not having any, that's the problem."
Collin looks at Wayne worried, "Could it be true?"
Wayne breaks down, "He just wants everything to move so fast. I'm just not the kind of girl to jump in a truck bed the first minute I meet someone."
"Or the second minute, believe me." Ryan adds.
"Ok I think I know the problem here." Collin declared, "The real issue here is .... that you two just met in the parking lot before coming in here."
Bzzt bzzt bzzt | 2021-08-21T08:02:09 | 2021-08-21T07:51:34 | 54 | 37 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | She’s so beautiful.
The second I see her my mind darts back to that little dinner party anecdote my uncle would always spout. “Well I had to travel to France,” he’d start “when your *words* are in French, you have to take the plunge. Six months I studied the language, six months I saved money for a ticket, only to find my belle chou was a stewardess on the flight!” I hate that story. He always smiled and winked at me after telling it, never knowing how much it hurt me. How was he to know, I’d never told him. I have no *words*.
Christ, now shes smiling at me.
My stomach lurches as I pretend to look past her, knowing I can’t put off going to her forever. Theres nothing like spending your life knowing youre destined to be alone. I’ve learned to avoid conversations when *words* come up; I feign insult and cite taboo if anyone asks directly about mine. I’ve had flings; girls have seen my unetched skin, but even when they mask their shock and dissapointment, their pity still shines through. I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve also learned they never call back afterwards.
Still, I don’t get paid for standing around moping my own misfortune. I take a deep breath and start to walk over to her table, trying and failing to look anywhere but her stunning face. I feel the colour rise in my cheeks at the same rate my stomach is sinking. Am I sweating? God I must look like an idiot to her. I clear my throat. “Good morning maam, how can I help? Coffee?” She pulls a cute appologetic face while raising her fist to her chest and moving it in a circle. I am confused. This is confusing, right? She points to her ear before theatrically shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. I don’t see which beverage she’s pointing to on the menu, instead I just grin as I realise what’s happening. She has no words either.
EDIT - Thanks guys, thats an amazing response and Im so glad you guys liked it. Cheers to u/Josh_is_a_lazy_lump for the admittedly purloined suggestion. For those wondering, I was aiming for deaf with muteness as a symptom but I wasnt well versed in the issues and particulars. In that vein, if anyone (rich) was touched by the story, please consider donating to www.deafchildworldwide.info who help spread awareness of deafness and support deaf children in third world countries. | I've been waiting and waiting. The Last words were sure to come soon. "I have loved you dearly." Those are the words that have been carved into the ribs on my left side since I was introduced to the world in this same hospital where I sit. As anyone will tell you, hearing your soulmate's Last Words are never pleasant, but once they pass, it seems most are able to find comfort and peace in the words on their own skin. My wife lies in the bed sleeping with a wince on her face as she has been doing intermittently for the past few months. Every time I see her start to dose off, I expect to hear the Words, but they have yet to be uttered. The doctor says she should be going soon. We've been married for 50 years, and I always wonder how I will get along without her. I don't think the words on my ribs will be of much comfort to me. Oh how I dread to hear them.
She opens her eyes painfully slowly. As she opens her mouth to speak, she pauses a moment to take a breath. "I'm tired" is what she says. The heart monitor flat lines.
| 2015-08-08T11:29:36 | 2015-08-08T10:03:55 | 1,771 | 88 |
[WP] In the afterlife, people are given awards for things they did during their life. You won the award "Most People Killed Without Knowing It." | When school started the other kids started picking on me. After a while I became a bully myself. One of the kids I picked on had committed a mass killing out of a burst of rage some years later. Some of the parents couldn't handle losing their only child and took their own lives also.
In high school I always looked older so I supplied the liquor for parties. If you had the cash I'd provide no questions asked. After one party a group of kids decided to drive home. On the way they hit a minivan with a family who just came back from a funeral. 6 of my classmates died, out of the family in the van 4 died and a baby survived.
Later on I changed and some of my best buddies from school wanted to join the army. Being the good friend I was I encouraged them. One became the leader of his own squad. They died defending a village from a rebel attack. Another got injured and dishonorably discharged he grew to resent his former brothers and was killed after plotting a bombing. The last one had went on to become a high ranking officer.
I dropped out my last year never did anything bad though. I went back got my GED nothing special. Got in a bad accident though. You know even after the party back then it never crossed my mind. My dad was driving drunk and hit a pickup head on, and I was with him.
and that friend who became an officer. When things went to shit during the second civil war. He took the republics side and turned against the U.S. . He led them to many victories and successfully defended the west coast time and time again. But our former countrymen grew bolder and bolder in their attacks. Since this wasn't an international war they didn't have to follow any treaties if word never reached anybody. They burned us out of the suburbs. And gassed them for good measure, thousands died. But the worst was to come.
After burning the central valley to a crisp the west coasts food supply dwindled and millions died of starvation. With all resources running low desperate measures had to be taken. My friend turned general launched an aerial campaign against the eastern landmass. But nobody expected what followed. A nuclear fire engulfed NYC killing 9 million. Tens of millions more would die in the exchange that would follow.
And as for me. I never even knew. I didn't even know I was alive. Didn't even know what happened to my dad. I was in a coma ever since the accident. My mom poured her life savings out and took loans against the house to keep me alive. She had me sent to a hospital in NYC shortly after the crash supposed to be the best hospital in the americas and she kept me at that place ever since. I was one of those killed in the blast that day. That's funny ain't it. My own buddy killed me and neither of us even knew it.
Karmas a bitch ain't it | Man, a life well lived. Every night another girl, sometimes a guy, sometimes both. If it walked, I could seduce it.
I started to get sick one day, weak and frail. I tried to keep up with my lifestyle but it was just too much for me. I started losing considerable weight, always had a fever, and I was perpetually tired. I caught a cold one day and just never recovered.
I woke up here, somewhere that felt familiar even though I'd never been here before. People new my name, they welcomed me to what they referred to as "the life after." I was informed that I would be acknowledged for the accumulation of my life's work before moving on the the next step.
"I've had sex with more people than anyone, ever," I thought, "I can't wait to show this off. Now that I'm healthy too I can pick up where I left off on Earth."
I stood in line, waiting, listening to the announcements of each person as they were rewarded for their deeds in life. Finally my turn came around. He handed me my certificate, I turned so I could see everyone cheer for me as it was announced.
"Harold was the infectious host that sparked the AIDS epidemic in the late 2010's, his continued act of engaging in unprotected sexual encounters after becoming sick with the disease has lead to the greatest plague since the 1300's." | 2016-12-14T00:14:02 | 2016-12-13T19:50:16 | 58 | 35 |
[WP] The year is 2019. An unidentified radar contact appears over the English Channel, bound for an RAF base. It ignores all calls from Air Traffic Control. RAF fighters are vectored to intercept. The contact: a WWII B-24. Part of its wing is missing, and along its fuselage: long, jagged claw marks. | 10 minutes ago Hawk was lounging around at the base with nothing much to do. Now he and his co-pilot Twitch were in a Typhoon at 10,000 feet and cruising just under Mach 1 towards the unidentified contact.
Unidentified radar contacts were not an unusual occurrence and usually ended up being a weather balloon, a large flock of birds or even the occasional lost light aircraft. But it was headed straight for the airbase and protocole called for a visual confirmation.
"Base to Hawk, unidentified bogie 20 miles out, unresponsive to hails. Caution storm front approaching, over."
"Hawk to Base, understood. Around 30 seconds to visual, over"
"Roger that Hawk, Base out"
Hawk look out through the canopy, eyes scanning the horizon. Just on the edge of the storm front, Hawk could see a small dark silhouette highlighted by the occasional lighting flash from behind.
"Are you seeing that?" Hawk asked his co-pilot.
"Yes, and I see it on our radar. I'm clocking it at around 300 miles an hour" Twitch replied from behind.
As the fighter closed in to intercept, a few details became clearer. Painted a dark brown, it had a large wingspan, 4 props and smoke billowing from the rear. One of the props wasn't spinning, and the paint job had lines running from the wings to the tail. A slight feeling of unease passed through Hawk.
"I think that's a B-24 bomber" muttered Twitch. "There an airshow on soon?"
"Not that I know of." Curious why the plane wasn't responding to hails from base, Hawk keyed his radio and tried himself.
"This is a British Royal Air Force fighter jet, you are approaching restricted air space. Please identify yourself and correct course, over"
Silence filled the radio. Hawk tried twice more but was met with more silence.
Now closer, the outline of the other aircraft was unmistakably one of a WWII bomber, part of its wing was missing and those paint lines now looked more like gashes down the side of the plane. Deep, long gashes out of which the smoke was escaping from. It was a miracle the thing was still airborne. Now much closer, it was still fast approaching.
Still, there were other details. Metal spikes mounted on the top and side of the fuselage that looked like Tesla coils and long antenna arrays attached to the front and bottom of the craft. Electricity crackled between the metal spikes in bright flashes. It looked like a Frankenstein of a plane. The B24 shot past as Hawk banked the fighter to obtain an escort position around the plane.
While Twitch stared in disbelief, Hawk radioed base.
"Hawk, Base. We have made visual and identified it as a WWII era bomber. It has extensive damage to it's structure and it looks there may be a fire on board. Over."
"Base, Haw... .her.... ay..."
"You are breaking up base. Can you read me? Over"
".... econd... ...bogie.. ...r..d......"
The radio was flooded with the sound of static.
"Piece of junk" Hawk muttered as he lightly kicked the console.
"Probably has to do with all of that" Twitch said, gesturing to the electrical arcs surrounding the bomber.
As Hawk pulled his fighter into an escort postition along and above the bomber, Twitch continued: "Even the radar's been acting up since we got near it too. Keeps picking up another contact just behind us"
Hawk turned his head and looked out the rear of the canopy to see nothing but the dark swirling clouds of the storm closing in behind them.
As he turned back to face the front, something in the B24 caught his eye. A man dressed in old flight leathers, who Hawk assumed was part of the bomber's crew, was wildly waving his arms through the cockpit and pointing behind at the dark clouds. Checking once again, Hawk turned to look at the storm behind and his blood ran cold. A second later and he would have missed it. But he didn't. Right there in the middle of the dark clouds, a giant yellow eye blinked open. | Missiles were launched, and the B-24 was reduced to smithereens. The remnants of the bomber fell into the English Channel, and immediately the RAF contacted the military for support. They waited at first, convinced the long, jagged marks along the fuselage had been made by the splintes of a previous attack.
But the waters soon turned turbulent. They stirred as though something were sucking them from beneath. Great waves rose and lashed the shore, clawing their way higher and higher toward civilization.
Upon seeing this, the military deployed troops, and sent helicopters and submarines where the bomber has fallen. A whirlwind had been formed now, one that widened with each second.
"We can't see anything alien, other than the strange behaviour of the tides," a soldier in a helicopter said. "How do we proceed--"
A tentacle the size and breadth of a building, crowded with jagged claws snapped past the tides, wrapping the helipcoter, crushing it, and hauling it down to the depths.
Desperation ensued. Orders were given for the submarines to destroy whatever was down there. And they did. The blue of the sea flashed red and black; screams and gasps filled the mouths of the citizens who were watching from the comfort of their homes; the very ground trembled.
But the whirlwind widened, and the creature's wrath was unleashed. Its tentacles reached for the fleeing helicopters, for the submarines, obliterating them, killing everyone inside.
"Prime Minister," one of his counsellors said, "the sea level is lowering at a tremendous rate--" The ground quaked then, as though a massive earthquake were striking. Prodigious lumps pushed past the concrete, and the tentacles rose in the midst of the city, lashing against building, destroying them as if they were toys.
"What do we do?" the counsellor shouted, as a tentacle rose in the distance.
The Prime Minister looked at him, his wrinkled hands tremulous. He reached for the phone, and after a moment, he said, his voice brittle, "Nuke it." Then, he dialed another number. "The situation is impossible to handle, President. The enemy seems to be advancing toward the land. I've ordered for it to be nuked, but if we fail, nuke us all, and pray it dies."
The councellor's fail turned ashen. But it was not due to the words that had left the Prime Minister's mouth. No. It was because of the tentacle coming, at blurrying speeds, their way.
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I know it's bad. I lack the proper knowledge for a story like this. Hopefully someone comes with a much more accurate one. | 2019-12-01T09:08:36 | 2019-12-01T08:23:40 | 53 | 18 |
[WP] Finally, the ultimate MMORPG has been created, unlimited choice and room to grow and expand your character. There's just one issue, it's so realistic, nobody can remember which life they are living, and which is the game. | Rifts opening up everywhere... Jake needed to move quick. No time to mourn or to wonder if he even should mourn. So much of his memory had been knocked loose. That ray must've boggled his mind more than he realized at first. sprinting to the next house over, something inside told him that it had some guns inside, maybe he could find a fist kit too. "The hell was his name?" he whispered to himself, just to break the eerie silence. Trying to remember his neighbor's name seemed fruitless. Moving in the cover of night, skin crawling as he listens for any sound beyond his heartbeat. Looking along the back of the house and seeing an open window, Jake crept along. the lack of electricity in this moment seemed to be his best advantage. Once directly below the opening, he looked out into the inky blackness, straining to hear anything...
whumph whomph whumph whomph Nothing else but his heartbeat... Leaping up he quickly shimmied into the window, never having been very dexterous in the first place he landed with a thud and the wind knocked out of him. Getting to his feet quickly, as he heard something stir in the next room. grabbing the first thin he could lay hands on a toilet lid he readied himself to attack. The door swung open and in the sudden candle light that poured in, he saw the blast of the muzzle. Just as his hands came apart with the impact of the shotgun slug, he tried to gasp his surprise...
"HOME INVADER GUNNED DOWN BY GAMER"
During the blackout last night an avid gamer wearing an Augmented Reality headset was shot down, by no less than his neighbor who at the time of the black out was ALSO playing the latest AR game to hit the market, Dog Eat Dog;Survive it all. Both parties not realizing that their local electrical transformer having been hit by lighting had cause a pulse wave in their plugged in AR headsets. Causing confusion and a sort of delirium state. The publishers KyteDog Unlimited, has realeased a statement lament this unfortunate incident. Still embroiled in a class action lawsuit, there PR department is likely working overtime to spin control the damages nationwide as this incident in NOT the first...
(Thanks for reading, first serious attempt at a writing prompt. Hope you enjoyed, please leave feed back if theres any notes you'd like to share! Have a great day!)
| My character in the game, John paused hus game and finally looked up. He was a game character designed by me to look like me. I had spent a lot of money buying every expansion that came out. My house, my room, my stuff, they were all exactly the same as what I had in real life. I had been making my character 'John' play a game inside his game for the past few hours. I felt my stomach rumble, and paused my game, looking up, and froze.
I paused my game and looked up. My room was dark, gloomy and messy. It only bore a passing resemblance to the one I had designed in the game. I open the door and found that my mother had left the meal on the doorstep. I could hear my mother sobbing softly upstairs. I grabbed the meal and went back into my room, locking the door behind me.
It took me some time to convince myself that this was all a game. | 2018-02-19T08:44:15 | 2018-02-19T07:06:50 | 43 | 14 |
[WP] If your death is imminent, time stops for everyone but you. This allowed you to cheat death on many occasions by avoiding all sorts of danger except for now - you have no idea whats threating your life. Its been a year since time stopped. | Day 1: Time stopped, as it does when I'm in danger, at 7:05:23 this morning. I know because that's why my watch was at when it stopped counting. I usually just duck or jump to the side or something and time restarts, but none of that helped. I finally ran outside the house, and nothing. This is strange; something's about to kill me - usually time stops only seconds away from my death - but whatever it is I can't figure it out.
Day 2 (?): I've double-checked everything. All the food I ate, the pills I took, I don't see any bug bites - and how many bug bites are lethal, anyway? It's been an entire day the world has been stopped. Usually it's under a minute. Whatever the danger is, I just don't see it. I hope I don't have cancer or something. How would I find out?
Day 7 (probably): This is losing its humor value. People in solitary start to go bonkers, and I'm starting to feel that way myself. I've dozen-checked everything. There is nothing, literally nothing, even slightly threatening to me within a kilometer of my house. I'm not even sure how many days it is, since nothing has changed. I'm mostly going by what it feels like. I could be off a full day in either direction.
Day 30 (ish): I had a long conversation with a time-locked squirrel today, so maybe the going crazy part has begun. Still, the squirrel made some good points. Heh.
Day 60 (or so): There is nothing, literally nothing, within two kilometers of my house that constitutes any possible threat to my life, except maybe that burly cop if he finds out how much time I spent admiring his wife in the shower.
Day 90 (deal with it): I've just been walking in an expanding spiral, and have now made it maybe four kilometers from my house. Nothing, absolutely nothing, looks like any danger to me at the moment time stopped. I must be thinking too small: maybe a nuke went off or something? I climbed an antenna tower to look for planes in the sky or explosions or something but didn't see anything. What am I going to do if it IS a nuke? I guess running the other way until time restarts would mean I made it to minimum safe distance, but then lots of other people would get fried. Maybe I can just take the bits of the bomb and spread them far apart, or carry it out into the desert or something.
Day whatever: I just started walking in a direction. Don't know why I never noticed this before, but you can walk on time-locked water. I don't want to think about what happens if I walk to safety, time restarts, and then stops again after I sink a bit into the water. Too far and I may just be stuck there for eternity. The stories say Jesus walked on water; but that can't have been time-locked or who would have seen it to write the story?
End of year 1, or 2, or however long it's been: I've been walking in a straight line, well I guess a curved line because the planet is round, for, well, a really long time. Time never restarted. I don't see anything that might be dangerous to me. I've seen some nice scenery. I'm starting to walk into the darkness, where the sun had already set when time froze. Not sure how useful that's going to be.
100km later, or whatever, I don't know: I see the full moon rising. I went back and forth a while, see the moon rise and set and rise and set, just to break up the monotony.
Another 10km, or something: I must be going nuts, because now I see two moons.
Later that same day (night?): the second one is not the moon. It looks to be an asteroid, maybe 5 kilometers across, burning up in the atmosphere. There's a bunch of burned out land under it. It has stopped a couple hundred feet above the ground. So now all I have to do is figure out how to climb up to it, chip it into little pieces one at a time, and distribute them over a wide area so that nobody dies. Since I can walk on water, I don't even know if breaking time-locked rock is possible. And I'm not sure how I'm going to get up there. But I do have plenty of time to think about it.
| "good morning, miss Anderson! What wonderful day this is huh? Just like yesterday and the day before!"
"why yes you're right mister Emmett today is a wonderful day just like yesterday and the day before!"
I grinned, I always had a crush on miss Anderson, the fact that I was talking to her so freely felt like a dream come true, there was no one who could get in my way, no one who could interrupt us, not her fucking husband nor other people.
It felt dirty
It felt unreal.
"Emmet, sweetie? Are you alright?"
*oh right, she always called me that... I didn't like it, it made me feel like she wasn't seeing me as a man but rather just a child*
"Emmet, are you alright?" I corrected her, yes that's better, that's what she should call me, just Emmett is fine.
"I always liked you miss Anderson" I said, my hands sweating.
"...I like you too... Emmet..." I said mimicking her voice. Her body remained unmoving, frozen. A feet in front of the other but never taking a step forward. I'd like to believe she was looking at me but I knew she was looking at nothing in particular.
"...I'm scared miss Anderson" I said " I'm so scared"
"please help me, tell me what should I do"
"tell me how... To get out of here..."
***
*it's just a matter of time*
I went out to my usual walks across the town, searching for something, something that could help me break out of this prison, but just like always, I find nothing. The snow falls from the sky but never reaches the ground.
"ah today is a wonderful day" I said "just like yesterday... and the day before..."
I kept walking. A year had passed since I stopped time and I still couldn't find the threat to my life, no matter how much I walked, no matter how much I looked around. Nothing changed, nothing ever changed.
I walked down a street whose name I could no longer remember, but my body always took me there, to the street where miss Anderson is. Talking to her was the only joy a had left
"hello miss Anderson, today is a wonderful day right? Just like yesterday, just like the day before..."
She didn't say anything.
"this is stupid" I said
"...you're stupid" I said to myself.
*what?*
"for how long did you think you could avoid death?" I snapped "every single time, every single *time* you stopped and changed the way things should have been, did you really think things would remain like that forever? silly you, silly Emmet it was only matter of time before something went wrong, before *someone* changed their approach"
"well then Emmett," I said my voice becoming a whimper "if you wanted eternity, then eternity is what you shall receive"
I laughed out loud, mi voice resonating across the silent streets and alleyways, it was a cry that slowly descended into endless sobbing.
But no matter how loud I cried no one listened.
***
***
I wrote this on my phone.. Hopefully it came out understandable! | 2018-07-04T16:29:47 | 2018-07-04T13:38:26 | 2,360 | 278 |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | "*Hypothetically*," Lucius Sanginius Romero de LeVille Finlay Tepesh started, "*if* you could, say, live forever, would you accept such a gift?"
The carpenter rubbed his scruffy chin and emptied his pipe.
"Forever, huh? Sounds like a long time. I mean, wouldn't you get bored?"
"Oh, of course not," the vampire started with barely contained enthusiasm. "There is so much to do that you could live several lifetimes and still find new and amazing things to do. I mean I can tell you that at least 347 years and I am- I mean, *you'd* still be amazed by things," he chuckled as he quickly corrected himself.
"Oddly specific, but sure," the carpenter said as he squinted his eyes. He packed the pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it, taking a long drag. "Mr. Tepesh, you and your friends have been excellent customers and I appreciate such peculiar conversations but..."
He looked at the vampire's remarkably young visage; his gentle, expectant smile almost showed his pointed teeth.
"I can't imagine it would work for me. *Hypothetically*, of course," he concluded with a smile.
The vampire sighed and nodded.
"Of course, Mr. Fitch. Perhaps we can discuss this another time then. I believe my servants should be done loading my order now; as always, thank you for your excellent service. I bid you a good evening," he said and with a tip of his somewhat old-fashioned top hat, he left the shop as quietly as he arrived.
The carpenter continued to smoke his pipe as he listened to the carriage get into motion and disappear into the night. He went to the window and checked the foggy street and, satisfied that no one skulked around, locked the door and went to the back; his workshop.
The place was charming and calm, filled with well-used tools and bits of wood. He lovingly ran his fingers across the newest shipment of birch; an excellent, softer wood he looked forward to using.
Perhaps next time.
He smiled as he thought about the vampire's offer. It was kind of him, truly, but not an option. Not for a long time now. He didn't have the courage to explain it to him - prejudice and all. Checking his calendar, he noted the date; full moon will be tomorrow. Should provide him with the speed to get to the next continent easily.
It really was a shame to abandon this cycle, but it was clear that staying any longer would be suspicious. He took his pipe and dumped the burning tobacco onto a pile of sawdust. Barely any time passed before the fire was spreading to the dry wood and flammable polish in the store. A good cover story.
He took a small bag prepared for this occasion and slipped into the damp night, the moon barely piercing the fog, diminishing his usual urge to howl.
Perhaps this time he could live the life of an apothecary. Been a while since he'd been one. | Alex Bones Reports - Star Carpenter Making Wooden Stakes
Alex: "So many people support giving this guy immortality. 'He makes our safest coffins', they say. I keep telling you to learn the whole truth, not just part of it." (Alex holds up a wooden stake.) "Have you lost a loved one to one of these? They're made of wood. Who makes things out of wood? A carpenter! With me is Count Fred - he has some interesting video to show."
Fred: "Thanks Alex. While my associate kept the carpenter busy, I took our hidden camera through this innocuous door in the show room." (Video close up of blue door.) "Through it, a horror story." (Video shows large show room with racks and racks of wooden stakes in all shapes and sizes.) "Our carpenter friend, the hero of all vampire kind, is double dipping. What's more, he's been putting the finger on us. How do you think Van Helsing and his rotten spawn have always found us in our most secret crypts? 'Buy a coffin today, get it delivered today. No BACK BACK BACK BACK orders! We'll cart off your old coffin free!!!???' Delivery indeed - he leaks our crypt addresses to all takers. Watch this, Alex."
Video shows a man in a restaurant - the carpenter. He's talking. "I deliver to these addresses, and then I have an address list. People pay good money to get that list."
Fred: "I rest my case, Alex."
Alex: "Our best friend? Our savior? HA!" | 2022-05-31T10:59:53 | 2022-05-31T10:44:53 | 631 | 41 |
[WP] Your entire life you have failed at everything you do. Wanting to get some happiness in your life you decide to summon the devil and sell your soul. Except your even fail at this and summon the archangel Michael | "You called?" We stood there in that crossroad looking at each other, me in my jeans and garage sale t shirt, him in his glaring white suit.
My jaw must have been inches from the blacktop. I couldn't get my mind around what I was seeing. I hadn't actually expected it to work and this was definitely not the devil as I'd imagined him.
"Apparently you tried to summon the devil."
I nodded.
"Well...let's hear the story and get on with it."
He sounded annoyed. He pulled out what looked like a gold cigarette case and pulled out a cigarette. Whatever was rolled up inside was white, like the suit. He offered me one and I took it automatically. I don't even smoke.
"Are you - are you the devil?"
"Michael. I know you must be confused. I don't want your life story, I know it already. Just explain your thinking on summoning the devil and we'll get this straightened out."
"OK, Michael, then, you probably already know I'm a failure. You know I'm bankrupt, getting divorced, etc. etc. You know the suicide failed. So if I have to keep living it's worth my soul for me to not spend the next thirty years the way I spent the last thirty - failing over and over again. So my soul for success. I don't know what else to do here."
"Well isn't that a neat little package with a pretty bow on top."
"Look, are you the devil? Can you deliver?"
"No and yes. I am not the devil. There is no devil. There's an angel named Lucifer who has a lot of bad press, but no evil devil. You humans manufacture enough evil without supernatural help. There are a lot of humans who use belief in the devil to manipulate people, usually to scare them into adherence. In your case, that woman Lycacia conned you into paying her for that useless coin and here we are."
"Didn't the coin work if you are here?"
He took a long drag on his cigarette. I forgot I was holding mine and did the same. It was delicious. Not like tobacco or weed. It filled my lungs with something that felt fresh. I felt my mood lift a little.
"Oh you humans and your logic. You want everything to make sense. You want easy answers and predictable reward and punishment. You want you want you want. Heaven papers the bathrooms with your laundry lists."
"So, to be clear, I'm not getting success, there is no devil and God, angels, whatever are nothing like what I've been taught."
Michael nodded and we stood there smoking for a few minutes in silence. I appreciated that he gave me some processing time because this was a lot. The cigarette seemed to open my mind a bit. Not that I understood a single thing any better but my preconceptions seems to be dislodging.
When our cigarettes were almost gone Michael spoke, "You are at a crossroads, just not the one you thought.
"Call your kids. At this point that's all you can salvage. Get some career counseling. Get some counseling about your childhood trauma - yes, I know about that too. You're failing because you've been putting your energy into success that doesn't matter. "
I was crying. He was gone.
The devil would have been way less work. I wish I could have another one of those cigarettes. I'm so tired of trying but I'm gonna try again. | He was magnificent. An impossible creature of 4 wings, each longer than I tall, and within the center of each feather sat a strained crimson eye. He, no THEY, was surely meant to watch, to witness, the glory of all of God's kingdom. It's face, as if such a meager word could describe it's radiance, an amalgamation of many of The Father's most cherished creatures. I saw in moments a bulls powerful horns, the mane of a proud lion, the cold eyes of a sacrificial Goat, the mouth of man (as best to sing the glories of the Father with). A voice like a hummingbirds wings seemed to burrow into my bones from countless directions. "Be Not Afraid" It said, and I was not. How could I be when I stared upon glory and beauty itself. Man was made with flaws but this had none such flaws. Emblazoned across its chest is a flowing gold script shone its name. "Michael" I gasped, how could one such as myself believe it okay to attempt to speak to such a higher being. My heart filled with ice, cold spread through my veins, "Forgive me O' Merciful Archangel Michael. I spoke without thinking, tis the flaws of man, I only beg your punishment for such imprudence be swift!" I dare not spare another look as I kept my head tilted to the floor, beauty of such caliber did not deserve to be seen by eyes of filth such a my own. A golden bell tolled and that gentle rumbling voice returned to grace my unfit ears. "Lift your gaze" I moved with such pace it was almost as if my eyes were being drawn to its splendor. Light, golden with sheets of white billowing in it like sheets of silk in the wind. Beautiful, gorgeous, pure, all encompassing. I knew it inherently; that was the last thing my eyes would ever see. But what a sight. "I shall treasure this gift till the last of my days!" I proclaimed to an empty room. | 2021-05-08T13:55:23 | 2021-05-08T10:22:57 | 31 | 19 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much. | On the day of his birth, Craig Barclay was visited by every wise man within travelling distance. Birth had become rare, Humanity on the brink of extinction. To witness such an event was a treasure. They brought gifts fitting for the family.
His father was born with the mark of the Bear on his back. It was large, indicating that he would heavily resemble his patron animal. He was strong, protective, and cared deeply for food.
His mother was born with the mark of the Dove. It was small, on the back of her hand. Non-threatening and clearly visible. She was kind and had the ability to ease tensions.
They worked as diplomats. She stopped wars. He stopped others from harming her. They were easily recognized. He was massive, covered in thick hair, leaving little visible skin. She was pale in contrast, thin and light of frame.
It was assumed that Craig would have something fitting his family's ancestry. Wolves, for example, almost always bore Wolf marked children. Children of Salmon parents nearly always marks of some Fish.
To think that Craig might have been born marked by the Bear, Dove, or Armadillo seemed logical. Maybe a Badger or a different kind of Bird would be in order. They speculated whether it would be as large as his father's, which would have been the size of an apple on his newborn body. Or small, barely visible on his newborn flesh, like his mother's.
As gifts of wool and food were placed in the room, the midwife pulled Craig free. His first wail in the world brought them all to tears. An aide cleaned his body as his mother finished giving birth.
His parents and guest shared a meal of celebration. In a few short hours, his mark would appear.
The Armadillo marked midwife gifted medicines to the parents and an ointment for the mother. The Mole marked farmer from down the lane gifted them with a bundle filled with dried mushrooms. A Wolf marked hunter provided a new pelt to keep the new babe warm. His grandmother, who was marked by the Hummingbird gifted a bottle of sweet wine to the new parents. Dozens more left food, clothing, tools, and trinkets for the new family.
They cleared away the food and shared stories. Speculation rose again. It was considered good luck to guess what patron would choose a child.
"Your child will bring joy to those around him, with a quick wit, and a fierce laugh. He will be marked by Hyena."
"Nonsense, your child will be daring and carefree, growing up safe under your care. He will be chosen by Squirrel for sure!"
"Wouldn't it be funny if he was chosen by Spider or Fox? A mischievous child would shake things up for you two. You are always so calm and quiet. The change would be nice." Many laughed at this. It was not likely.
"Your father was marked by Jacana." The father's mother spoke up for the first time in a while. Everyone listened. "He was fiercely protective of you children. I believe that bird's protective nature is why you were chosen by Bear. Yet you married a Bird. Maybe your son will be chosen by Jacana as well. He would inherit many traits from you both." Her voice shook slightly as she spoke. The loss of the elder was still recent in everyone's mind.
Nods of assent and murmurs of agreement spread through the group. No one wanted to speak against that.
They sat in polite conversation until a small black line sprouted on the child's right hand. Excitement spread as everyone turned to watch.
A thin tentacle spiraled and grew longer. "An Octopus?" someone offered.
"Too long. A Squid?"
It kept growing. The tentacle stretched the length of his arm. The mark bloomed across his back, they turned him over so all could see. As the mark became a body, more tentacles spread. Dozens of them grew along both arms and legs, around his neck, and around his face.
Everyone became silent. No one had ever seen a mark this large. No one had seen an animal like this. "What... What is it?" His mother asked in a quiet tone.
It was, again, his grandmother who spoke up. The single word slammed into all that heard.
"Leviathan."
His mother burst into tears. His father passed the child to his own mother to comfort his wife. The guests left quickly and quietly.
Everyone came to see what fruit the ambassadors of peace would bear. They came with hope and happiness. They left in despair. No one could have imagined that they would be witnessing the birth of the bringer of death, war, famine, and destruction, an unstoppable soldier with an endless bloodlust. No one would survive his reign unscathed.
All they could hope, is that his parents were strong enough. They had the chance to stop him now, before it was too late.
{Whelp, that turned out a bit differently than I intended, but it works, so I'm keeping it. What do you guys think?} | It covered almost my whole body, snaked up my right leg, the unmistakable, inimitable silvery blues of the spirit tattoo winding around up towards my waist and across my front, over my shoulder and across my back spilling down towards the back of my other thigh. Its razored coils wrapped my left arm. Blessedly it can be covered without too much notice, especially up here in the snowy north where its cold almost always.
The religious scholars interpreted much from spirit tattoos. It wasn't as simple, they said, as just the animal. It's location, orientation, pose and other traits had meaning too. My mother's dove covered her face, an extremely attractive trait, and imbued her with the prey animal's abilities to sense and respond to danger lighting fast. She always knew where she was going as well, no matter how far from home, she could sense the planet's magnetic field you see.
Of course some characteristics were widely contested, like reading the stars. My mother's dove was open winged feathers outstretched to her ears framed by her silvery blond hair. Some scholars took that to mean she was open, all embracing, loving. Which she is, which she has proven with her love for me, despite what I am. I don't believe them though, the scholars that is. Not that I've ever been to one, ever. Everyone knows and understands to some degree the interpretations placed on these marks but scholars disagree often about the specifics. Yet despite that understanding my parents have spent my 17 years debating, arguing, pleading with each other. Not in front of me of course, but late at night, when they can't sleep, when they think I am. They've tried to learn more, subtily, but that only polarized their opinions further, my father pointing out that the maw of the Leviathan open, snarling down my left was a clear symbol of violence and destruction. Every inch suggested power and pain, in the scales, in the spines, the claws and the fangs, even in the eyes - wild and wide open. My mother counters, stating things like my mark starts in my right foot, grounded, in peace, that maybe I'm sun and moon that I can be the peace through my strength and that the violence is in defence, that it would not necessarily emerge, ever if I was protected, taught to calm my mind.
Destiny was also inferred through these tattoos but as for what I thought, I just didn't know. I was only interested in the tangible, what I was and what I could do. Yes I was strong and quick, I seemed to be well balanced, although on the rare times I've been pushed I've felt a sickening rage like a torrent roilling through my whole. But thanks again to the quick thinking of my mother and the strength of my father, these situations have always been diffused.
This was my dilemma though, I don't know what other people think or feel. I don't know if what I am, in my head is normal. The scholars learn about our powers by studying biology, we know about snakes abilities by studying snakes, wolves by studying wolves. But no one has ever seen a Leviathan, they're myth! And not even very well known myth, they are a distant memory on the edge of our culture! It took my parents until I was 5 to even name me! And that was only thanks to my mother's extensive travels to the libraries in the south. Aaaaaah! This unknowing, its driving me wild, worry, anticipation, frustration. But more than this, I'm restless, like I've been cooped up too long, like I'm being locked in a room when I should be free... and it scares me, more than anything I ever thought possible | 2017-11-08T05:45:29 | 2017-11-08T05:34:12 | 192 | 25 |
[WP] Due to our size, weight, and resistance to alien weaponry, Humans are being abducted and deployed as tanks. They haven't even realized we use our own weaponry yet.
Edit: I didn't expect this to get any awards, but thanks! | The first time I saw one of the “humans” it was terrifying. They were 600 Zenlongs tall, while the tallest of our own kind at the time were no more than 50 Zenlongs. The humans’ hide was impenetrable. The face did seem a weak spot, but upon exploitation, it proved only to anger the monsters.
We crafted our weapons over millennia for the sole purpose of efficient destruction. Yet, even our strongest weapon, the Yiltar super cannon - a large gun which fired a 100-Zenlong-long ball of refined tree skins- was useless against the humans. Volleys from these weapons merely bounced off the thick hides of the behemoths.
Our cities faired little better. One kick from a human could topple nearly the whole area. Planet after planet burned as the humans marched, undeterred by our valiant defense. We were hopelessly outmatched.
The tide turned when we came to the final planet in our route. It was a world of blue and green. At first we despaired, for this seemed to be the human’s homeworld. However, it seemed as though the humans here did not know about us. They knew about the Veyglons, our mortal enemies. The Veyglons has apparently been capturing the humans like cattle for generations. We were relieved, then, to find they were willing to help, and more relieved to find that the Veyglons missed a crucial detail. The humans made weapons which made killing humans a trivial task.
The battle was messy. The Veyglons has brainwashed their humans captives, so despite negotiations, the Veyglon thralls would not stand idly by. Thus, human slew human. It was a strange thing. We Rainshan have never killed each other, yet the humans did so with seemingly little remorse; yet after the battle, the fallen humans were collected and shipped back to families. A strange culture indeed.
With their humans slain, the Veyglons were easily routed. Our new human allies had little trouble resisting the veyglon counter offensives, which were of more meager strength than what even we could muster.
The day was ours, and the humans gladly took what we could teach them of interplanetary travel. In return, the human agreed to colonize any world we settled to protect us against renewed aggression. They breed fast. I was merely a pup on the battlefield when I saw my first human. And now my son plays with the great grandson of my first human friend.
These are strange times, but these are peaceful times. The fear which once accompanied the word human now brings a feeling of security. If only they lived longer. I miss my friend dearly. May we all now have a moment of silence for our dear Bethany, may she Rest In Peace. | Species 51 was interesting.
A biological juggernaut. The weapons we used simply could not penetrate its hide, while it could simply beat through war constructs with its own bare hands. Armament designs we thought useless from size or weight were easily hefted.
We covered these death machines made flesh with armor and jet-gun, and they waded through lines of our enemies like nothing. Sweeping aside defenses and infantry, they only had one true counter. Themselves.
An S51 meeting an S51 was always cataclysmic. They would battle each other and try to eviscerate the other in a horrific fight. Some had weapons of sharpened rock to kill the other.
As time passed, we learned and adapted. Specialized anti S51 weapons and armor to stop them. Then, on one fateful day, a dead instance arrived, bearing their own armor, and weapon other instances referred to as a "gun".
One Instance was equipped with this. It was sent into the field against five other instances and shattered them utterly. Our scientists broke down the weapons and armor, to find out how it could be spread. The instances in some cases were surprisingly helpful. But alas... Spies.
Soon thereafter, the armor and weapons technology spread. Jetguns became outmoded in favor of this kinetic launcher, crude as some were, they were very deadly. The New Era arrived in a storm of thunder and death. But it would not be all misery. | 2020-10-12T00:33:47 | 2020-10-11T23:35:01 | 221 | 80 |
[WP] Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 lands in Beijing Airport, 3 Months late - passengers claim to have flown as normal. | "Uh, what's that?" one of the new recruits in the PAK ATC was heard saying. The control manager spoke up "Yeah, I see it too. It's probably just a glitch in the old radar. It happens from time to time, focus on your flights only otherwise you'll start to get behind"
The recruit shook it off and went back to telling the CCA330 where to land, runway 7 looked nice. Especially for an airplane of that size. He gave the instructions then looked at the radar again before he heard an abrupt sound from the earpiece. "Tower MAS370, good morning."
Lin tried to take in what he'd heard, he had 3 flights to look after at the moment, none of which was a Malasyan Airlines flight. He also glanced at the schedule which stated his next flight was another CCA and wasn't due for another 14 minutes.
He called out "Anyone dealing with Malaysian Airlines? Seems to have been patched to me?" which got the officers attention. "We aren't supposed to have a Malaysian Airlines flight in our radar for another 53 minutes? What's going on? Put it on speaker"
"Good morning, tower PEK, please state your identification again." Lin asked.
"Malaysia Airlines 3-7-0, I repeat, 3-7-0. Approaching PEK Airport." The voice rung around the room, few had forgotten that MH370 is no longer a used flight number. Hushed whispers had already begun amongst the staff.
The commanding officer took an empty radar terminal and opened up coms to the plane
"MAS 370 - Please descend to four zero and circle south-west of PEK."
"Copy that" came the response.
He turned around and shouted to Lin, "Get the military on the phone right now. We have an unidentified aircraft coming in, possibly imitating another aircraft. I'm not letting the damn anywhere near Beijing until we have full visual. Just.. make sure the interceptors are unarmed." | "This is Frank Lapidus of Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 coming in for a landing," the voice from the radio says.
"Did you hear that?" Jack asks his coworker, Sawyer.
"I couldn't have, it's impossible!" Sawyer yells out, slamming down his cup of coffee.
"Um, clear for landing," Jack cautiously says into the radio.
"Ooh-kay," Frank Lapidus says.
When the plane lands we see only a few people in the windows. The door opens and a Korean man stumbles out, mumbling one word, "Others." | 2014-06-25T15:19:07 | 2014-06-25T14:42:13 | 19 | 14 |
[WP]Humanity has just discovered the Galactic Federation, a conglomeration of diverse sapient species. As is standard, the Federation sends a delegation of the most similar species to negotiate mankind’s induction into the galactic community. Their choice is… not what we expected. | You wait within the Black Box, which is both aptly named and wonderfully advanced at the same time, awaiting the delegate from the Galactic Federation. In truth it’s actually named the Circuit of Zanhadra’s Wheel, though you have no idea who Zanhadra is. Regardless, the Black Box is an advanced piece of technology dispatched by the Circuit early on as a gift and a useful tool for humanity. It’s function is as a translator, as any two individuals inside will be able to understand the other most perfectly, even in distant languages and peculiar sounds.
While waiting your mind runs wild with thoughts and things to say. You’re not sure what to ask for, nor how to ask for it. And of course there’s the question of whom will be in attendance, though you’re already quite certain you know.
When humanity first encountered aliens via quantum radio it was a beautiful thing. A race of humanoid figures responded, gently introducing themselves with welcomes that sounded more like poetry than anything. Their actual name was unpronounceable, so Poetics became the human exonym for them, much to the delight of their entire species. It was a strange shock to see that these Poetics were awfully similar to humanity: they had five fingered hands, hair atop their heads, four limbs. Apart from being taller, leaner and generally more graceful, they were identical to humanity, and seemed eager to act as a older sibling to the fledging people of Earth.
No doubt it’ll be one of them, you think to yourself.
The opposite end of the Black Box hisses as the face slides open, and a new being enters. Instinctively you straighten your back, put on your most welcoming yet stoic face, and offer a hand to the Poetic you assume is emerging from the haze of translator-psycho-somatic gases.
When a haired, sharp and oversized arachnid leg emerges and gently places its tip upon your palm, you almost scream. Next comes the rush of flight-or-fight hormones, a body response you actively have to surpress in the name of etiquette.
Quickly the rest of the spiderish alien comes into your panic-blurred vision. They have two legs: haired, dark and more canine than you would have liked. It’s torso is distinctively off-putting, almost appearing like a hollow rib cage, and it’s face is even more inhuman. Clusters of olive like eyes just strewn around a shelled face, and a mouth lined with thousands of teeth, like a cave of constellations and cosmic gasses. Eight similarly bladed arms emerge from the torso, catching the light like blades of obsidian.
“It’s a pleasure,” the Alien says, in a voice that can best be described as feminine and graceful, like what you might expect of a chevalier. You struggle to muster a retort that isn’t laced with fear and ‘Oh, fuck,’ energy.
“Indeed,” you mumble. “It’s amazing to finally meet someone not born in Sol,” you say, more chipper than before.
“Mhm. First contact is special, no? Like one song ending and another starting.”
“Yes, I suppose so… I hope the next one is better than the last,” you joke, flashing a smirk which the alien seems unable to understand.
“It will be,” they say seriously, with no tone of laughter. “Humanity’s next hymn will be more of starlight than dirt, I assure.”
“And may I say,” she continues. “It’s incredible quite how similar you are to the Poetics. Fascinating, really.”
“Mhm, we noticed that too. In truth we expected one of them. Not that you are unpleasant company,” you quickly add onto the end, with an awkward chuckle.
“Well, they thought it best if we go, as they could never understand you like us.”
“Really? I thought we were quite similar, no?”
“Physically, very much so. But our species share something very special and rare with you, unheard of in other species.”
“Oh?”
“Would you like to guess as to what makes humans human?” She asks, almost teasing you.
“Uh… we’re both omnivores?”
She looks at you blankly for a moment, before making a sound the Black Box interprets as a melodious laugh.
“No. My species only eat kin.”
“Excuse me?”
“We are all cannibals by biological requirement.”
You freeze, jaw tightening in order to stop the flurry of confused sounds you want to make. How could a species so unfamiliar to humanity could be deemed ‘similar,’ unless this is some deliberate joke or insult?
“I see. Can both our species feel love?”
“No, that is common in the Wheel.”
“Hate?”
“That too.”
“Creativity?”
“Too much of an advantage to be rare.”
“Shame?”
“… I suppose that’s a part of it.”
“Oh? Is it guilt?”
“Colder.”
“Ah… I’m really confused.”
The Cannibal places a bladed arm on your shoulder, hooking into the fabric of your suit.
“My kind, and thine, know what it feels like to have distance between people. To be confused by others, to not understand them. The thing we both bare is loneliness.”
Your brow furrows.
“How could that be rare?”
“Telekinetic links are common in almost all civilised species, except us. It’s a very important advantage to instinctively know someone else in their entirety without ever having to try to understand them, you see? Otherwise the species destroys itself in misunderstanding and ignorance. However, we are both individuals, not by choice but by nature, which is frightening to the other species of the Wheel, who call mine the Miseries, and have already taken to calling you the Melancholies, for they could never understand the beauty of being alone and struggling so desperately to understand each other, like a star, only able to call all the other other distant things around it with shallow rays of light. But it is the mixture of all those confused flashes of colour which makes the night sky look so beautiful, no?”
“Ah… I see. Then I suppose our peoples will simply have to be alone together,” you do the same as her, placing a hand upon her shoulder no matter how afraid you are, in order to tell her that you both are friends in all the subtle ways a lonely species needs.
“It seems so,” she smiles. Or at least that’s what you think she’s doing, it’s often hard to tell what others are thinking. It often leads to misunderstanding and hurt, but it’s pretty too, that love and hate should both take so much effort, and therefore be worth so much more. | ***Execution File: 104424***
***Species #:*** *1044*
***Risk:*** *24 in foreboding, red*
**Civilization:** Type 1
***Special confrontation procedures:*** *All information regarding directly to species-1044 is to be expunged from our general database, with the only exception being this file that is only accessible to members of the Overseer Council. Any individual unauthorized to obtain information purposely or otherwise will be terminated.*
*Newly discovered artifacts containing the history of species-1044 are to be immediately confiscated and examined by the mobile research lab personnel. When approaching species-1044 we are to assure the safety of both our subject and employee. In order to do this, we are to send a species that resembles and speaks the same language, to better our communication*
***First contact results:*** *The subject was docile and ready to obey. When analyzing brain patterns the subject seemed to be in distress and was unsure of what was happening. Our employee had said that it asked questions. He provided answers and that brought excitement.*
*The research team looked into the emotional response, and the theory is that this was their first-ever contact with an alien species. We ran simulations and put the subject in many different scenarios. The one that surprised us was that the subject excelled in surviving on a simulated ocean planet. The planet was Quartez-73-B, the planet is famous for being the most dangerous habitable ocean planet. It contains dangerous creatures such as gargantuan leviathans and has harsh environments. Yet the subject managed to survive 3 years before it was eaten by the abyssal Arask leviathan.*
*We released the subject and observed what it did, its own species turned against it. We intervened before anything happened and the species was trying to negotiate in order to get information. With permission from the Overseer council, we traded information and learned the history of the species.*
***Description:*** *Species-1044 lives on planet Vargon-986-K in the Backrinalve Galaxy, the species has created a name for their own planet and galaxy, and were self-aware that they were in space. The name they chose for their planet was Earth, and their galaxy was called The Milky Way. At the time of investigation, history shows that they are in the 21st century, ignorance for the health of the planet has resulted in an increase in temperature and change in weather. Within the next 19 years, the species is guaranteed to trigger feedback loops.*
All history regarding species-1044 can be found within file HI-04-MKY.
**Decision:** The overseer council has made their choice, species-1044 with a population of 7,874,965,825 is to be terminated. The choice stems from information about ignorance. They are incapable of suppressing feelings of greed and that has caused them to harm their own planet. The chances of survival for species-1044 after the climate change feedback loops are 46% based on the results gathered. All personnel are to be dispatched, with orders to execute all of species-1044. Planet Vargon-986-K is to be preserved and used as a base for military operations.
​
**Risk Terms:**
Risk meter limit: 0-30
Risk: # in threat (The Galactic Federation usually uses this to tell us that the species at hand, are at risk of being a threat. When a species is given this they have to be an advanced civilization capable of thinking, such as species-1044. When this term is used, the species is to be terminated with no research needed to be done to judge whether or not they should join the federation.)
Risk: # in hazard (The Galactic Federation usually uses this to tell us that a species is a hazard, this is more of a way to measure annoyance. If the Galatic Federation uses this, it means that the species isn't smart, but is more of an animal or pet, such as the Ukidae species on planet Earth. Which humans called "cats" which have a risk meter number of 2 in hazard. These species with a risk term of hazard are often left alone since they present no real threat.)
Risk: # in foreboding (The Galatic Federation usually uses this to classify an advanced civilization. This is a meter that is used when the Federation is worried about what a species might do. They aren't immediately considered a threat, so research is done and any information gathered is used by the Federation to determine whether or not a species can join.)
**Civilization type terms:**
Type 1: A civilization type 1, can use the energy available on the planet, with the exception of a solar panel.
Type 2: A civilization type 2, can use the energy from the solar system's own star, excluding the solar panel.
Type 3: A civilization type 3, can use energy from every star in the galaxy or multiple galaxies. (This is where the Galactic Federation is)
Type 4: A civilization type 4, can use the energy from every star in the universe.
Type 5: A civilization type 5, can use energy from every star in the mutiverse. | 2021-07-06T15:53:38 | 2021-07-06T12:14:29 | 28 | 14 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | Sweat dripped down my nose, mingling with the blood that poured from my mouth. This wasn't going as well as it could. At least my headphones were still in one piece.
The man that stood before me cackled. I had never quite understood what it meant for one to 'cackle'. I figured it had just mean to laugh in an evil matter, but it was so much more in the flesh. It hurt to hear, almost as hard as the fists and feet that had pummeled me.
"Is this all you can do, WalkMan?" He jeered. "Is this the man that defends his city? Pathetic." He shot a glare at the nearest news crew, making sure to look directly at the camera. "This is what you get for trusting a 'hero'. This is what anyone that defies me will get. Bow before me, or perish beneath me!"
He turned back to me, raising both of his fists above his head, preparing to strike with all of his power. I knew what I had to do.
"Hey Siri" I said, coughing and spitting out another tooth. The bluetooth headphones chirped in response, acknowledging that it had heard my prompt.
"Play Forbidden Loop Omega"
The chirp sounded again in acknowledgement. I stood on my one good leg, bracing a hand on the wall to support the broken leg. The man cackled again.
"So you choose to die on your feet. How noble."
As he brought his glowing fists down towards my head, the music swelled in my ears. I brought up one hand and caught the blow with ease. With one quick motion, I broke both of his wrists.
He boggled at me. "No, NO, NONONONO!" He wailed. "How?"
I met his terrified gaze with a blank expression. I couldn't show any emotion. Not with this terrible noise assaulting my ears.
With another twist, I ripped his arms from their sockets. I heard the gasps from the camera crews as they captured every gruesome detail in stunning 4K definition, if their commercials could be believed.
"Dr Doomsday, you are hereby under arrest." I spoke in an even tone, straining to keep my emotions under control. "Officers, take him away." I turned and strode away, before a reporter or police officer could ask me any potentially compromising questions.
As I strode to the parking garage where my personal car was parked, I fumbled with my phone, desperate to stop the song that was consuming me. Bringing me to a dark place.
"We can do it, if we try" I mumbled along, as my fingers typed my password. The Cocomelon song was almost a greater pain in my ears than sung through my broken jaw and missing teeth.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Or don't. It's all up to you. | I'd burned through at least a half dozen genres in the last few minutes. No matter what track was being pumped through the headphones integrated into my helmet, I either couldn't keep up with the hell-faced bastard or none of my hits would do anything to their adamantine skin. Every time I tried something else, they seemed to have the perfect counter. I needed something... more.
There's a reason why I keep away from certain types of music. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing bad about any of them. Well, most of them. It's just that I'm not a fan of the aftereffects of some of them. Techno makes me feel jittery, same with a lot of rap. Anything in a language I don't normally know kind of scrambles my speech for a while. Villain songs from the Mouse have me cackling evilly for a long time afterwards. But they all have a purpose.
Even the blacklisted tracks.
A shudder passed through me as I thought of that damned playlist. It wasn't really dread though, more like... excitement. And I hated myself for it. But I needed to end this before we leveled the city. Or, well, much more of it. I just hoped that I could stop myself when it was done.
So... I punched in the password for the locked tracks onto my arm mounted panel.
"Rip and Tear"
The warning phrase played in my head right before the first track kicked in.
"Until it is done." | 2022-05-17T09:23:55 | 2022-05-17T09:22:08 | 1,687 | 486 |
[WP] In a world where people are born with incredible superpowers, you were born with an aura that makes you seem immeasurably powerful, though you have no other power to back it up. | I step out into the cool night after paying for my meal at *Niker's*. The year is 2045, and most people get food delivered straight to their dining table, but I've never really gotten used to the concept. When I was a kid my parents were pretty old-fashioned, and that rubbed off on me I guess. *Besides, isn't it kind of weird to have some random drone move in and out of your home as it pleases?* I muse.
A busker juggles flaming orbs in the street with his bare hands. Trails closely follow the burning orbs rotating through the air, forming perfect circles. It would've been impossible for a normal person 30 years ago, the heat would've been too much to handle without burning yourself, but he must've been born with some kind of heat resistance ability.
--------------------------------------------------------
About 25 years ago, 2020, a quiet revolution occurred. Scientists had been working on gene editing for a number of years, and a lot of progress had been made. Unrelatedly, a new organism was discovered in the Congo rainforest, that intrigued the medical community. It was a creature that adapted to it's environment extremely quickly, within a generation the mother and child could look completely different. Scientist wanted to test the limits of this creature, and the results shocked them. Even with no environmental stimulus whatsoever offspring would often be unrecognizable.
After looking into the DNA structures of these creatures, they found a "mystery gene" held responsible for the transformations of the creature. They used the CRISPR technology of the time, and tested giving this gene to mosquitoes. There were no apparent effects. They repeated the process to other animals, but the same result was observed.
A few months later, an incandescent human child was born. Then one who gave off high voltages, electrocuting his mother. Another one covered in extremely hard scales. The list went on, and soon after this was accepted as a normal occurrence throughout the world.
The common hypothesis is that the changes in humans were caused by escaped mosquitoes that had been treated with the "mystery gene." No one really knows for sure. And that's the state of the world as we know it today.
--------------------------------------------------------
I drop a few dollars into the hat on the sidewalk - it was well-earned, thank the busker, and begin the stroll back to my apartment.
I'm 19 years old, and to my great dismay, was born without any powers. I'm not gonna complain though - my life is good. I was born into a middle-class family, had a normal school experience as a kid, and am well on my way to being a lawyer, while holding down a part-time job.
"Heeeey Chris!" a voice exclaims stopping me in my tracks.
It's Macy, a cute girl from my Criminal Law Process class. She's wearing a thick jacket, the hood laced with fur to protect from the cold, but her legs are only covered by a short skirt.
"Macy - it's so good to see you!" I shout back.
*I hope she doesn't notice me blushing!*
Our houses turn out to be in the same direction, and we set off, chatting on the way. It actually turns out we have a lot in common. As we near a particularily dark, and long alleyway, she says, "I dunno, that way seems kind of sketchy to me..."
"Aw come on, I'm here, don't worry about a thing!" I proudly exclaim.
*Heh, that sounded pretty cool...I hope.* I do a fistpump in my head as she reluctantly agrees, and links arms with me.
We're halfway through the dark corridor, when a figure slinks out of the shadows behind us.
"I'm GivIng YoU One CHAncE tO cOmpLY - WallETs On THe gRouNd, ThEn sCRaM!" The voice hissed.
The guy was easily 6 feet tall, crazed eyes showing beneath a ski mask, an overcoat covering the rest of his muscular body. He swings the blade in his right hand too quickly for the eye to follow, seemingly wanting to wreak a scene of carnage.
"I have 2,000 debi's (the global currency) on me, I don't know what I'm gonna do..." Macy whispers. "My power is to summon animals - but we're in the middle of the city!" She nearly sobbed.
"Got it." I replied, and put up a fighting pose. I was nearly shitting myself.
*What the fuck are you doing, it's not your money...you're getting yourself killed for nothing!*
The crazed man smiles, and takes a step forward. Macy runs a few metres, and picks up a brick. Trenchcoat starts sprinting towards us - the brick flies towards him, and in a few flashes all that's left of it is dust.
*Holy shit...he must have some kind of reflex power.*
"Ha hA HA!" He victoriously proclaims, only a few metres away now. "I gAvE yoU YouR ChAaAnCE, Heh HEh."
*There's no way I can win against those kinds of skills,* I realize, and put my fists down, settling for just glaring at him. I take my wallet out of my pocket, mantaining eye contact.
"Wh...what are you looking at?" Trenchcoat says. He steps forward until his knife presses against my throat. I quietly piss my pants.
Trenchcoat suddenly runs into the wall, and out of the alley. "Ah...Argh....AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"
I blink in surprise.
*What...what just happened?*
Macy and I stare dumbfounded down the empty path.
"Did...did you do that?" Macy asks me.
"Absolutely." I reply with false confidence.
*I need to get out of here ASAP before she notices.*
She smiles. "Thank you," she says, and pecks me on the cheek.
"It's the least I could do for my future girlfriend" I reply.
*Was that too forward?*
She looks stunned for a moment, then smiles again.
"Yeah, I guess you're right. So...you busy tonight? Want to head back to my place?" She asks.
"Uh...can't. I've really got to...feed my cat! See you tomorrow though - I'll be free then!" I yell and run off.
*I don't think she noticed*
I grin as I make my way home.
*What was that thing I did back there?*
I have a feeling that things are gonna be a lot more interesting from here on out. | I walked down the extravagant staircase of the Valor Manor.
“Master Evan,” the family butler greeted me. “Breakfast has just begun. I’m afraid your parents cannot attend today. We were notified just a moment ago. It appears that quite the dire situation has arose.”
“Thank you Allen. Is brother home?” I asked.
“No, he has been at work since yesterday.”
I made my way to the kitchen before I heard my little sister rushing down the stairs.
“Evannnn! Come look!” she looked at me as I remained in the kitchen putting food on a plate. She pouted and then stomped her way towards me. She was only in 5th grade and she was already quite the spoiled and bossy little brat.
“Okay i'm coming,” I said but she was already dragging me by the arm to the living room.
On the TV was a reporter shouting as loud as she could against the cacophony of buildings collapsing and explosions. The camera suddenly jerked upwards and focused on two people floating in the sky. My parents.
“Look Evan! Its mommy and daddy!” she bounced with excitement and started floating herself along with nearly every object in the room. That included me.
“Natalie, calm down please,” I ordered her. “Your making everything float again.”
“Sorrrry,” she whimpered and everything fell. I stuck my landing flawlessly. After landing multiple times on my butt and once on my head I’ve obtained acrobatic mastery.
We returned our attention to the TV. My parents had soared higher out of focus of the camera. That would be my father’s power. Gravity manipulation. That was what allowed my father and mother to float in the sky as if they were in space. He was also responsible for the buildings and rubble that floated around him. It appears that a conflict between two groups of power users were in place and my father had levitated the buildings and cover that they were using. The power users were returning fire at my parents by hurling elemental projectiles, boulder sized rubble, and plenty of rockets and gunfire at them. They were however effectively impervious to all projectiles thanks to my mom’s forcefield projections. Other heroes in the area were also pulling their weight in quelling the conflict but garnered little attention with my parents in the spotlight. Suddenly cheers erupted from the audience as the camera locked onto a new person on the scene.
“OMG! It's big brother Nathan!” and this time my head hit the ceiling.
Nathan, the oldest son of the Valor family and also the prodigy of the family for he did not only inherit both my parents powers but also manifested a third unprecedented power. Kinetic manipulation. He was capable of accelerating objects to high speeds, including himself.
“Master Evan, it is time for your appointment with the Chancellor of Powers Institution,” my butler called.
*
“Evan valor, second son of the esteemed Valor family. It is a pleasure and honor to finally meet you,” said the chancellor of the Powers Institution.
“Hello sir, it's nice to meet you too,” I said and we shook hands. “Sorry for being late.”
“Oh no worries young lad,” he said and gestured at the seat in front of his desk. I sat down as he started flipping through pages on his desk. “Now let's get down to business. It appears that we have reached quite the predicament here. According to these documents, you have not officially declared what your powers are. You have also been absent to all previous power examinations at primary, intermediate, and secondary schools… I’m afraid our power examination yesterday failed to determine your power, ” he frowned as he said this and gave me a curious look.
I shrugged.
With the press of a button a video projected on the wall played.
It was the testing arena of the Powers Institution. Hundreds of students were sparring with each other with their powers on full display. Lightning forked through the sky, Fire erupted, various projectiles of unknown compositions flew through the air and space even distorted. Suddenly every power user in the arena fell to their knees as if a great weight had settled on their backs. A couple people collapsed even. Students entering the arena and the bleachers suddenly fell to their knees with looks of abject fear and awe. Only one person stood amidst the the crowd of kneeling people. Face concealed by a hood he looked up at the glass box where the facility examiners were and they had all keeled over.
The video paused.
The chancellor looked at me. I shrugged again.
“There are also several accounts of testimony from various sources claiming a multitude of very outrageous statements regarding your… powers,” he said nervously. “Some of them say that you are… powerless. How impudent of them to say such things to a member of the Valor family.”
“They’re not entirely wrong,” I said.
He looked at me nervously, “Evan, I do not want to be rude but I would like to affirm officially here as to what power or powers you possess currently,” the chancellor said then added,“I must say that we are currently at a loss as to where we should place you in our institution.”
“Ah. How unfortunate,” I commented. “My power…”
He drew himself closer with anticipation, waiting for me to elaborate.
“is Powerlessness.”
| 2018-01-12T00:14:52 | 2018-01-11T23:07:42 | 45 | 24 |
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused. | I cast my eyes discreetly downward as I humbly approached the resplendent golden throne. My lowered gaze was partially in reverence and partially due to the blinding rays of light that emanated from the ineffable Figure sitting upon the throne.
"Ask, and ye shall receive," came the chorale tones of a single majestic Voice.
I nodded. I had given this moment much thought. I knelt respectfully before the throne of my Deity, bathed in Its light, and murmured my soul's burning question.
"Excuse me, the what?" said the chorale tones of the single majestic Voice with scorn.
That was a bit of a jolt.
"The...the platypus. Why? *Why, God?"* I cried aloud. "Why is it so FREAKING WEIRD???"
The radiant Face of Divinity took on an expression of distinct discomfort.
"That one," said the Holiest of Holies with the slightest hesitation, "that was a contractor job."
"A *what?"* I cried out before I could catch myself. "A *contractor?"*
"Erm. Ahem. Somewhere between the panther and the prairie dog I got *extremely* bored and, well, I sort of delegated the whole Creation thing for most of the a long weekend. We ended up with some very...interesting creatures."
"No way."
The Face of Everlasting Glory nodded ruefully. "Anteaters," It intoned mournfully. "What the heck?"
"Penguins?"
"Oh, absolutely. And dodo birds too, but the dodos didn't precisely stick around."
"Rhinoceroses," I accused. "Giraffes."
"Of course giraffes," the Almighty responded. "What sort of sadist would do that on purpose? And I was actually rather impressed with the rhinoceros."
"Mosquitos. Cockroaches. Bed bugs."
"I actually did those ones first," said God with a certain pride.
"And when did you get back around to creating humans?" I asked the Alpha and the Omega eagerly.
"Creating...humans?" said the Way, the Truth, and the Light, tilting Its radiant head quizzically. "Why in My Own Name would I ever have done that?"
I reeled.
"You're a load of petitioning pesterers and you never shut up a moment with your "bless me," "forgive me," "guide me"...great Scott, it's overwhelming. All you ridiculous creatures do is multiply, too. I ought to hit you all with a meteor."
I stood for a moment and considered this, shaken. "You never--with the Garden--"
"The Tree thing? Ugh. No, of course not. What sort of asshole--"
"I see," I mumbled dizzily. My worldview had gone rather severely sideways quite rapidly. "But. The Knowledge of Good and Evil?"
"Hubris," the Alpha and the Omega rumbled. "You know as much as any monkey about matters of Good and Evil. Or rather, any random monkey knows as much about it as *you."*
This was a bit much. "I beg your pardon--"
"Yes, but will you get it?" teased the Almighty in an entirely uncalled-for manner. "That's the million dollar question, isn't it?"
"You're a jerk," I informed God.
"Of course," God cheerfully replied, before chucking my naively goggling arse into a lake of eternal fire. "Who told you otherwise?" | I casually made my weekly trip across the barrier of the two realms I call home: the human realm, and the spiritual realm.
Now, I usually do not meet the almighty lord on my visits, but this time I was able to see him for some afternoon tea. I was excited to finally have all my questions answered... especially one in particular.
"Good afternoon, Abigail." God said sipping on his Earl Grey latte.
"Good afternoon! it's nice to see you after so long." I replied before taking a sip of my iced Lady Grey tea latte with vanilla sweet cold foam.
"You know, it's always a pleasure seeing you, Abigail. Now, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?" He asked me, not knowing what's in store for him.
"I'll just get straight to it. God, why is the Platypus so weird? Is there a reason for it's existence? Is it just alive to be in Finneas and Ferb? I've never understood."
"Huh? What the hell's a Platypus?" He replied, slightly confused.
"You know, a Platypus. one of the millions of things you created?"
"Nope, doesn't ring a bell." He said shrugging.
Oh no... what is happening? Does God have amnesia? Or... did the devil create the platypus?!
This new development concerned me. I had to talk to Lucifer, but I couldn't tell God. (They don't like each other that much.) So, I then emailed Lucifer about the whole platypus situation.
"Ha! Oh yeah I remember doing that! I designed the platypus to keep tabs on the Human Realm since I'm kind of not allowed there." He replied to the email.
I see... all of my questions have been answered! *Thank you, Lucifer, for teaching me all of your ways. Maybe...just one day...we can finally be reunited...father.* | 2022-07-03T15:45:54 | 2022-07-03T12:50:45 | 78 | 51 |
[WP] As a silly joke to yourself, you sometimes open notepad to write a message to 'your fbi agent' before deleting it. Today in the middle of browsing reddit, notepad opened and a reply appeared. "I'm sorry, they're coming for you. Run." | ((Triggers))
It was just a joke. I'd open my laptop up, and write a note to "Special Agent In Charge Reno"; totally made up. Get my little joke done, and delete the file.
I finished school, got my degree, landed a position with a defense contractor. It was good. Life was fine. I got married, though we never had kids. Everything was great.
Then things started going sour in my life. I remembered writing to Reno, so I started up again. This time I kept them. It got to be a game and obsession. I'd imagine Reno's responses and refer to them in the next note. The notes to Reno got darker as the shit just piled up.
My jobs started to suck. Same shit every day. Stupid bosses who wouldn't listen, then blamed me when it fell apart just like I'd warned them. I started putting my warnings in writing, and insisting that they sign for receipt. They got a copy. I got a copy. And the original was put in my safe deposit box under an assumed name. Yeah, by this time I was paranoid. Only paranoia is a survival skill if they really are out to get you, and that's what I felt was happening to me.
I'm not a complete idiot, although maybe I was. That laptop *never* connected to the internet, or any other system. I mean, it was a frickin diary of all the bad shit running through my head. Not the kind of thing you want getting out of your hands, even if the disk *is* encrypted.
My wife died. I wanted to die. I loved her, and she died to a complex of degenerative diseases that no one had a cure for. The notes to Reno turned suicidal. For me, it was a catharsis of monumental proportions. I listened in my head to what Reno recommended. I got a psychiatrist and a psychologist. I made sure the SSO had my updates to my SF86 about my mental state and the treatment I was getting. I cleared with my boss's boss that I would work half time as long as I needed, because my boss was being a dick.
I pulled that complete set of documents out of the safe deposit box, made copies of all of them, put the originals back, and handed the copies over to my boss's boss.
He was shocked. Half the things I'd warned about had happened, and nearly cost the company the contract. "Asshole" had sat on them. Never read them. Never had anyone else review them. Never even tried to use them to get me fired, because that would have been admitting that he was sitting on them. Claimed that it was bull, that I had done those things. That I'd never shown them to him. He couldn't argue the signatures.
The FBI showed up the day after and cleaned his desk to the point of taking the lint!
His name disappeared from his door. As far as we could tell, he was an unperson. The new boss came in and was a delight to work with. I brought my copies in, and we started working through them. Creating tickets to get them fixed. Assigning them. Making sure that they were all fixed.
My notes to Reno kept getting better. My life was turning around. I was getting a grip on my grief. My depression. My suicidal thoughts. Everything was getting better.
I'd finally gotten clearance to return to work full time. I went to write my last note to Reno. Explaining to my imaginary agent that I was clear now, and he could stop worrying about me.
I got the surprise of my life.
"Kid,
You need to get out of your house now, and get to the nearest FBI office. The agents that were using your information figured out it was you, and they're gunning for you. Move now. I've tried to throw them off ..."
The note ended. This laptop just wrote a message from Reno. An imaginary agent. In real time. Never connected to the internet. Not equipped with WiFi or Bluetooth. How the fuck?
A car pulled up my driveway. I wasn't expecting anyone, and FBI agents dress better than these clowns. *sigh*
In my paranoid phase, I'd studied everything I could get my hands on about tradecraft. The egress plans were still up to date. They depended on knowledge, and just a touch of early warning. Not luck; you can't count on it. Not speed; fast motion draws the metaphorical eye. Planning. Rehearsal. Practice. Keep doing it until it's second nature. And always have back up plans.
Eventually, you realize that backup plans have a certain consistency, the details change, but the triggers and conditions don't. You become lightning fast at sorting for alternatives. *That* is why an excellent agent always looks like they know what they're doing. They do! Was I that good? Time to find out.
((finis))
I'm going to take this off line, and write it up better, along with another response I did for another story. I think it's going to work to have the two of them tied together neatly. | A bright light blasts my pupils as the black bag is ripped off my head. I close my eyes and turn my head down but someone immediately grabs my chin and tilts my head upward. I open my eyes to mere slits, trying to get a look at my assailant, but can only make out a silhouette. I feel the cuffs linking my wrists to the back of the seat and the chains around my ankles secured to the floor.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"We want to know why you ran, Mr. Anderson?" a calm voice probes from the shadows.
"I got a message that said 'run' and then I heard banging at the front door. I was scared."
"Yes, your confederate tipped you off but only a tad too late. In my experience, Mr. Anderson, innocent civilians do not scramble out the back door when we show up to ask a few questions."
"My confederate?" my voice cracks, more as a symptom of dehydration than fear.
"Yes, your confederate," the calm voice continues. " No need to play dumb; we know who he is. Agent Alvarez of the FBI was outed as an FSB spy by one of our moles. When we began to monitor his activity, we found his interactions with you.. quite suspicious."
My head begins to spin. Everything feels too surreal to actually be happening but if this is a dream I need to wake up now or I might choke on my own vomit. My most recent, half-digested meal spews out of my mouth and onto the arm of the hand holding my chin up. The hand recoils as I cough the remainder of the puke out onto my chest.
"Mr. Anderson, can you explain your frequent contact with an exposed foreign agent?"
"I've never spoken to anyone at the FBI," I manage to squeak out before another fit of vomiting.
"You may have been very careful, Mr. Anderson," the shrouded voice continues, "deleting your correspondence the way you did, but Agent Alvarez did not have your foresight. He was a brash man, over-confident in his ability not to get caught. He *saved* every message you sent to him. We have every single one."
"You mean the notepad thing?"
"Precisely," the voice hisses.
"That- that's just a joke," I explain. "It's like a journal to myself. There is no FBI agent."
"Ah, but there is. I told you he's been exposed and the fact that he tipped you off confirms that you are part of his network. Now, August 22 of last year you wrote to him the following: 'I made a new friend today. Seems like a real keeper.' Care to divulge the identity of this agent in your cell?"
I try to lift my hands in a shrug to demonstrate that I'm at a loss for words and am reminded that they are chained behind my back.
"How about something more incriminating, then," my persecutor presses. "March 9 of this year, a day before the terror attacks in Cincinnati, you wrote: 'I don't have enough money for pineapples, I guess I'll settle for plain apples instead.' You wrote that. The perpetrators of the attack had tried to acquire hand grenades but used improvised explosives instead. Care to defend yourself?"
"It was a- it was a joke," my words are hurried and run together.
"National security in no laughing matter, Mr. Anderson," the voice chides. "The jig is up and you have been exposed. We'll give you some time to think over what we have told you. We'll be back to check on you later; hopefully, you will see it is in your best interest to be more forthcoming then."
A sliver of blue light widens to fill the room and the two shadowy figures disappear into it before it narrows back to blackness. The light overhead swings back and forth ever so slightly before it blinks out, leaving me in total darkness. | 2020-01-04T10:38:40 | 2020-01-04T09:41:32 | 57 | 10 |
[WP] A warrior swears blood vengeance against a time traveller from the distant future. Well aware of where and when their quarry has escaped back to the warrior approaches a feared vampire seeking the curse of immortality that they might live long enough to enact their revenge. | ”Relax, Eddie. This parking lot is ancient.” said Jonas as he hopped into the time machine. "It'll be fine, I promise. Just a quick trip, I won't disturb anyone."
"Don't do this, Jonas." pleaded his best friend Eddie, "You don't know for a fact how old this parking lot is. All of this is too risky. Please return the machine. We're not supposed to use it."
"Like I said, it'll be fine. Do you know how old the parking lot is?" Jonas turned his head to the computer in the vehicle, "Computer, turn on."
Lights begun flashing along to the tune of a boot up sound which gave life to the machine. Eddie sighed, "I don't know, I think my dad said a little more than 300 years."
"Great!" cheered Jonas. "Computer, transport me back exactly 300 years."
"No, wait! Don't! My dad might've said...!" Eddie begged, but was cut off by the loud whirlwind which made the time vehicle disappear before his eyes, "... a little *less* than 300 years..."
There was a large crash accompanied by some ear shattering screams when Jonas reappeared, right in the center of a dining room belonging to the middle-class family McStevens. When the dust settled, only one scream remained, belonging to the ex-husband and ex-father-of-three Simon, sobbing at the rubble and bloody mess that used to be his family dinner.
The door of the time machine slid open and Jonas stepped out. "Oh my god, what a ride. Dude, what happened here?"
"Who...?" stuttered Simon, "Who are you?"
"I'm Jonas, and I'm a student at the University of Relativity, which... doesn't... exist... yet." Jonas slowed down and examined the chaos around him. "This... is not a parking lot. I'm from the future. I'm also terribly sorry for the damage to your house."
"My house...?" Simon was gripped by rage, and rose up while clenching his fists, "You murdered my family! You monster! I'll kill you!!!"
Thanking the gods for the rubble seperating them and buying him some time, Jonas screamed "Computer, transport me forward exactly 300 years!" And as he slammed the door shut in the face of Simon McStevens, Jonas hoped it would be the last time he ever saw him.
The vehicle shook, moaned and flashed in various colors as he was brought back to his favored present. But when he slid open the door again, he gasped.
Eddie stared at him with a nervous expression, shivering and brandishing a wet patch on the front of his pants. His temple was being kissed by the barrel of a gun, held by none other than an aged and hardened Simon McStevens.
"What are you...?!" begun Jonas, but was interrupted by a gunshot.
"Shut the fuck up, Jonas." declared Simon harshly, as he lowered his gun from the air back to Eddie's temple, whose pants grew darker. "I've waited three hundred years for this. Three. Hundred. Years. You took my life away that day. My family... Murdered. My house and everything I own destroyed and paved to the ground... In this very spot. But at least you gave me something in return." He smiled darkly. "You gave me all the information I needed for revenge. The time, the place, and the name; Jonas."
"I'm so sorry... I didn't know... If there's anything I can do..." whimpered Jonas.
"Oh you've done so much for me already." Simon chuckled, "Were it not for my insatiable lust for revenge, I would never have travelled the world in search for a way to push my mortality back long enough to kill you. Thanks to you, I found something better: Immortality."
Jonas stood perfectly still, but in his mind he was busy, working frantically on a solution. If only he had more time...
"But that's only the means to the end." Simon continued, "The end is what I've been waiting for. Finally, I get to exact my revenge. For my family, I will kill you. But for my house, I will first kill your friend here."
Jonas' mind clicked, just like the gun did. Again. And again. Clicking without shooting. Simon grunted, "How the fuck am I out? It was loaded an hour ago?!"
Jonas siezed the moment and ran up to the old man, using his momentum to uppercut the senior into unconsciousness. Simon landed flat on the asphalt, only saved from a cracked skull by his immortality. Eddie fell straight down on his knees into a puddle of his own urine.
"Summon the authorities, Eddie!" Jonas yelled as he jumped back into the machine.
"Where will you go?!" he shouted back.
"To an hour ago." | Greatest amongst the Greatest High Germanic Tribe, Grandfather of the Saxons, and Embodiment of the Penultimate Hunter Warrior was Brad.
None could slay a whole pack of any beast and carry them all back to the tribe alone. No, Roman centurion dared to ever cross his tribe for he alone sent entire legions scattering in disarray. None dared to face the mighty Brad, and so he grew bored.
 
That is... until one day...
 
Brad was stalking a Roman scout who had gotten lost in the woods. Though the scout had brought along with him sufficient armaments, the scout dropped his bowels along with much of his gear in a panicked primal scramble for safety. Brad was enjoying himself: the scout's sobs and screams were amusing. It was easy enough for him to keep up, furthermore he could partake of the scout before finishing him off. But just as he was about to skin the scout of his clothes, he heard the yelps of Modern German in the background.
 
"Jesus Christ, Ben you want to get us killed?"
 
As Ben was dragged down from the view, a throwing axe flew past where Ben's head would have been 10 minutes ago. It flew past grazing nothing, and snugly stamped itself into a tree. Ben and Markus scrambled away in a panic not entirely dissimilar to the scout who was now wading in his own piss, tears, shit, and blood. Ben was wearing a simple hoodie, shorts, and tennis shoes only having been in 2018 Germany an hour earlier. His shorts pockets were shallow, and his wallet which had been loosely stuffed inside fell out in the panic. Neither Ben nor Markus noticed. They were too busy screaming,
 
"Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit!"
 
They scrambled for the time machine. It was gaudy piece of DIY machinery that though appearing haphazard and made of scavenged material was an ingenious feat of engineering. In the time Ben and Markus had scrambled 200 feet to their time machine, Brad had already scaled the near mountainous precipice on which Ben and Markus had seen him. But before Brad could draw his bow, Ben and Markus slammed the panic button launching them straight home.
 
Hyperventilating, both of them fell out onto the floor of their studio apartment. They looked at each other in utter relief and laughed.
"Let's never do that ever again."
"Yah, I nearly shat my pants."
"Did you see the muscles on that guy? He could have easily torn our heads off."
Ben pulled out his phone that hadn't fallen out to check the time. It was only 00:30, they had only gone for a split second. They laughed again, because their pizza was going to arrive as soon as they arrived just as planned.
"I'm going to eat all the pepperoni!"
"Yeah, then you're paying."
Ben laughed heartily and nodded. Right on cue the doorbell rang.
"I got it!"
Ben opened the door while checking his other pocket for his wallet.
"Hey, just a moment. I think I might have lost my wallet..."
Ben was busy searching through his pockets when he heard the deliveryman say,
"Looking for this?"
"What's going on Ben, did you forget your wallet again?"
Markus looked at Ben whose phone fell to the ground through his limp fingers.
| 2018-06-05T13:43:22 | 2018-06-05T13:32:08 | 82 | 12 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I sat in the back of the classroom, staring at her.
What the hell was going on? Was I losing it?
I looked around the room. No, everything was normal. A bunch of 3s, a few fours, and Mark, a six (I stay away from him).
Then there's this girl.
I had heard all about her. She was new in town, apparently her parents were big shot researchers who just finished some 5-year research project in Brazil. No, Peru. It was somewhere exotic.
According to my buddy Jon, she was smart, funny, and "Holy Shit, dude, sooo fine!"
My first time actually seeing her was 7 minutes ago when she transferred into 5th period World History.
Ten
She was a ten.
Not a, "Bro, she's a straight 10 outta 10."
A ten on my scale means...shit, you know what? I don't even know what that means.
The highest I have ever seen in my life was an 8 when my criminology class took a trip to the ACI.
This girl scored 2 points higher than a gang enforcer that got off on crushing skulls.
I always wondered what I would do in a situation like this. Would I try to warn people? How would I ever explain to them what I see?
When it came down to it, I ran. Well, I went down to the nurses office and told her that I had bought the school lunch that day (while kinda motioning down below).
I laid awake all night, going over it in my head. What did it mean? What do I do?
I stayed home the next day, checking the news feeds. No shootings at my school, nothing weird at all going on.
I creeped her facebook, her twitter. Nothing stood out. A completely normal 17 year old girl.
Day 3, I told my buddy Jon that he should skip school, but when I couldn't give him a realistic reason to, I dropped it.
I just sat at home, thinking that I should be doing something, anything.
Ten. A freaking ten.
What the fuck! How could this girl be a fucking 10?!
I got my answer when the CDC rolled into town.
| *Ah, this class sucks,* I thought, deciding to sleep through the teacher's lecture. I almost got away with it, too.
"Eren, could you please give me there answer to question 5?"
Aw you dirty 6-faced douche.
"Uhh, could you read out the question?" I stuttered, still half asleep.
"You'd know if you paid attention."
*Go duck yourself, math teacher. I don't know what kinda skeletons you got in your mind to bring your number that high, but they ain't pretty.*
Another voice spoke up, "I found that x is equal to 7 over 9, professor."
"Thank you, Light, but I asked for Eren to ans-"
And then the lunch bell rang. Lunch was disgusting, as always, but something really scared me as I walked out.
Light's number had jumped to 10. | 2014-11-29T15:20:57 | 2014-11-29T14:22:11 | 50 | 10 |
[WP] You are an average Joe who is challenged by a random super hero every week. Your record is 337-0. | I look down at my watch. It's 7:00 P.M, which means the sun is finally set and night has begun. It’s also Thursday, which means that any minute…
Yup. There’s a knock on my door. I laugh to myself. Usually, they just crash through the window or walls, which means I always have a carpenter come in on Friday. A knock was pretty polite.
I walk over to the door, open it, and see some sort of b-list Superhero standing there. All the really weak ones from the Super Nation had come first, and I beat them easily. Then they got worried, sent in the top guns, and I beat them too. They were just sending anyone they had at this point.
This guy’s cocky, I can feel it. He has this black leather suit, a red D in the middle of it. He has on a standard leather mask and hood, trying to be intimidating in anyway he can.
“Michael Mac,” he says, “ you are needed at the Super Nation. This is your only chance for you to peacefully comply”
I lean up against the wall, not worried at all.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” I ask him.
He’s surprised by how laid back I am. The other heroes obviously haven’t told him much about me.
“I am Discard!”
“Never heard of ya. You know, if White Matter or Earth can’t take me, what makes you think you can?”
“Because they can’t erase things!”Discard takes down his hood, and red energy starts to stream from his face and body, swirling all around him. As it touches my walls, the paint starts to peel.
“Great,” I mumbled to myself, “now I have to get a painter in here too.”
“Don’t worry,” Discard smirked. “You’ll be in jail before you can do that.” He charges at me, his red energy streaming behind him. I didn’t move, simply stayed there. He plummets into me, and we both fall onto the ground.
He wasn’t expecting me to do nothing, and doesn’t know what to do now. I do. I grab the chair next to me, a solid metal one, and pull the leg so it falls on top of him. Startled, he turns around and I push him off of me. I look down, and see my plaid shirt is all white. Other than that, I'm fine.
“Ah, come on dude. You’ve got the lamest powers ever.”
He starts to get up, but I swing the chair and hit him in the head. He doesn’t have super strength, and gets knocked out pretty easily. That chair alone has taken down 130 heroes. “Alright. Let’s go.”
I grab his arm and drag him out my door, throwing him on my lawn. Then I pull out my cell phone and call the person who sent him.
She picks up.
“Discard, did you get him?”
“No, Mom. He did not get me.”
“God damnit! You know, you could just come and visit me every now and then. I wouldn’t have to come and send my hero friends to come and get you.”
“Try and get me,” I corrected her. “338 times now and they haven’t gotten me once. Because no matter what, I’m not coming to see you.”
“You know, just cause your ex was a super villain and I killed her…”
“Yes, it does mean I can’t visit you. She didn’t need to die. Now just send someone to pick up Discard.”
“Fine. Goodnight, Michael. I love you.”
“Bye, Mom.” I’m about to hand up, then I remember I have something to tell her. “Wait, actually, one more thing.”
“What is it?!” I can feel the excitement in her voice.
“Can I borrow some money? I’m behind on rent.”
| You know, almost 68% of the world's population has some sort of superpower these days, many of which are combat-oriented. Most of them don't use theirs for much, content to live their lives out peacefully. However, not everyone's so sane.
Me? I'm just your average Joe. I don't go running around in tights, beating up people I don't like. Heck, my power isn't even that useful in everyday life.
Doesn't stop those megalomanaical self-proclaimed "superheroes", though.
"Halt!"
Oh, for fucks sake. Not another one. See, I actually *like* supervillains these days. Not because I agree with their views or actions, but because they don't trying their damnedest to ruin my life.
"In the name of the law, I, Longinus, order you to hand yourself in!"
Fucking *Longinus*, dude. The guy's power let him pierce through anything. Started going on a crusade recently, armed with nothing but his trademark spear. And, now it apparently looks like he wants to skewer me? Why? Hell if I know. Maybe it's just my reputation as an unbeatable opponent. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm perceived as a villain due to fighting "heroes".
"Dude, look, I'm sorry for whatever the hell I did, alright!? I just want to have a normal day for once!"
"Forgive me, but I cannot allow a *villain* of your caliber and notoriety to simply escape the custody of the law. Surrender now, or I will be forced to charge you with evading arrest!"
Oh, for *fuck's* sa-
Oh, God, he's coming right at me! Spear, *spear*, SPEAR!
Before I realize what's going on, I can feel my power going to work, puppeteering my body, coaxing my frame *just* out of the unstoppable spear's path. I feel my body pivot slightly as Longinus passes me by, unable to change his course.
My arm whips out, and he falls to the ground, out cold. As I feel the cold, unpleasant sensation leave my body, I hear people start screaming.
"OH MY GOD, HE KILLED LONGINUS!!"
I let out a heavy sigh. God fucking damn it, with my luck, this'll be all over the news before they realize he's not actually dead. | 2016-11-19T18:53:52 | 2016-11-19T17:28:10 | 103 | 28 |
[WP] The United States government is so bored, they start monitoring one random unsuspecting idiot 24/7. Every time he fails to brush his teeth at the appropriate time, gas prices increase slightly. | A solitary bead of sweat ran down Senator Crafford's brow as he watched the monitor. "Come on, you son of a bitch, you can do it. You can keep those pearly whites sparkling, I know you can."
"Nervous, senator?", the smug smirk playing across Smith's stupid mug was enough reason to hate the man and he had the personality to match.
Kenneth stared at the sink vacantly. Since he split up with Deborah, life had lacked the silver lining it once used to have. He felt no drive, no purpose, no real attachment to the material world. He was a machine, keeping up his tasks, his responsibilities, not out of a will to succeed, but out of routine.
The plastic cup in Crafford's hand let out a dying groan as it had to pay the prize of the tension in the room. He had promised his daughters that trip to France, and he had yet to let them down.
"Odds at 13 to 1!" The voice of the VP was drowned out by a wave of shouting and reshuffling of bets. Bernard Humphrey, the fittingly oily CEO of Petro-Corp let out a cheshire cat grin. It was widely accepted that he had grown rich out of Kenneth's bad habits, and his agents had been busted trying to influence Kenneth more than once, but they could never be traced back to him.
Kenneth let out a sigh. He had no lust for brushing his teeth tonight. He had no lust for anything these days.
"Don't let me down son. Not tonight." Crafford was whispering while his eyes never left the big monitor showing Kenneth's blank face and bare, hairy torso. Even Smith couldn't contain his anxiety. His face still flashed his stupid smirk, but his bony, fidgeting fingers spoke volumes on their own.
Kenneth stared at the hardly used toothbrush sitting on the bathroom counter. An invisible audience of unyielding eyes followed suit. He let out a sigh. What the heck. He might aswell try to keep up one more routine.
The room erupted. Crafford let out a hoot of joy. He looked to his right as Mr Humphrey was cascading his phone in scream-propelled saliva. Someone was about to lose his or her employment. His eyes finally met the stunned face of Smith. Smith looked back at him, his smirk pouring away from his face slowly turning a marble white.
Crafford brought up his phone. His joy couldn't even be damped by the rough tone of his rudely awoken wife. "Pack your bags, Honey! We're going to Paris!"
| It was past noon when Joshua woke up. He managed to make his way through his dorm room. He looks into the webcam of his laptop and waves and says, 'Hello Mr FBI man, hope you're having a great day!', rather sarcastically.
'Millenials', smirked Agent Jones, looking into Joshua's messed up dorm that has probably not been cleaned since he moved in. 'If he doesn't brush today, that'll be a 30 day streak and the gas price is going to hit 10 bucks a gallon.'
'I bring my bike to work everyday anyway, gas prices don't really affect me you know', replies Agent Park. 'Its been a while since we had some decent global action, and it's pretty much peaceful everywhere. The Supreme Leader got his wish fullfilled and now is bored as hell.'
'All he does is hang out with Kanye and watch basketball, and is now playing with the fucking economy. The fatass is bored, I'm telling ya', says Agent Smith, moving his eyes back towards the screen, now peering into the dorm bathroom. 'And that's day 30. Time to sell my Cadillac.'
| 2018-05-08T05:45:36 | 2018-05-08T05:35:05 | 318 | 15 |
[WP] Since childhood, you've been able to hear the thoughts of animals. This has led to an excellent career as a veterinarian. One day, someone brings in their pet to have it put down. You hear the animal scream "Please, don't! I'm a human!" | The room was quiet. After a busy, hectic day, this was the best room in the house to John. It was a place of solitude, a place to reflect. He watched the fire place, as the flames continued to dance and crackle, warming the room and warding off the brisk autumn air outside of his house.
He poured a small glass of whisky and lit his pipe, as was customary during the daily ritual.
*"Stop! Please, don't do this! I'm a human!"*
He took a small sip of the whiskey and contemplated those words. All his life, he had a certain love for animals. How could he not?
John discovered his gift at a young age. It started as just small whispers coming from the family dog.
"*Play?*"
"*Hungry...*"
"*Potty.*"
Every time John would respond to these one-word cues, the dog would show more trust and loyalty. It was a relationship that would foster an ever love for animals.
John put down his pipe and continued to watch the dying flames. He nursed the whisky a bit when the small sound of a bell caught his attention from behind. "Ahhh, good. You found the study. Are you getting used to the place?"
There was no response, but John didn't need one, he knew his guest was still adjusting to the surroundings. Afterall, they had just met for the first time today.
John became a veterinarian due to his love and understanding of animals. He was a natural and was widely regarded as one of the best. He had worked with all sorts of animals: Dogs, cats, horses, livestock. It didn't matter, their 'voice' would always reach his ears, and thanks to that he could always pinpoint the problem.
One portion of the job though he could never get used to, was when people brought their animals in for the 'final goodbye.' John understood he was putting the animal out of their misery most of the time, but he could never explain to the people how he could hear the last words of their beloved companions. Most of the time, it would be words of endearment, a simple *"I love you human, thank you for all the great years..."*
Sometimes, he had to put animals down who had gone out of line. In most recent memory, a dog had gotten out of his owner's backyard and killed the chickens belonging to the neighbour. Most animals who are brought in for this reason beg and plead. *"I won't do it again, I swear, so please just give me a 2nd chance!"*
A small shadow crept around the study, and John's eyes were fixated on it. A small smile came across his face as he continued to watch and reminisce about the event earlier in the day.
A lady who bred cats had come into his clinic, seeking to have a kitten put down. "You see, this kitten is blind. I can't keep it, and I can't sell it for profit, so it needs to be put down."
John looked down into the basket she had brought the animal in. It was a small, Siamese kitten, whose eyes were sealed shut, never to open. He stroked the cats head. "Are you sure you can't find a good home for this poor little thing?"
The woman shook her head. "I've tried..."
John knew better than to believe her. Someone would still take a blind cat. They may need some special care, but the people are out there who would care for this poor thing.
"I just want to move on, and put this poor kitten down..."
John looked down at the kitten again and shivered as he heard the words so clearly. *"Stop! Please, don't do this! I'm a human!"*
John reached into his wallet and handed the lady a $50 bill. "I know it's probably not what you would want normally for a kitten, but I will take him off your hands."
The study was now getting darker as the fire died down to embers. The small cat had made his way up to John's lap. *"Thank you for saving me, fellow human.*"
John stroked the head of the young cat. "You silly kitten." His new friend simply couldn't comprehend the many differences in species. He was innocently blind to those kinds of differences. | I remember once, I had a guinea pig come in that was convinced it was a human. I mean, it really believed it was part of the family- one of the children that just happened to be abnormally hairy.
Huh.
Thinking on it now, the poor thing must have been driven mad. It really was a cruel state of affairs to keep them locked up like that.
Still, I was used to it.
"No, really. I'm telling you. I'm a fucking Human!" It said with more tenacity than last time, enough to make me pull back the needle.
"Something wrong?" Sally asked, looking toward me with an air of curiosity.
"Uh... Can I have a minute?" I asked, returning her glare. She pulled off her protective mask and nodded to me.
"I understand." She said, pushing through the doors that swung back and forth for a moment. When they had settled, I looked back down to the dog.
I had never heard one swear before- not in forty years.
"Listen buddy, I know you're scared..." I had started, pulling off my glove and stroking his head with my thumb.
"Oh, fuck off." It barked. "You're the same prick that took off my balls. Don't pretend like you care about me now."
I was taken aback by his comment, but, it was fair enough. "Yeah, uh... sorry about that."
"Listen, I didn't bite him out of bloodlust- I'm not some kind of cannibal." He said, shuffling about on the table and sitting up to look at me. He didn't appear to offer me any expression, and only watched me for a moment. "This shit is deeper than you know."
"What do you mean? You couldn't pos-"
"Look, man. You stopped for a reason. You know something isn't right."
Perhaps what he had said was true. Perhaps in my mind I did feel some kind of disturbance in the air that didn't come with any other animal I had worked with before- He was definitely more eloquent, at least.
"What, then?" I asked, entertaining the thought that there was something very strange going on- I mean, outside of talking telepathically with a dog.
"Please, sir. Y-you can't go back there." I had heard, coming from the reception area. It was Sally's voice.
Suddenly, the door burst open and a man charged into the room. "What's taking so long?" He asked, his face a worried expression.
"I, uh..." I murmured, not entirely sure how I was going to explain the situation- I certainly wasn't going to tell the truth. The man reached out to grab the dog, who slid on the table like a skater on the verge of crashing into the ice. It fell to the floor and dashed past the man, who had slung his arms haphazardly in a failed attempt to catch him.
"George Street!" It said to me as it escaped through reception. | 2017-09-04T08:40:32 | 2017-09-04T08:01:55 | 2,042 | 139 |
[WP] Dwight Schrute tries to get the Pawnee Parks Department paper account and he has to sell to Ron Swanson | Dwight Schrute is standing inside the Pawnee City Hall, in front of the Sunday Boxing mural. He looks to the camera.
"I've been trying to contact someone in the Pawnee parks department for months regarding their paper supply needs."
Cut to Dwight, back in Scranton at his desk. He's on the phone, looking frustrated before hanging up. He tries again on a different day, as evidenced by the slight difference in the shade of mustard his shirt is. He's on the phone again and this time he looks pleased. He hangs up and he circles a date on a nearby calendar - March 31.
Back in Pawnee, Dwight continues. "I was finally able to schedule a meeting for today. Busy place... " He glances around, seeing an extraordinary amount of people around, all looking annoyed. "They obviously use a lot of paper."
The mural behind him catches his eye and he stares at it for a moment. He looks back to the camera and smirks. "Now, *this* is art. I wonder if Pam--" He stops mid-sentence as he spots a familiar face.
"Karen!" He calls out, rushing to catch up with her. The cameraman rushes to follow. "Karen, no! This account is Scranton's. I've been trying for months. Utica has no business here!"
Cut to an interview with Ann Perkins, in front of the Trading Post mural.
"Yes, I do have a twin sister named Karen. She uses our mother's maiden name as a tribute to our grandfather. We're not that close."
*cue The Office theme music*
---
Edit: Thank you all for the warm response! Check out /r/AgentPeggyCarter for more prompt fills soon! | Dwight: "As assistant to the regional manager, I am authorized at this time to offer you a free nights stay at the rustic Schrute Farm. You will be able to slaughter your own meals, and will be.." Ron: "I'm going to stop you there. You had me at rustic and slaughter". | 2018-09-12T09:21:12 | 2018-09-12T09:09:11 | 3,687 | 1,719 |
[WP] Super-speed can power a city without polluting. Super-healing can provide an endless supply of donor blood. Weather manipulation ends droughts. Your job is to convince superheroes to use their powers for practical purposes instead of fighting crime, and you’re very good at it. | "Look, I don't know..." The new super still seems hesitant.
"Sir, do you know how many crime fighters call this city their base of operations?" I ask in an honest voice. "No less than three major ones for the past decade and a half." I continue without giving him the chance to answer. " We have MetalMind, Crimson/Flame/Firewilde or however they calls themselves now and Bat-fellow. They deal with the violent and criminally insane, the worst of the worst. They are really, really good at it." I finally pause, to let it sink in.
I can see the gears turning in his head, as he remembers the statistics. Lowest crime rate in five decades, nearly one percent of the population exhibiting super human abilities, and the president's mandate "All super powered individuals that are citizens of the U.S. are to be employed by the federal government in whatever capacity they fit."
He's still hesitant"I see what you're saying, and it's not like the pay isn't phenomenal, but... I mean... Isn't it a bit... lame?" He seems genuinely concerned with that.
I lean back in my chair. I do hate glory seekers so very much. Time to earn my pay, I suppose. "I see. Yes, I suppose it is kind of lame, isn't it?" I can see the wide smile of relief on the up and coming hero's face, so I proceed "A man of your talents should be out fighting the Xenadorians, I think." He nods excitedly, then freezes, likely remembering the other statistics- avarge survival rate on the Xenadorian frontline is five days for a class 8 hero. "Or perhaps help colonise the outer planets" 50% chance catastrophic failure of the engines, 30% chance of hostile encounters, success rate 2.6% "No, I've got it! Officer at DrePen." His face goes completely white at that. I don't blame him. Almost nobody wants anything to do with the prison for most dangerous supers, and those who do are immediately put on the blacklist and sent for psych-eval.
I look at him and sigh. "Look kid, I get it. I really do- you grew up on tales of legendary heroes, like all of us, and now you can be one of them. You're a level 5 hydromancer, one of the most powerful we've seen in ages. Why waste you on some pointless conflict, or idiotic engineering mistake?
Why not go to that draught struck wasteland, provide them clean drinking water? Do you have any idea how many lives you can save there? How many people would see you as nothing short of a messiah, just for doing what comes naturally?" I see the look on his face, slowly sinking in. I decide to give it an extra push. " You know..." I lean in, with a conspiratorial voice "The area does have something of a warlord problem." He looks confused at that. I scream internally. Outwardly I add " Company policy is that members who are under attack are allowed to defend themselves in any means necessary." I see the understanding sink in, I see his smile spread and I finally hear my favourite sentence.
"Where do I sign?" | I'm the closest thing the world has to a superhero.
I’m not sure why they call me that. I’m not a hero; I’m a diplomat. But the public has a way of putting labels on people. And, at the risk of being pedantic, I'm more of a freelance peacemaker than a superpowered rescuer.
Most superheroes are criminals. You wouldn’t believe how many people start out fighting crime, but end up becoming criminals themselves. Superpowers are addictive, and to abuse them means to abuse the public trust. You have to hound me for three months before you can even apply to join my organization. That’s why I know that helping people in distress is what they do.
But I don't deal with superheroes like that. I deal with any crime that we notice, like theft, gang violence, vandalism. It’s a small world, after all. I deal with all the small stuff, but I rarely deal with the big stuff. Like supervillains and supervillainy. The world of crime is usually a very small world. The people supervillains take from us are always the people we know very well. They don't just steal, they steal our cherished ideas.
Today, I get a report of a robbery. A bank, or a government office, or something similar. Nothing unusual. These things happen every other month. When I arrive, I find a crowd on the sidewalk across the street. They silently stare into the bank. I’m slow, and this is a busy street. I find a parking spot and walk across the street.
The building is bustling with police officers. Men in army-green hazmat suits mill around. I enter the lobby and find an object that my mind can't comprehend.
I look up.
Hang on, it’s harder to describe than you think. It’s, it’s…
TBC | 2021-04-11T05:31:56 | 2021-04-11T05:10:42 | 2,570 | 58 |
[WP] You have been cursed to always tell the truth. Not because you're unable to say something you know is false, but because once you say it, the universe will rearrange itself to make what you said true. | “Hey, right now, what do you want?”
I look at our little town, at the lights flickering on and off, all the little lives and stories I knew and didn’t know and would never know. It was a rare warm night, the weather just one of the many perfect things I’d remember about it.
Graduation was yesterday, and tonight there was a big old party everyone was going to. But that wouldn’t have been the right way to end our childhood. So instead, we’d done what we did most weekend nights, climbed to the top of the hill with the water tower and sat on top, smoking a joint.
“I don’t want anything else. This night is perfect.”
She hits me, gently. “Tell the truth. I thought best friends weren’t supposed to lie to each other.”
“Seriously,” I say. “This is everything.”
“Well, look at me when you say it,” she says.
This is what I dreaded. I look into her eyes, her wide open, unblinking eyes, ready to take on the world, and I fall in love all over, the way I always do when I look at her. The way I always wonder if she chooses to hang out with a loser like me just because I’m her neighbor and she feels pity for me, with all the popular guys at school asking her out all the time.
And for a second, I feel it coming, the words I’m never able to say. The words I can’t. But then it passes.
“Nothing more. Really. This is perfect.”
She looks into my eyes for another second, knowing that’s not all of it, and then shrugs, and takes the joint.
\-
The next night, she moved east, and life was easy again. I think maybe that’s why I loved her - because she made things hard, made me think about the things I said, and what I wanted.
So when she left, and as the moments we’d had eroded the way memories do with time, so did the complications in my life. Everyone and everything else in my life was uncomplicated – my friends, family, desires. I like to think I have some moral code at least, and so I didn’t say anything that would take something away from someone who deserved it, or make someone do something they wouldn’t normally do, but I took all I wanted from life, and more.
When my friend Tim got laid off, I got him a new position I’d invented – right above the manager who had laid him off. When the Celtics were in game 7 of the finals, I made Jaylen Brown’s last second layup roll in, even if it took a freak bounce to do so. When my mom got Alzheimer’s, I removed the disease entirely from existence.
I was no hero. I’d always rationalized that I shouldn’t change the world too much, because who was I to play God, but looking back, maybe one could say I lived selfishly. But oh well. I was able to be happy, and make the people around me happy, and that’s all you can ask for.
Right?
\-
In the end, my favorite moments are those in which I don’t have to change anything. Like that night – when the mood, the temperature, the birds chirping in the air, the smell of grass are all just perfect.
There’s a little park near where I live that is beautifully maintained, and sometimes in the evenings when I have nothing else to do, I like to sit there, and watch life go by.
“Jorge?” she says. And just like that, it all comes back.
I stand up, and we hug, and she sits down, and we catch up. She only has a couple minutes. She’s here to see her sister, who just got divorced.
“Divorce,” I say. “That’s something that should never happen.”
She laughs. “Right? You sound like you’ve been through it.”
“Nope. And I never will. You?”
She shakes her head. “Never had the opportunity to.”
We fall into a silence after that, watching the sky turn orange for a glorious second, and then fade.
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
“Anything.”
“I’m not sure if you remember, but that night-“
“Of course I remember. All the time.”
“Were you telling the truth back then?”
I close my eyes, and try to imagine that night again. “We are back on the hill, on a night like that night.”
And suddenly, we are. She gasps.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll bring us back. But…I just wanted to show you. Everything I say…it happens. And back then, what I wanted most in the world was for us to be together, and to be in love. But if I said it, then it would have been true. And that’s something that should only have been true if it really was. It wouldn’t have been right to make it true when it wasn’t. Does that make sense?”
She’s still in shock, and doesn’t say anything for a minute. “But what if it really was true?”
Now I’m in shock, and I can’t say anything.
Finally, I figure out the words. “You tell me.”
She smiles, and then everything I ever wanted comes true.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | I'm not sure when it started, but I remember the first time. I was four years old.
My parents had friends over and even from my bedroom I could hear their cackling laugther from the backyard. I was playing with their daughter Jane, in my room where we were sentenced, comparing our colouring-in skills and gathering every item of doll clothing we could find into a pile.
Jane had brought a doll along with her. It was a new one from the mermaid collection where the legs could be removed and replaced with a tail. I'd been begging my parents for my own one all year. Then Jane beat me to it and with her smug smirk, showed it to me, knowing very well the power she possessed in her hand.
"Can I play with Aquaria?" I asked.
"Later."
Patiently, I waited for my turn when I could hold Aquaria and allow her to swim gracefully through the air. But after an hour of a game where I obediently allowed Jane to call the shots regarding the narrative, coincidently taking place under the sea, I was growing impatient.
"Oh hello Prince," Jane sang as she stood Aquaria up beside a prince doll.
"Hello Aquaria," I greeted, walking my own doll aross the carpet and to Aquaria and the prince.
"NO! Your doll can't breathe under water," Jane shouted.
"The prince can," I argued.
"He's a mermaid. You're not."
"When is it my turn with Aquaria?"
"Later."
Then as the game continued without me and the adults cackling carried on, I snatched Aquaria from Jane's hands.
The dispute between us became loud enough that even our drunk parents heard. They came to the room, gathering in the doorway and asked, "What are you both fighting about?"
"Jane said she'll share but she won't!" I cried as both our hands clutched on to Aquaria, causing her tail to stretch from our pulls.
"LATER! Now let go!" Jane shouted at me.
My father sighed frustratedly and stepped into the room. "Neither of you can play with it."
He crouched down and grasped the doll's bodice. Jane let go defiantly but I still held on to her head. "It's mine," I stated to my father.
"I know, but if you can't play nicely with it, you don't get to play with it at all."
The adults wandered off, muttering to themselves as they returned to the backyard with the doll.
I glared angrily at Jane who fiddled nerouvsly with another doll. I stood up and walked out of the room as tears began to form in my eyes. Now I'd never get to to play with Aquaria.
I watched television while my stomach rumbled from hungriness. A while had passed when Jane sat beside me on the sofa. "I'm sorry I didn't give your doll back."
I turned to her confused. "My doll?"
"I just really liked it."
I remained silent, unsure of what was happening.
"Do you want to play hide & seek?" Jane asked.
I nodded and hopped from the couch to play.
That night, my father stumbled drunkenly to my room where I still lied awake. From behind his back he pulled out Aquaria and placed her on the bed beside me. I stared wide eyed at him, wondering why he had just stolen and what would Jane's parents say?
He kissed me on the forehead where his bourbon breath lingered for some time before he crept out of the room.
"Goodnight Aquaria," I whispered, still smiling from my secret. Though it wouldn't be a secret for long. My primary school's bully's heads beingreplaced with replica's of their buttocks gave it away. | 2019-05-29T01:40:00 | 2019-05-29T00:52:26 | 182 | 73 |
[WP] You are a crusading journalist who broke the story that the detective made up the serial killer and the murders for attention and fame. At home, before you go to sleep, your lovely wife whispers into your ear “thanks babe, you just made my life a whole lot easier.” | ##It Was All an Accident
Miles Vern finishes the fifth chapter to his mystery novel before looking at the time. Midnight, he worked late again. He does not know how his wife, Danielle, puts up with his workaholic nature. She says she is fine with it for now as long as he promises not to work through their vacation that they paid for with the advance from the publishing company.
Miles turns off his light in his office and moves to his bathroom to get ready for bed. Danielle's friends think it is weird that he has a separate bathroom down the hall, but it is better when he works so late. He cautiously moves back into the room with Danielle who is lying on the bed. He moves next to her and closes his eyes. Images of their vacation flash before his eyes and keep him from falling asleep.
"Artie, you are so amazing," she whispers. Miles opens his eyes. Did she really just say that. Arthur Jacobson was the name of the detective that he caught. Maybe she is referencing some celebrity hunk or romance novel protagonist.
"Thanks babe, you just made my life a whole lot easier," she says. What is she talking about. Miles thinks about his past few year chasing down the Nightcrawler.
At the start of the year, the police noted that there was an increase in deaths that were ruled an accident. These ranged from falling down the stairs to unfortunate cuts. All of the victims were people who lived alone and happened on the weekend. The bodies were not found until several days later. At first, the police saw it as an odd incident.
That was until someone else's blood was found on the crime scene of a woman who accidentally cut herself while chopping vegetables. The blood did not match anyone's blood in the database, and there were no other signs of a struggle. The public ran wild with the idea of there being a serial killer on the loose.
Arthur Jacobson was a charming middle-aged detective whose good looks and confidence thrust him into the spotlight. Within a few weeks, he had racked up a million followers on his Instagram account. He started up a YouTube channel where he talked about famous crimes. He tried to sell himself off as a Sherlock Holmes of the influencer age. The reality was he was seen as the cop version of a Kardashian.
Miles was assigned to follow this case. He looked at all of the deaths previously ruled as accidents. He stayed up night after night trying to figure out what connected them. They all came from different socio-economic backgrounds, religions, and lifestyles. They were diverse in gender identity, sexuality, ethnicity, and age. All they had in common was that they lived alone and suffered an unfortunate accident. This was a huge part of why the case attracted so much attention since a large portion of the population was at risk not a targeted subgroup like other famous serial killers. The fact that every death was an accident caused loads of speculation on how the killer was able to get away with it so often until they made one mistake.
One night, Miles was reviewing the case of Mary Daniel who started the controversy. She was a normal retired woman who lived alone. The autopsy reports that she died when she cut off her finger while making a salad. Her phone was upstairs, and she could not reach it in time. A morbid unfortunate accident.
Miles found that she was a part of a program that connected members of the community with retirees. Arthur was also in that program. Miles did further research and found that the local blood bank reported a break-in the day after Mary was reported dead. That case was marked as being inactive as there were no leads. One of the blood types stolen matched the type of blood found in Mary's apartment.
When Miles published his findings, the blowback was swift and intense. How dare he rob them of their serial killer? He was just a stupid journalist they said? He was doxxed and harassed. After this, Arthur grew a conscious and came forward confirming it was false. He has been charged with theft, fraud, and contaminating a crime scene. Miles received offers to write about his experience and a deal for a fiction novel.
Early on in the case, Miles found out that Danielle volunteered at the same organization. She claimed to not know Arthur yet here she is whispering about him. Miles used to fall asleep quickly so he never witnessed it. He thought from time to time that she was cheating on him, but he never believed it.
"Artie, I love you," she says. Miles shakes her awake. They are at home not surrounded by cops. Worst case scenario, they get a divorce which was inevitable anyway.
"You thought I wouldn't find out?!" he yells.
"Honey, what are you saying?" she asks still groggy.
"About you and how you were cheating on me," he says. She looks nervous.
"What do you mean? I would never cheat."
"I found the burner phone."
"We never used a burner phone," she says. She perks up realizing what she revealed in her tired state.
"So I was right," he looks down, "You whispered Artie. Was it the detective?"
His wife starts to cry, "Yes, I was cheating on you with Arthur Jacobson. We met at a retiree event. We never texted each other. We planned our rendezvous in person. I went to his house."
"What about Mary? How does she play into this?" he asks. Danielle starts to cry more.
"She saw us the day we met. She started following Arthur and caught me in the act. She really should've minded her own business," Danielle makes sure every word is laced with disgust.
"Did you kill her?" Miles prepares for the worst.
"I did not mean too. I went to her house to drop off the money. We got into a fight. She pushed me. We exchanged blows. I grabbed the knife, and I chopped off her finger. When she died, I went to Arthur. He removed all the evidence and made it look like an accident," she says.
"That was your blood," Miles says. Danielle nods, "What about the blood bank?"
"That was unrelated," Danielle says, "Artie came forward because he did not like how much hate we were getting. He was also worried that the extra attention would result in me getting under suspicion."
"And the Nightcrawler?" Miles asks the final question.
"Artie wanted to be a famous detective. I told him it was a bad idea," she looks at her husband with doe eyes, "What are you going to do."
Miles stands up and backs away, "I am going to get a hotel."
"Honey, I would never kill you," his wife says. Miles is already out the door. He moves swiftly down the stairs. He thought he knew his wife. He realizes now he did not. He will call the police when he is far away from her. This case has even more twists than he thought. Maybe he could get a true-crime novel too.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | Cool premise! I just woke up wrote a bit for it. Going to try to finish it off when I get some time later in the day.
"Thanks babe, you just made my life a whole lot easier." I never thought a sentence of nine words could reorganize my whole world view. I try to push to get my words out, I want to know what the mother of my children means by that. However struggle as I may I can already feel the abyss of sleep overwhelming my consciousness. No amount of struggling could stop my eyes from closing and similarly no amount of struggling could wipe the look I saw on my wifes face before sleep overtook me. It was the same devilish smirk I had seen on her face all those years ago, the same one that had drawn me in closer to her, the same smirk that had captured my imagination and had ultimately led me to this point. "Baby asdfs hoio jiofds." My final attempt at questioning her bore no fruit as I merely managed to pop some babble out before closing my eyes.
My eyes once again begin to flicker open. Normally I would have had to fight the remnants of drowsiness to fully prop them open but this time is different, I feel like a man possessed, haunted by the words that my wife left me with before I was overtaken by Hypnos himself. "You're finally awake baby. The wait is always the most boring part of these long nights I have to say."
I try to take stock of the situation. I'm currently tied down to the bed and my wife is off to the side with her back turned to me. "These nights baby? What do you mean by that. Are you playing a joke on me right now? Is this something cosmpolitan recommmended to spice up our sex life baby? And what did you mean by I made your life easier baby? I'm confused right now and I need you to answer my questions."
"Are you going to keep playing the fool baby? At this point the jig is up and so is your time with me. I've appreciated the time you've spent helping me these last four years but its about time I wrap things up over here and move on. Mama's got some work to do on the west coast now."
"Playing the fool baby? What are you even talking about. I just woke up and I'm still feeling out of sorts right now, it isn't the best time for these sorts of jokes at all. Now be a sweetheart and remove these cuffs before I get angry."
"Haha anger won't be of much good right now, as a matter of fact I don't think anything will do you much good right now, your fortunes aren't looking too hot right now. But surely you knew this moment was nothing but an inevitability anyways right? In our world relationships built on trust are nothing but fragile facades, and I can't help but feel that with you managing to pin our crimes on someone else it might be the best time to hit the restart button."
"In our world? I thought our world had no secrets between us. For gods sakes honey we were talking about having kids together just a week ago. Now be a dear and go ahead and untie me. This can all just be a joke gone wrong."
"All right enough of the charade. I don't know what sort of memory implantation expert you went to in order to craft that reality your living in but its about time I shatter it. I told you that there was no need for none of that, but look at where the internal method actor has brought you to. You lie there as one of the greatest serial killers to ever and yet fail to even remember it. You won't even have the pleasure of looking back at your greatest kills when I drain the life from your body."
My mind was barely beginning to process my "wife's" statement before I began to see the same devilish smirk creep up on her face.
"I figured out how I'm going to do it. I'm going to pay homage to everything you've done for me by ending your life in the very same manner you ended my foster families. Consider it a tip of the hat from one soon to be legend to a dying breed."
A sharp pain rushes through my head. I struggle to control my breath whilst also struggling with a head that is ringing liike a bell. I can feel my brain functioning like a verifiable potpourri, a whole mix of emotions, hormones, and latent memories surging all at once. I struggle to make heads or tails of any of it as I feel like I'm drowning in a cacophony of overwhelming information and emotion.
"Ahh thats the face I remember from the first time I met you. I always wondered what it would take to shatter the cage you had built, I guess it was fragile enough that all it took was a bit of cold harsh reality. Anyways its about time I put you to sleep and get started. Mama has a lot to do before she can start enjoying herself on the West Coast."
As my "wife" begins to walk over to me with a long needle I can feel time slow down. Perhaps it is due to my body contemplating the end of my existence, or perhaps its simply because my latent memories are returning. Regardless during this state of flow I begin to make head and tails of the convergence of memories, I begin to recall my real, not imagined, life as a serial killer, I begin to remember murdering a family and picking up a girl as an apprentice due to the lack of fear she showed at my grotesque violence. It all begins to make sense right before everything fades to black. | 2021-01-01T09:49:47 | 2021-01-01T09:26:50 | 63 | 18 |
[WP] You have a disorder that only allows you to communicate in clichés. You just witnessed a crime. Report all the details. | “It was a dark and stormy night,” said one witness.
“We were just a bunch of young, busty women having a sleep over at our sorority,” said another.
I nodded and continued to take down their story.
“We had just started our whipped cream pillow fight when the doorbell rang,” said the first witness.
“Stacy went down and opened the door. We were all so scared that we huddled together. Some of us began kissing to calm our nerves.”
I continued to write. I’d have a great story for the precinct when I got back.
“It was just the pizza guy. We didn’t have the money to pay for it though because we had all forgotten our purses back at the dance club,” said the second witness.
“He said he didn’t care because he had a big sausage special so-“
“-We let him in,” cut in the second witness.
Man, my wife would get a kick out of this tonight.
“So we let him in and he dropped his pants. That’s when we suddenly noticed he had a knife in his back. He’d been killed.” The first witness began to cry.
The second witness began to calm the first. “We all began to run when Amber fell. She sprained her ankle and couldn’t make. Suddenly a man in a clown mask with bloody hands appeared and killed her.”
A third witness spoke up. “It really sucked because Amber was our first black sorority sister.”
The second witness nodded. “We ran out into the back yard. It was raining and our thin white shirts got soaked. We slipped and fell in the mud. We wrestled to get up.”
“With each crack of lightening we saw the killer come closer and closer. Suddenly we realized we would be able to beat the killer with math,” said the third witness. The first witness continued to cry.
“What?” I said.
“We used math to beat the killer with a net, a rubber band and our brains. We’re not just busty, young co-eds. We’re also lawyers and biologists and mathematicians.”
“And the killer was Steph Cob?” I said.
The second witness nodded. “Yes. Our disgraced sorority sister who wanted to sell the house and build condos.”
It was really hard to believe this. “Well, I guess it was good most of you survived. You may have a hard time getting past this.”
The first witness sniffed and wipes away the tears. “A hard time?”
I held my hands up. “Sorry. I’m married.”
The first witness nodded and turned to the second witness. “Will you comfort me?”
The second witness smiled and brushed a piece of hair out of her face. “Of course.” They started to make out.
__________________
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out my subreddit /r/Puns_are_Lazy for more of my stories!
| "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," were the words used by the criminal, purports one witness, as he saw the man stab his wife in the middle of the street.
"Then, he took his shoes and was gone with the wind," described the witness as the husband escaped the scene. When describing the wife, he said:
"She was definitely a dame to kill for." Perhaps in a moment of irony, she's the one who got killed. I then asked the witness how to describe the man:
"He had brown hair and brown eyes, and a scar through his left eye; he had a rusty voice and shaving cuts all over his face. Oh, did I mention that he had an eyepatch?"
When asked what sort of eyepatch, he began to enunciate the letter R while repeating the words: "I'll get you, Peter Pan!"
When asked about how the police dealt with the whole situation, his criticism was strong indeed, as he said:
"He wouldn't have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for those darn police officers."
Powerful indeed, powerful indeed. The man is still on the loose, if you have any information, please look for a man in his thirties who has brown hair, brown eyes, an eyepatch with shaving scars and rusty voice.
Back to you, Tom. | 2015-02-15T08:17:36 | 2015-02-15T07:58:56 | 827 | 43 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others 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. | It never seemed fair, the Stigma. Just by taking a quick look at the whites of someone's eyes, or stealing a glance at an exposed wrist, you could see the grand total of their sins running through their veins. Humans are laid bare by it, the evils committed behind closed doors and in quiet, dark places made all too clear in the blush of their cheeks. And once it took hold, the shadow on one's blood could never, ever be removed.
When the needle slipped and I pricked myself, I felt a wretched shudder of nausea, seeing the oily, tar-like substance welling at my fingertip. Checking your Stigma, much like a weigh-in after cheating on your diet, is the kind of reality check that fills you with dread. Facing judgement, even your own judgement, is unpleasant. Putting it off, telling yourself you'll take a color test tomorrow and putting on some concealing makeup for now, is a great relief that only breeds greater dread, until you can't bear to go through with the test.
I quickly concealed my finger, of course, and lapped up the black ooze that issued from my cut. But the questions swirling through my head demanded attention, demanded *answers*. I had lived my entire life with the Stigma in mind, always courteous and generous, never associating with the black-blooded, making sure I would never learn wickedness by mistake. A tear settled on my nose, and when it dropped to the floor that I now sat, collapsed, upon, I saw that the liquid was grey, stained by the sin that flowed through by body.
What had I done? What great crime of mine was worthy of such punishment? With this horrible a stain, my blood would get me thrown out of any fine establishment. Soon people would start to notice, and I'd be laid off from my job (due to the economy these days, of course), my landlady would evict me on the basis I had poor moral values, and someone with fairer blood would take my place. With blood this dark, no job that could sustain my lifestyle would take me, and I'd have to live in a blackblood ghetto.
Surely, I wasn't that terrible a person to deserve these blackened veins. Removing my contacts, I stared into the mirror at the tangle of repulsive, sickening darkness at the edges of my eyes. I hadn't committed any acts of evil, or lived with cruelty in my heart. I was sure of it! I didn't deserve this fate, to live with murderous, thieving dark-bloods!
It wasn't fair! | I always heard that I was a pretty chill guy. I went to church, prayed and shit. I gave to charity.
Hal, on the other hand. Jesus, where do I start?
Once when I was playing football, I got tripped and fell hard. I don't even remember what happened afterwards, but I later found out that that kid was hospitalized when I woke up in a detention center.
I was writing an English paper later that week about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I fell asleep typing at around 2 AM. Hal had a message for me. He told me that even if I lived my life as an angel, I would never spread my wings and fly into Heaven.
So I wasn't surprised when I looked down at my finger, despite what the priests told me.
"You're a man without sin, Jordan."
My ass.
You can sin, but you can't un-sin. Hal taught me that. And tonight, he won't have to clip my wings.
Because tonight, I'm jumping into the fire. | 2018-08-04T09:56:46 | 2018-08-04T09:19:48 | 390 | 93 |
[WP] You're the last person on earth - but thank god Pokemon Go still functions! You amuse yourself by catching Pokemon as you travel so as to not feel so isolated and alone. One day, on your screen, you see in the distance that someone has set up a lure.
Courtesy of corvidaedream on Tumblr | I wasn't sure why the servers were still up and working. I knew they shouldn't be, but I didn't want to question it too much, Pokemon Go was the one thing keeping me sane through this, reminding me that there was a time when I was not the only person left out here. If I questioned it too deeply, the servers might realise that after 18 months, there is no way they should be working. So I just set out every morning, heading towards an area which seemed to have a lot of pokestops, and collected all the pokemon I saw along my way.
It was my routine, always hoping that I was heading towards another person, that someone else had survived, and that we would find each other. At the end of one, long day of walking, I found a spot to rest for the night. As usual, it was a place that people had gathered, before. When there were people to gather. That meant that there were plenty of Pokestops for me to collect supplies from. I'd just gone through my usual routine of swiping through all the stops within range before finally closing my eyes and trying to sleep as much as I could, when I noticed something unusual. Just on the edge of my screen was a pokestop with a lure on it. For a moment I was confused. Wondering why I'd put a lure on a stop I couldn't reach. But then I remembered, it couldn't be me. I'd run out of lures in the early days - I'd used them to try and signal to other people that there was someone nearby, and now it seemed like someone else was doing the same.
I knew if I waited until morning, there was a good chance that the lure would be gone, and whoever had placed it moved on. I had to act now.
Packing up my sleeping bag as fast as I could, I walked towards the lured stop. It was outside a church, which was as delapidated and deserted as the rest of the town had been. No sign that there had been anyone there in months, let alone the past 20 minutes. But, with nothing better to do, I sat and waited, collecting the pokemon which showed up, until the lure went down. But the moment it did, a new lure appeared. Again, just on the edge of my map.
Not having to pack up my gear, this time I arrived at the lure less than 5 minutes after it appeared. But there was still no sign that another person had been there. I found some paper and a marker pen out of my bag, and wrote a note:
"I can see that there's been someone here. Please contact me. My phone number is 07839 234890"
I taped the note to a wall, and hoping that whoever had set the lure would come back to this spot, then settled back down to catching more pokemon.
Suddenly though, my phone started ringing, the displaying showing "unknown number".
I answered it.
"Hello?"
"I got your note on the pokestop."
"What?" There had been noone but me the entire time I was sat here, how could someone have found my number without me seeing them?
"Yeah. You left a note saying to call you."
"Where are you? If you've come past here, why didn't you speak to me? I've been sitting right here since I put it down"
"Because we're out of phase. I've only just worked out how to get my phone in phase with yours."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You think you've been the only person on the planet for the past 18 months? Well, so does every other person. They're all still here. I've spoken to a couple of hundred of them now. I don't know how it happened, but I can teach you how to contact them. You're not alone any more." | Back a few months ago, it was normal to see the confetti everywhere in the city. It would stream forth, all pink and white, like a party or a wedding day when you walked down the right street.
But that was before everything changed. That was before I went to bed one day and woke up the last man on earth. I guess you could say that was a strange day. I remember driving around the suburbs, desperately searching for something or someone. I checked every single channel on the television, but nothing was screening. The radio was silent. It was like a terrible dream, only this was the reality that I was living right now.
I’m still living that dream, today. Only perhaps I’m about to wake up. The sight of the confetti fills me with equal levels of fear and excitement. I’ve always been quite introverted, which is perhaps why I took to being the last person on the planet better than a lot of people would. I played the usual games in the beginning, turning the local shopping mall into my personal fortress. After all, surely a zombie invasion was impending, and if every single film I’d ever seen on the subject was to be correct – I’d need supplies.
Only the zombies never came. I got bored. I put on weight. So I started exploring the ghost town I found myself in – and I mean really exploring. After exploring the town, I explored the county. Then the continent. All while playing one of my favourite games: Pokemon Go. Playing it gave me some sense of normalcy. Perhaps it’s the only thing that has kept me sane.
Till today. Today I saw confetti that could not possibly be there. Today I saw a lure, that could have only been set off by a physical human being. Is it a trick, or a trap, or just me going crazy? Only one way to find out, I guess.
“Hello?”
I wish I hadn’t called out. I haven’t heard the sound of my own voice in so long. It’s husky with disuse. And it goes unanswered. There’s no one in sight. Noone and nothing. I spit. Maybe it’s a glitch. Although –
There. In the distance. Glowing, blue and bright. It couldn’t… It couldn’t be. I make a quick movement, and I’m there. Face-to-face. It’s more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. My heart thumps, and I drop to my knees, trembling as I raise my finger. “Articuno?” | 2016-09-05T10:42:44 | 2016-09-05T09:09:38 | 2,026 | 23 |
[WP] Making the body immortal does not mean the mind becomes immortal as well. Today, the mindless bodies of the wealthy from centuries ago haunt civilization. | Walkers. They were called walkers. From what I understood, the name came from an ancient show about Zombies that was popular a long time ago. A time before humanity had figure out immortality. At first, the immortal didn't age, they stayed where they were, some young and beautiful. Some older and wiser. They were so happy. Other people were given the treatment as well. Children and adults with uncurable diseases were saved. From the history books, it was a miracle. People started celebrating birthdays, 120, 150, 200. Then the deline started in the older folks who took the death cure. While their bodies were immortal, their brains were only designed to live one lifetime. The strain of the extra living, the excess memories was starting to make them come apart. It was like dementia took over them as they aged. Younger people lasted a lot longer. Those in their 20s and 30s lived long lives before their brains started to fail. It was kind of like a hard drive failure. Little glitches at first. A missing word here and there, forgetting to do something. Not remembering newer friends. They'd slowly fade away, then they'd just start walking. Just walking. Eventually with so many to look after, it was ruled they should be let out to wander the world. They had basic instincts, avoid danger, eat, sleep. They weren't a danger to populations, so that's what they did. They let them roam the world. Their bodies were immortal so they couldn't die, they rarely got hurt.
I was just a little kid when I started asking about the scary people who shuffled around in robes (easier to dress them in robes to cover themselves then regular clothes). They smelled bad, they were dirty, unkempt and when they looked at you, it was like there was nothing there. As I got older, I regularly saw them rounded up and taken out of the city to wander the endless barran wastelands surrounding the mega cities. I remember one school trip, we were taken to an abandoned city to tour how civilisation lived a thousand years ago. The place was crumbling, nature had taken its course, but it wasn't empty. The walkers inhabited the place, walking down the streets, occasionally interacting with something their now primitive minds remembered. They waited at traffic lights, went into buildings and sat down. It was eerie. A city of the ancient ones and we were there, visiting, like we were on a safari.
I occasionally saw news reports about a walker who appeared out of the ocean. Centuries ago, the ancient ones all had chips embedded into their bodies. It was kind of like our ID cards on our comms. It tracked their location among other things. He had apparently been walking the ocean for at least a hundred years and came out with skin missing, his body green, but the most interesting part, gills. He had freaking evolved to have gills. His feet were longer, his fingers longer. He became a scientific study.
Now, it was my time to decide if I wanted to become immortal. Early 20s meant I'd get 500-1000 years before my brain dissolved, unless they found the cure. We were all lab rats going into this. Older folks were experimented on the most. Those who didn't have the option at 20 or those who chose to live a regular, human life. It wasn't just for the elite, you could earn your way into getting the treatment. Me, I earned my way in. Turns out me mastering multiple styles of martial arts caught their interest. Keeping arts and culture alive through the generations was a big deal and I was chosen to keep my martial art styles alive. So here I am. Watching the walkers, wondering, does it hurt to be one. Is it scary? Lonely? Will I even know who I am by the time I'm wandering? Is it worth the extra years? Can they be brought back if our scientists find a cure? 500+ years is a long time, maybe by then we'd solve the last clue to true immortality. It was time. Time for me to join others in the megacities immortal class. | Fear.
The one constant in the survival of any single being. The drive that saves us from perishing yet also limits our reach. Like a blindfold protecting our eyes from the blinding radiance of the sun while also sacrificing one’s pleasure for the beauty of colors.
But those who reached a higher state of mind no longer feared their mortality. They feared something far beyond. The fear of what comes after. For what is more terrifying than the dark abyss that no light or sound escapes from? What could be more terrifying than the unknown for those who try to comprehend it?
So when those beings had finally come to terms with the futility of trying to overcome this primal fear, they did the next best thing. They hide it, shunned it in the form of a chemical that turned their body from a ticking clock at the mercy of grandfather time into a metronome that swung from one age to another at the injection of a concoction.
However, this was but a palliative measure. Those who renounce the inevitable must always make ends meet by suffering a hundred times worse. Even though the chemical might have halted the progress of the body, it couldn’t seize the ever slow march of the mind to its capacity. Since one is one with their mind, altering their state of consciousness could mean an end to their being, which could result in them meeting their demise while a mimic of their collective knowledge lived out their lives.
Regardless of the known risk, most of these beings chose to live a numbed and diluted existence rather than confronting the unknown. And those who didn’t, vanished throughout the vastness of time, most not knowing of their existence.
So let it be a lesson for us. Fear is not an enemy nor a friend. It is a presence that saved us in past yet ruins our future. So let us not succumb to fear in the hopes of convenience. Let’s face all challenges face from rather than throwing them into the darkest corner of the universe.
We must overcome fear, lest we become like our distant cousins whose empty husks are now a shell of the brilliant beings they once stood as. We won't become hills and mountains like our predecessors. We will be Conquerors of Fear.
​
**You can find similar stories at** r/FluffWrites.
**Here you can find the** [**The Dark Road Ahead**](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/comments/hybda2/series_the_dark_road_ahead_chapter_0_sacrifice/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) **series I am writing. Feel free to check it out :D** | 2022-02-17T02:09:14 | 2022-02-16T23:54:52 | 357 | 32 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | It was 5:30 this morning when I woke up to the typical sound of my neighbors arguing over something. They always had some feud between them - who had the bigger truck, the greener lawn, the children with the highest grades... It was exhausting living between them, never involved in their madness yet always right in the middle of it.
I rubbed the morning grit from my eyes and peered out the window to see them both gesturing wildly to their coffee mugs. What could possibly be wrong with their own individual supplies of coffee? I knew better than to ask, I figured I would just wait it out and hopefully by the time I left for work at 6:45 they would be done with their drama for the day.
I made a coffee for myself. The last drip had just fallen in the cup when I heard my two children wake up. They usually slept in, but there was no doubt I wasn't the only one disturbed by the ongoing yelling. Suddenly audible were my wife's footsteps, first to the children's rooms and then down the stairs.
"Hey, Greg. Do you mind asking them to stop their yelling or take it inside? They woke the kids and I really don't like getting involved." My wife asked of me, one child on each arm.
"Of course." I replied.
I grabbed my coffee off the counter and walked outside, they didn't even notice me at first.
"Fellas?" I approached, cautiously.
"What? What do you want?" One of them snapped at me.
"Look, it's early in the morning. Can't this argument wait until, I don't know, daylight? What is this about anyway?"
"You don't know?" The other asked me incredulously.
"Know what?"
"It's the mugs! The number one dad mugs? Did you notice a little something, *different* about yours this morning?" They held theirs up, #2094827 Dad and #2094828 Dad. Was this a joke someone had played?
I didn't really take much notice of my mug, it was a thoughtful gift from my son last father's day and served me well. I just hadn't really observed its features since the day I got it. I looked down at my coffee mug, my neighbors stared at me with amused patience in their eyes.
"Well?" My neighbor asked.
"Well what? It just says number one dad like it always does."
And that's the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital, officer. | James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671. | 2017-06-11T09:50:25 | 2017-06-11T09:29:45 | 222 | 159 |
[WP] You meet a genie but this genie charges for granting wishes. The bigger the wish the more it costs. You are granted a couple of small favors for $20. Having no idea how you will be able to afford it you ask for your heart's deepest wish. The genie laughs and says "that I will do for free." | John sat glumly in the waiting room of the ICU. It had been nearly three weeks since his daughter had been admitted, and no news other than: "She's stable and in a medically induced coma" had been supplied to him. One drunk driver was all it took to land both of them in the ICU. The car had hit the passenger side... Emily's side... and John had found himself back at the hospital again.
The waiting room was strangely empty, yet John didn't mind. His thoughts were preoccupied elsewhere. His eyes started drooping and he felt the embrace of sleep surround him. He had been awake for almost a full day at this point and his medication was starting to kick in... a short nap wouldn't hurt.
A light tap on his shoulder made him jerk upright in fright. In front of him was a doctor. Her pale blonde hair was almost translucent in the overhead lights, and her eyes were an astonishing blue.
"Mr Chadwick?"
John nodded, struggling to his feet.
"How is she? How is Emily doing?"
"Easy now, Mr Chadwick. Your body still hasn't recovered from the crash. Let's take a seat, shall we?"
She motioned for him to sit. John rearranged the sling around his arm and sank back into his chair, feeling the pain in his side blossom once more. The doctor took the seat opposite him and flipped open a binder.
"Now, I've been looking over your charts here and it seems like your cancer is in remission for the time being, is that correct?"
"Look, doctor," John started. "I don't care about the cancer or my arm. I just want to know if my baby is gonna make it."
The doctor stared at him for a second before lowering her gaze to the chart in front of her again.
"The current unpaid cost of your treatments amount to $45,000. Your daughter's expenses are $15,000 and rising. Your medical insurance doesn't cover treatment for either of you -"
" - Forget the cancer, damnit!" John interrupted. "I'll pay whatever it takes to fix my baby girl! Please..." A sob escaped his lips as he held back tears. "Ever since her mother passed... she's all I have left. She's only eight, I can't lose her too. Even if the cancer comes back, it won't matter if I don't have Emily. I'll pay anything if it meant she's safe and in my arms again."
The doctor's eyes seemed to peer straight through John's soul, as if judging his entire life in the space of a mere instant.
"If that is what you wish, I suppose I'll make an exception just this once."
John was slightly taken aback by her statement. Her demeanour had changed and she was smiling at him now. She closed the binder with a snap and got back on her feet.
"Not many people choose the lives of others over their own, Mr Chadwick. I'll waive the costs just this once. I would appreciate if this stays between the two of us." With a slight wink, the doctor tapped him on the shoulder again.
John woke with a start, feeling the familiar pain bloom in his abdomen again. The waiting room was empty. Had he been dreaming? The clock on the wall indicated barely ten minutes had passed. He had to go check on Emily right away.
He forced himself upright and limped down the hall to his daughter's room. A nurse at the end of the hall called out to him.
"Sir, visiting hours are over! Sir!"
John fumbled with the door handle and shouldered his way inside, ignoring the pain as the nurse rushed towards him.
His heart jumped in his chest as he saw his daughter, sitting on the edge of the bed, connected to a plethora of machinery all beeping happily in the dark room. Her eyes met his and for a moment the world seemed to stop.
"Daddy?"
__________
This is my first ever submission. Hope you enjoyed it. | All her life Anna has only wanted to know what it is like to have a normal family. Sure, living with her aunt and uncle was not bad, but it certainly was not ideal. At school, the other girls gave her the cold shoulder saying things like "that freak should have died along with her parents in the crash," behind Anna's back. At home, her cousin always pushed her around and her aunt and uncle never did anything about his tormenting.
She did have one friend at school at least, Harry. He had similar circumstances but much worse. For her twelfth birthday, Harry came back from his "freak school", as his guardians put it, with a rusted out goblet. "It's the best thing I have, sorry it's not much."
"You kidding! This thing is great," Anna exclaimed. That night, she scrubbed the cup until it gleamed once again. It took hours. She started to drift off to sleep, but awoke with a start to a loud cracking noise from the goblet. Anna leered at it suspiciously, and lifted it nervously. At that moment, a ghostly figure lazily glided out of the mouth of the goblet. "Oi! Ten thousand years will give you such a crick in the neck," yelled what Anna assumed was only a genie, "Oh right. Thank you for choosing the Goblet of Dreams. Just for a small price, anything and everything can be yours," the apparition drawled on, sounding oddly like Robin Williams.
"Anything?"
"Well, that is what I said. Is it not?"
"Right," Anna chuckled "How much for a prank?"
"Only a couple cents I would wager."
The next day, Anna woke up to a high-pitched, girly scream issued from her cousin. He rushed around the house with what looked like a pig tail protruding from his rear. Anna rolled on the floor in fits of laughter. It was a dream come true for Anna; the cogs started churning in her head. "Genie? I was wondering, How much for..." she faltered.
"To see see your parents once more?" Genie whispered, seeming to know exactly what Anna was thinking, "All right. But no more freebies." With that he snapped his fingers. The goblet became rusted once again, in Genie's place stood two new ghostly figures so familiar to Anna. "Mom? Dad?" Anna said through tears. The two ghosts nodded. | 2017-06-04T15:45:52 | 2017-06-04T11:31:21 | 461 | 48 |
[WP] Describe the thoughts of the Angel of Death on the day of a nuclear war.
| "Today's scroll is unusually large, don't you think?" asked Death. He knew something was going on with the humans but no one would tell him. He was always the last to find out about anything important. Most of his daily scrolls could be carried in one hand, a couple hundred thousand unlucky souls, but today's... the massive scroll looked almost too big to carry. "Don't you think you're overdoing it?" he sighed.
Fate looked up from her scribbling with the annoyed look she gave all his questions, but today there seemed to be a hint of sadness there too. "I'm not the one overdoing things, they are," she trailed off into an almost whimper. There was that sadness again.
There were more faces in the room today than normal too. Of course the Judge would be here, with an order this big he couldn't afford his usually leisurely pace. The Timekeeper and Fate would often talk at length about the many paths ahead; Death learned on those days to get to work quickly as to not be drawn into the conversation; so he was not surprise. But Life? She hated these meetings, hated seeing her work end. But the most surprising of all was Nature. He never seemed to wake much less attend any kind of ceremony. Whatever it was that pulled him from his haze must be enormous.
Death turned from face to face, each more depressed than the last, and annoyance started to swell up in his chest. "Well is anyone going to tell me? What is going on?" he demanded.
Without a word, Fate unhooked the seal of the scroll, unrolled it to the first soul, and pointed to the cause of death.
*Nuclear Explosion*
Death, with skin of the whitest, lifeless white, paled. "Oh, It's going to be a long day indeed." | Soon, even I die
The fire that burns twice as high
Will die twice as fast
(My first ever attempt at a haiku. The idea is that, since everything will soon be killed, the Angel of Death will no longer have a job, and have nothing to continue existing for.)
| 2015-02-04T10:25:24 | 2015-02-04T09:09:26 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] Humanity is dead. You were the last human alive until you eventually die. Expecting some sort of afterlife you’re surprised when the first thing you hear is, “OH MY GOD FINALLY! Can we start the next round now?” | Something about his voice made her want to tear out his vocal cords and rearrange them herself. His tone was especially annoying.
“You spent 30 years! Ugh, I waited *sooo* long,” he whined petulantly. “I mean, every time you were driving I was rooting for some drunk teenager to smash into your seat. You were cute in the first decade, honey, but I swear on my Boss you totally flumped the rest.” He folded his feathered arms condescendingly. “I’ll have to thank Satan for inventing breast cancer, Gutierrez, because that whole...” he gestured to Gutierrez’s head and swept his hands down to her toes, “thing... was hard to watch. Bring on the next round of living. Or non-living.” He paused. “After-living?”
Gutierrez more than disliked this guy (-shaped thing). “Well, I’m sorry I lived to irritate you, man,” she snapped.
“You should be,” he said. “I’m in charge of directing you to your afterlife. You can choose it, and I’ll decide if you’re worthy. Honestly, dear, you’re probably not worthy of much.”
“Heaven?” she asked.
The guy laughed. “Pshh. No way, Rosa-Jose.”
Gutierrez frowned. “Egyptian afterlife?”
“Were you buried with a Book of the Dead and speak ancient Egyptian?”
Gutierrez denied this, increasingly vexed.
“If you weren’t an amazing person, forget about Elysium. You didn’t die honorably in battle, so Valhalla’s off the table. You could try for La Tierra de los Muertos, if you want. Everyone gets in there. It’s a nice-ish place, but you’ll disappear once you’re forgotten, sweet stuff.”
“I mean, maybe.” Gutierrez considered this. “Any other afterlives?”
“You could be reborn. Reincarnation on its own is a bit more of a general faith. Plus, you can choose what you want to be reincarnated as.” The man rocked back and forth on his feet. He seemed a little less annoying, now that he was focusing on strictly business.
“Eh,” Gutierrez said. “I kinda just want to take a break. Can I fade to black?”
The man raised his fluffy eyebrows. “Sure, Rosa. You wanna say goodbye to any dead family?”
“Honestly, not really. Just tell the ones I liked that I didn’t live a terrible life.”
“I’m obligated not to lie to the dead, but I’ll make an exception in your case,” he retorted. Looks like the snark was back. “Which ones did you like?”
“You’re a magical being or spirit or whatever. You can figure it out.”
“Angel,” the man opposite her said. “And I guess I’ll have to. Have fun with eternal nothingness!”
White snapped over Rosa’s eyes, ears, and mind forever.
____
r/Bennywrites | The next round?
The next round of what?
“Life.”
What life? I am...or I was? The Last Man.
“You held the door open for the rest of us.”
I did? Alternate memories, a man surrounded by carcasses of the slain, slowly breathing his last. A father, slowly letting go in his bed. A painful vista encapsulated in four weeping eyes before darkness. A road. Cannibals. A daughter. Saying goodbye.
I was. I am. No one else held the door?
“No one else, you’re it.”
Old drives course through me. Duty, loyalty, do the right thing.
Where am I and how do I decide?
One figure steps forward, more soul than anything else.
I feel the words more than anything else.
“Because I’m who you’ve been looking for and you needed to get here to find me.”
A heart breaks.
A soul merges.
“I’ll be with you, but you’ve already exhausted all the other possibilities. There really is only one thing left to do.”
A multidimensional tesseract, choice, agency. Floating through all the possibilities.
I have my counterpart with me and I need to find the last bit of the keys.
I sense rather than know amongst all the doors.
I know which one to go through.
I feel a deep sense of relief from the others.
Finally, the right direction to be moving in.
I choose the right door at the right time.
And that time is now.
I open the door and step through. | 2019-05-24T13:01:05 | 2019-05-24T12:40:30 | 129 | 68 |
[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. |
"Well. That was fun. I'll have to remember to call Angelo and have a new shirt made. I don't think he"ll be able to sew those gashes shut. And the stains. Blood never comes out quite right. Yes he'll be frustrated he has to remake a 'masterpiece' again, but if I've done it a hundred times then surely the man can do it twice. I pay him enough for it."
Crash.
That sounded like a dropped glass. As I turned towards the sound i caught the look on her face. She was an angel, sculpted from an infinite pool of beauty, mesmerizing. Elizabeth had shone from the moment I saw her, the lights behind her eyes illuminating a world of possibility for me, a chance at happiness, a chance at true happiness.
We had been together ten years in June, ten glorious years, and we had been perfect. Every conversation stuck with me, like she truly understood me, the eternity of things, the defined nature of our relationship, the stability of the life I offered her. We never spoke of her past, or of my own, only the now, of the immediate future, for it was there that our true life lay.
"I am so sorry my dear Elizabeth, I hope I didn't startle you, if you'll give me but a moment I'll get cleaned up and we'll prepare supper, just like when we were in Clapha-"
Oh. I have erred. That wasn't Elizabeth with me then. Well not THIS Elizabeth. Times had been simpler then, before the wealth, before the revolution. This Elizabeth was a strong woman, there was a steel beneath her skin, resistant to the oddities that my too-long life had left me with.
I must stop this I thought, my mind once again wondering from the present tense. It was like this a lot now, I moved slowly, struggled to think clearly, almost like a computer low on memory space, the connections clogged. Elizabeth on the other hand was fast, she processed everything so quickly. It was electrifying. She was precision, she was poise, she was everything I had once been.
Oh. The knife. Yes I had forgot to remove it. So lost in my own thoughts. Terrible. I wrapped my fingers around the handle, feeling each joint lock in place as I established a good grip. The blade was quite deep, perhaps I had made her too strong, too determined. I may have to make some adjustments.
As I pulled the blade free and wiped it on my shirt I noticed a look on Elizabeth's face. Disappointment? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Bewilderment? Perhaps. This scene was a new experience for her. It would be difficult to understand. But it would be good to. To help her understand the eternity of things. To help her see her destiny. This life she was designed for.
And then it dawned on me. I had worked most of my life like a machine, always working, always creating, never not. I had earned a great deal, a great fortune after the revolution, but the greatest thing I had earned, was my freedom. Perhaps this was her trying to earn hers. And that, and the ramifications with that, made me sad.
-If you made it to the end and enjoyed it let me know, it's my first time getting into writing something in a long time- | Let me be frank. I know she's just not that into me. I know that my love for her will never be reciprocated or rewarded. That's alright. I don't need it to be. In 1000 years of undeath I've had more than my share of "one true loves". Sometimes, every few centuries or so, you just have to shake things up. Let yourself have a little fun. What better way to have fun then to watch this adorable blonde bitch try over and over to murder me, having no idea what I truly am?
It may seem strange to you, but honestly it's adorable. Reminds me of when I was a boy, trying to goat the King of the Franks into fighting me in a duel. I truly believed my little wooden sword had a chance to fell this mighty, chainmail clad warlord and gain the affections of his queen. Only...I think she is even more pathetic than I was.
I sleep next to this woman every night. I am inside her several times a week. All it would take is just one bite to steal away all her tomorrows. But where's the fun in that? Then I wouldn't get to enjoy her schemes, her attempts to feign affection for me, the myriad of brilliantly wicked ways she attempts to take my life away, to take what is her's.
For all her pathetic, worthless wiles, I fucking love this woman. I see myself in her, what I might have been were it not for that fateful night in Paris lo those centuries ago. I will protect her, nurture her, pleasure her, pamper her, ensure that she never wants for anything. And then, when and if she ever does cease her plotting, or when her attempts no longer amuse me, I will give her the ultimate privilege of being one of my spawn, to serve and pleasure me for all of my endless nights. She'll fit right in with the rest of them. I only hope she never discovers the basement. | 2019-07-31T09:26:28 | 2019-07-31T09:00:16 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy | "Ah Stacy, have you got the projections from Pensworth Logistics?" I call out to my secretary looking stunning as always in her uniform. She's been with me from the beginning since I transferred over to my new office, 10 months ago, and has been one of the more friendly employees here.
"Mr Miles, I must insist that you take your medication, it will help you get on with today." she hands over a glass of water and points to the small case of pills scattered in between the paperwork in my work area.
"Yes yes I understand. Oh and could you pick up a gift for my daughter? She turns 9 today and I've got little knowledge regarding their interests." I adjust the cushioning below me to get more comfortable but after many months of my weight being pressed into it was far too late to do any good.
"Of course Mr Miles, will that be all?" Stacy asked me with a gentle smile. I can tell when she wants to leave, a lot of the staff are always intimidated by myself. I reply with a nod to release her.
She begins to walk out out when I quickly remember my biggest problem with this new room.
"Oh um Stacy please get in contact with the contractors on removing to the window in front of me. It's incredibly unsettling."
She turns her head slightly and smiles before gently closing the door behind her.
"They sure grow up fast." I say talking into my picture of Charlotte at eight months old.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Has he taking his pills yet Stacy?" Mr Travis asked me looking into the window at Mr Miles, holding two cups of water
"He's agreed too take it which is good sign. He asked me to get a present for his daughter's birthday" I replied back to him and joined him in looking at Mr Miles through it. He offers me one of the cups.
"I'm surprised he remembered with all of his *meetings* and *networking* he does, I would've hoped that he would've stopped being such a *workaholic* since arriving here."
"I have to admit though..." I finish the cup in two giant gulps. "He is the most professional patient I've ever seen at our asylum."
| What a day. My boss has never been in such a bad mood. On top of the proposal due next week, I now have a rushed budget to get out by Friday. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up. Every morning I dread getting out of bed, and every night I dread the next morning. I put on the smile for my colleagues, I smile and nod when my boss demands something. It keeps on piling up. The only thing that gets me through the day is knowing my wife will be waiting for me when I get home. I pull in the drive way, open the front door to my house, and there she is. Right where I left her, hanging from the rafters. | 2016-05-19T13:17:24 | 2016-05-19T13:16:11 | 39 | 25 |
[WP] Take a cliche you hate and write a story about it. Make the cliche itself as satirically bad as possible | It was a normal Saturday night. I was watching television on my own and as usual there was nothing good on. Don't get me wrong I quite enjoy my alone time on at the weekends, I find time away from people does me good. That's why I live in middle of the countryside. Here, at least I can get some peace and quiet. Tonight, however something was off. I couldn't quite figure out what it was, I thought "maybe I've had one too many beers?". I shrugged it off and went to get another one. As I walked to kitchen I still couldn't shrug the feeling that something wasn't quite right, everything was just somehow different. Anyway after I got my beer and sat back down I heard my phone ring, " who the fuck could that be?" I said out loud to myself. This was especially odd as I don't have any friends, largely due to the fact that I'm a monumental bore. I picked up the phone but all I heard was static coming from the other end, so I hung up.
After an hour had passed, I still couldn't stop thinking about that phone call. Who was it? do I need to get a new phone? can phones break? how do I call someone to fix my phone if my phone is broken? There was deep thud that sounded like it was coming from upstairs. "Huh, must be the cat", I thought and then I remembered that I didn't own a cat, nor have I ever owned one. Why would I think that I did? That was by far one of the most idiotic thoughts I have ever had, I mean really no wonder I spend my Saturday nights drinking alone. Personally, I don't even really like spending time with myself. Then the phone rang again, I answered it immediately:
"Hello?" I said, "You'll have to speak up I think my phone's broken"
A raspy voice replied "it's not broken"
"yes it is" I said
the voice replied "no it isn't"
"Then why does everything sound like that if it isn't?"
"W-what do you mean?" said the voice in a slightly confused yet still raspy tone
"nevermind what do you want?"
"Come upstairs" the voice replied
I immediately hung up the phone and left the house. I mean why on Earth would I stay? There was obviously a home invader in my home and no good ever comes of that scenario. I went to the police station and reported the incident. The police were really quite accommodating and pleasant to deal with and they sent out an armed unit to investigate my house. One officer was very nice and started handing out doughnuts to everyone, he said in a pleasant tone " one for you, one for you and one you!" and he even gave one to me too "Thanks" I said. Anyway after we had gone through some paper work I was free to go.
I booked myself into a reputable hotel for the night after I left the police station and had a rather pleasant sleep with a nice lie in. Oh and they caught the guy that broke into my house the next day. Turns out he was an escaped mental patient and my phone line was a bit damaged which is why it sounded like that. Well wasn't that exciting ? | He pressed her against the wall, holding her wrist so tightly she barely could feel her hand.
"Just listen to me, baby." His breath smelled of sweet love under moonlit nights, and smell the breath she could, as he was exactly an inch away from her face.
"Get away from me! I have only seen you like, twice, and I don't know you!" She whispered afraid.
He stood and stared her deeply into the eyes for seven seconds. Then he growled sexily and released her hand, stepping back two inches. She could still smell him. He smelled of strength, unlimited passion and the danger of a wild animal.
Barely being able to squeeze away from him, she started running away.
"I know your address," he whispered after her. Even though she was almost out the door, she could hear him clearly. She wondered why she felt so agitated... and moist between her legs.
--
Coming home, she rushed inside and locked her door, panting slightly. Whether it was from the exertion or her arousal, she couldn't tell. She went to her kitchen and started to brew some coffee to calm her nerves. She opened the window to let some fresh air in.
When she returned, she started to pour some coffee. When she finished pouring, he stood outside her window, staring intently at her. He looked like a wolf, and he was ready to ravage her.
Stepping back, she tried retreating, but he was faster than her. Moving through the window with the grace of a large feline, he cornered her in her own kitchen.
"I can smell your scent, and we are made for each other." He took both her hands, keeping them in his tight grip. She tried to struggle for a brief moment, but when his mouth touched hers, all her doubts went away.
He was perfect. | 2017-07-27T08:08:53 | 2017-07-27T07:57:11 | 55 | 12 |
[WP] You have just returned to your camp after being bitten by a zombie to say your goodbyes. You are surprised to find the national guard giving your friends a vaccine. The world is saved. However, the vaccine only works on the healthy. You lost at the endgame and these your last 24 hours. | It doesn't hurt. I thought it would.
It's a novocaine sensation. I think of my arm being made of that foam stuff inside car seats. That's what it feels like.
The rotter was wounded. I was careless. The bite was fast, took a piece of me. It was over before I knew it had happened. I blew the rotter's face off and left it on the forest floor.
The walk back to camp is uneventful. I notice things easier. How the mid-afternoon sunlight attaches itself to every leaf and rock and branch. I hear every little sound-- the crunch of every twig and rock under my footsteps, the wings of gnats, the ripples of a puddle.
When I make it back to camp, I see the vaccine has arrived. I'd gone out to get one last run of water. They were making a cake to celebrate the end of the epidemic. They'd been saving an old box of cake mix. They needed water for it. I volunteered to go out to the well. We hadn't seen a rotter in days. Ever since word of the vaccine, the rotters have stopped coming.
I brought back only one jug of water. My bite arm wouldn't hold the other one and I had to leave it. I figure one jug is enough for a celebration cake.
That numb feeling, again. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't anything. It's just numb. I'm aware that's the virus working its way into my bloodstream. Feels like when it's been asleep. I know that's not your blood, it's your nerves waking up, that feeling that I used to refer to as "salt and pepper" when I was a kid, but that's the closest I can get to describing it.
The sky is incredible, just a clean blue sky with the sun like a jewel. I notice every breath I take, every blink. I take my steps. I feel like I'm walking uphill.
As I round the bend into camp, I see the military vehicles, everyone around them, everyone hugging, tears of joy. I could've waited, got the water later. I didn't. Everything was fine. I'd go get the water for the cake. Everything would be fine. The vaccine was on its way. Everything was fucking fine.
They don't know what it's like to turn into a rotter from the rotter's perspective. The ability to communicate is one of the first things to go. It's fast and then it's slow, that's all we know. I'll ask them to sedate me, to put me under. I want to say goodbye to everyone as well as I can. I'll at least get that much out of it. So many people went rotter by themselves, not knowing what was happening to them.
Emily sees me. She's by one of the armored humvees. She waves. Her smile is like the sun overhead, it makes me see everything, every little detail. I see every line on her face, every bit of fuzz on her cheeks, I can count her eyelashes.
She knows what's up as soon as she gets a good look at me. Only one jug of water, arm hanging, my pace taking on the shuffle of a sedated mental patient. This process takes 24 hours to complete, but the nastiest symptoms kick in within the first four. I see it register on her face. She can't believe it. Neither can I.
The military personnel, the heroes of the day all in sunglasses and black tactical gear, are the second ones to notice me. They know what to look for. I can hear their powerful voices yelling for everyone to stay back. Emily is calm. I'm proud of her.
They don't point their guns at me. They grant me that dignity.
"I got the water," I try to say, but my voice just gurgles. I can't remember how to talk.
I lose my grip on the jug and it thuds to the ground, water splashing out of its top. I see every droplet in the afternoon sun as it hits the dirt and soaks into the dirt and the bits of decayed vegetation, the earthen brown, the elements blending, life itself, earth and water. Everything is so fucking beautiful and I never bothered to notice it.
The soldiers are running to me, and at least I've made it back. | Everyone believes that they are special.
That they are unique, smarter, stronger, superior.
Perhaps that is why humans fear equality. It represents the single fact that we all suppress: that we aren’t the best; that we are replaceable; that we have no purpose.
So I shut out equality.
I had to believe I was better, because I found a purpose in my own superiority.
Perhaps there is a bit of circular logic behind that. Perhaps I only found purpose in my alleged superiority because I believed that helping others was pointless because I was so far above them.
But I needed a purpose. I needed something to live for. We all do.
It’s been a few hours since I was carried over to the hospital. When I was brought in, they knew I was dead. I’m on some massive cocktail of drugs to make this painless.
It’s working.
It’s not working.
I wish it was working.
My physical anguish is gone but my mental anguish has just begun.
I overhear doctors talking about the vaccine. I see people getting vaccinated.
For the next hour, that’s all I can think about.
I can’t stand the idea of the vaccine. The thing that makes people objectively better then me.
The thing I can’t have.
Rage boils in me, and eventually I shoot up out of my bed, only to realize that chains are restraining me.
I’m the one considered insane.
Stupid.
Worse.
And, deep down, I know it’s true. In a few more hours, I’ll be the one that everyone else looks down upon.
I don’t deserve mercy, but I never thought that any torture could be this bad.
I don’t want to feel inferior.
I’ve denied the concept of equality my entire life. When my family comes to search through my possession’s, they’ll find my klansman robes, and my swastika, my confederate flag. All of it.
In a life of believing that I was Mount Everest, only now can I realize that I’m no different than a patch of dirt on the flattest plain. Tiny. Insignificant. Practically worthless.
I’m close now. I can feel it. My vision is blurry, my mouth dry, my muscles weak.
This is it.
I regret everything, and I want to say it, but I lack the energy. I lack the focus.
Soon I’ll be another part of the mob.
Plain.
Identical.
Useless.
And then they’ll put me down like a dog.
I know my story has no happy ending; if there really is a God, he wouldn’t make my death this impossibly torturous.
Of all the things I’ve feared, death was always the biggest.
No one is above Death.
In an hour’s time, I’ll be a zombie.
You know what?
Perhaps I always was.
r/IdonthaveawritingsubredditbecauseIdontwritebutyoushouldstillupvotethis | 2018-07-29T21:47:11 | 2018-07-29T19:39:29 | 47 | 15 |
[WP]People have powers based on their strongest emotion, and become stronger as they embrace it. Healers might draw power from love or empathy, warriors; anger or self preservation, etc. You draw power from being incredibly sassy.
Or other emotions, like being passive aggressive, or overly dramatic. | People who knew Jaques had a few choice words to describe him. Among them were forward, bold, audacious, and most importantly, full of spirit. It took him a bit of time to hone his powers but once he had it down to a science he would use them indiscriminately.
It wasn't a surprise that he used his "gift" for his own personal gain, and Jaques was a man of fine tastes. He took pride in his private collection, and even more proud of the fact that it was all obtained without having to shed a single drop of blood to claim it as his. He could drop men and women alike with just a handful of words.
As Jaques strolled casually through the minimum security museum pondering what to add to his collection a voice called out to him. "DON'T MOVE!" It commanded. Raising his hands slowly, Jaques turned to look at his offender. The glare of a flashlight approaching him. "Alright come with me sir." The security guard motioned towards him with the truncheon. Jaques couldn't help but notice the guards attire, a highlighter yellow reflective jacket with black and white checkered bands across the arms and torso of his coat, a stained white button up shirt, trousers pulled up past his belly button, powder blue socks, and to top it all off (literally) was his ridiculous trapper hat. "I won't ask you again!" Barked the guard, he peeked around Jaques expecting to find damage done to the exhibits but instead found his coworkers slumped on the ground, drained of color and still conscious. The guards eyes went wide, "you know," Jaques began "there are worse things in this world than being beaten into submission." And with a grin he finished "and in that outfit all of those things will happen to you." The guard pulled back to get a good swing in but stopped suddenly. He felt the heat disappear from his body, the hand gripping his truncheon becoming limp, his body following suit. The color drained from his skin, the fire in his eyes reduced to nothing but petty embers. He collapsed face up, finding he had lost the will to get back up. Jaques made his way to him and squatted down by the guard looking him in the eyes, the guards eyes lazily locked with Jaques' gaze. "Do not worry" Jaques said calmly, "by morning you will be fine, the body is fine. The spirit however, needs a bit of time to regenerate. " he lightly patted the side of the guards face and continued his shopping. | "Mother fucker didn't even see this one coming."
"Yeah you can see how she didn't even have time to react. Her phone was still in her purse so she wasn't trying to call for help."
The officers turned to the crying woman on the steps. Her face was white and her hands were shaking. She turned back to them and they could see the tears standing out in her eyes reflecting the street light. "He was just so... sassy." She sobbed.
"We've got to find this guy quick."
___________
Poor shmucks. They have no idea what I do for this city. What a performance on her part though. She's going to go places, she's going to be someone. As long as she takes my advice and gets herself a good man and a good job. This cities got nothing on a hardworking independent girl like that. As long as my old nemesis Mediocrity Man doesn't get to her first and offer her a job at his evil company. 5 years working early shift at Mc Star-Mart for minimum wage and all my work goes out the window. I need to save this city, and only I can. | 2017-01-19T07:40:32 | 2017-01-19T06:52:57 | 40 | 23 |
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people. | “We’re out of flatbreads.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “What do you have?”
“Italian.”
“Just Italian?”
“Yeah.”
I check my watch. There’s only fifteen minutes left on my break. “Whatever. Italian it is.”
*Five billion.* The voice states it plainly. It comes sometimes, just random numbers. *One. Eleven.* I don’t pay too much attention to it, but recently it's been speaking almost every time I do something.
“Sorry about this,” the teenager says. “But it’s Subway. What can you expect?”
“Eat fresh, right?”
I walk out. Mark is there, sitting on the sidewalk with his sign. He looks a bit cleaner than normal today.
“Sorry, Mark. I don’t have any change today.”
“That’s okay. Enjoy your sandwich anyways!”
“I’ll try to.”“You don’t sound too happy about it.”
“Yeah. All they had had was Italian. The worst."
“The worst! When I was a kid and my mom would give me money for lunch, I would run to the pizza parlor and get a pizza sub on Italian.”
“A pizza sub? That sounds good.”
“It is,” he says wistfully, looking at my sandwich. I look down at it. It does look long, at the least, and I can only imagine what a day is like for Mark, watching people walk out with their sandwiches, waiting so he can cobble together just enough change to get his own.
“Here,” I say. “I’ll eat a big dinner.”
“Oh, no, I can’t do that, kid. You need to eat.”
“So do you. Really.” I drop it in his lap.
He looks at me and smiles. “Thanks, kid. You don’t know how much it means to me.”
I nod, and walk away. Soon, the incident fades from my memory, just another lost coin in the fountain of my mind.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
“Now we have Earth,” the Chairman says. “Earth is an interesting case. They are headed for extinction in twelve cycles, so we could wait to attack, but by then it may be depleted.”
“Their depletion rate is that rapid?”
“The prevailing species there seems to be amongst the most careless of all we have observed. Agent 614, what did you observe there on your mission?”
Agent 614 nods. “The depletion rate is as we projected. The species is careless and wasteful, and quite dim as well. But…”“What? Spit it out, 614.”
“They seem to rank high on the compassion scale. I know that doesn’t matter much, but…” Agent 614 pauses, reminiscing on the sandwich. “I would recommend we don’t attack.”
The Chairman looks at 614, wondering what has gotten into his most ruthless agent. “Okay, then. Earth will be spared for now…”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you want to read more by me, I started a subreddit, [r/penguin347](https://www.reddit.com/r/penguin347), and I will be posting some stuff there! Thanks for reading. | "Actually, I'll take Italian bread this time." Derek said to the cashier. The little voice in the back of your head said "5". "Huh", you thought. "That's a little high for" "billion", the voice finished. You dropped your sandwich, the once beautiful Italian bread now forever tainted by the microbes inhabiting the public floor.
"What the *fuck*" you mutter under your breath as you leave Jimmy Johns. You don't bother to get another sandwich.
Nathan walks down the street. "Tonight" he thinks to himself. A radical who saw evil in the very existence of humanity. His plan had been in the works for years. A brilliant hacker, Nathan had been sneaking trojans on the phones of government officials, waiting for one to finally slither its way to the intended destination. "When the dust settles, maybe Earth would eventually return to a more natural state" hoped Nathan.
He had finally gained access to the U.S. nuclear arsenal. Tonight, he would set it free. It would cleanse the world of the filth and corruption of mankind with beautiful fusion, as pure as the sun.
As Nathan walked down the street, on the way back to his apartment, he was nearly knocked over when a bewildered man sprinted into the sidewalk from within Jimmy Johns. "Scum!" Shouted Nathan. Derek didn't even notice.
Anger gripped the entirety of Nathan's consciousness. Still glaring at the man who'd almost toppled him moments earlier as he receded into the distance "you'll die tonight, cockroach" Nathan thought of the man. "So many other despicable and insignif" Nathan's thought was cut short as he slipped on a spot of black ice. Too busy fuming at the strange man who'd bumped into him, he had not been paying attention to where he'd been walking. "Shit!" He shouted involuntarily as he fell into the street. A mere moment later, he was smote by a passing snowplow.
Derek would never know what happened. | 2018-11-17T14:21:41 | 2018-11-17T13:15:46 | 6,605 | 587 |
[WP] Every 24-hour period you have to flip a coin. If heads, you live the next 24 hours in your favorite dreams. If tails, you live the next 24 hours in your worst nightmare. | I carelessly flipped the coin. It didn't even matter anymore. My attention was better served elsewhere. I wanted my freedom.
It landed on my palm. Tails. I smiled. I had begun to prefer nightmares. My favourite dreams were, at best, a pleasant distraction. At worst, in them I'd find myself free of these chains. I'd become complacent, an addict for that illusory liberty my mind created. That line between reality and dream... I wouldn't be strong enough to keep it defined.
I handed the coin back to the man in the dark hood and laid back on the bed. The first time I had entered a nightmare I was shaking so badly they had to strap me down. I remember pleading with them to release me. When I found myself on that empty field beneath a pure black sky, I thought the dread would never end. I have entered 246 nightmares since. I am no longer afraid. Even better, I am starting to gain control. I felt it faintly at first, growing stronger within me with each passing excursion. I had started retaining more and more of myself. And last time, I managed something even greater.
This nightmare began like all of the others. I was in the field, tall windswept grass bowed under my feet. I don't know how I could see. There were no stars or moon in the sky. The silence was complete. I walked forward. On my right I passed a large boulder on which I carved one line to join the 246 others. I continued along. I passed a body. It was standing upright, stiff and lifeless, its head missing. Blood was pouring down its uniform. I passed another; this one a woman in a 18th century period dress. I navigated unconcernedly through the upright corpses. I had work to do. | The screaming never stops.
Blood sprays like fountains here.
I'm forced to watch as people are ripped limb from limb, always wondering if I'm next.
The last woman was pregnant; I think that was the worst one I've seen yet.
I'm always cold, naked, and covered in new layers of other people's blood.
Times up, time to flip.
Yes! Heads again. | 2015-02-15T02:36:07 | 2015-02-15T01:49:15 | 60 | 22 |
[WP] You are a part of a small team sent to colonize a superhabitable planet. Everything is great, air is fresh, you feel stronger, only need to sleep 2 hours per day, and the planet is also super diverse in flora and fauna. It's day 66 and you started noticing something about your body. | I saw it in the mirror earlier that morning. It had only been for a split second but I swore something had moved across my left eye as I splashed water onto my face. Small, quick, and gone in an instant. It had been over two months now since we landed on Cordia II, yet this was the first morning I had woken up feeling anything but perfect.
"Did you hear me, Connor?" a voiced suddenly asked as I snapped back to reality and looked up to the red headed doctor of our expedition team looking down curiously at me.
"What?" I asked him confusingly not having heard a single word he had spoken.
"I asked if this happened last night," he said as he studied a small flesh wound on my arm. I looked down to see it had already begun to fester and veins bulged up and down my now pale forearm surrounding the wound. I could feel them pulsate with each beat of my heart.
"Yeah, doc. Late last night on our way back from Sector D. Nicked it on a damn rock I think. Didn't think much of it at the time but I gotta tell ya, this thing burns like hell now," I told him as sweat slowly dripped its way down my forehead.
"And you mentioned something about hallucinations as well?" Dr. Cole asked without looking up from my arm. I chuckled and shook my head at the thought that I might have been already going crazy.
"Uh, yeah, I guess. It looked real though doc. I could feel it and everything."
"Feel what?" he asked me. I paused for a moment and looked up at him. "I don't know. Something small, by my eye. Disappeared before I got a good look," I said faintly. Cole put my arm down gently and looked at me quizzically.
"Looks like some type of infection causing a fever, but I've never seen it develop so fast before. Could be something new." I looked at him as my stomach suddenly dropped. Not the best thing to hear 20 light years from the nearest hospital. Cole walked to the other side of the room and quickly walked back carrying a small needle in his hand. He plunged it deep into my bicep before I could ask what it was. "That should help with the fever," he told me. "I'd also like to take a small blood sample if you don't mind." I nodded and a moment later another needle punctured my forearm near the wound. It felt like a burning dagger plunging into my skin.
"Stop!" I screamed and Cole jumped back in surprise crashing into a cart and stared at me looking dumbfounded. I held my arm tightly as blood slowly pooled from where the needle had been injected. A small, ant like creature dashed out and was shortly followed by several more.
"Jesus christ," Cole whispered. I looked up at him horrifyingly and my breathing picked up as anxiety washed across my body. I could suddenly feel a thousand of these things crawling around my body and began itching frantically. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cole sprinting for the exit. I immediately knew what he was about to do but ran after him anyways.
"Wait, doc! Please don't-" a door slammed in my face and an alarm rang loudly around the room. I had been quarantined. Others were now running down the hall to see what had caused the commotion and helped Dr. Cole to his feet as he looked at me like a mother leaving her crying child on their first day of class. I could see him mouth "I'm sorry," before I broke down in tears. I could feel them biting me all over my body and fell to the floor screaming. I had to get them out.
I rose to my feet and looked around for anything sharp. My vision was blurred and I could feel myself slowly losing consciousness from the pain. I grabbed a knife from a table and placed it against my skin. Pounding on the door caught my attention and I could see Cole shouting 'No!' as he looked at me helplessly through he small window on the door. But I had to do something. I slipped the knife across the skin on my forearm and blood began to rush out. I shouted in agony but kept cutting around the wound as more of those, things, rushed from my forearm. They now littered the floor and dashed around my feet. The pain had become too much to bare at that point and I looked through my blurred eyes at my wrist and then up to my team members glaring at me through the window of the entrance door, tears in their eyes as Cole continued to pound against the glass shaking his head. They all suddenly looked away and they're cries of horror were the last thing I heard. I stared up at the ceiling as I fell backward, those things dashing across my eyes as everything faded to black.
___________________________________________________________________
On the other side of the quarantine door, Dr. Cole looked down at his arm in dismay, tears slowly streaking down his face. A small cut slowly bled and had already begun soaking through his lab coat. He looked up to the other members of the team who had begun slowly backing away from him. | Elysia, they called it.
Our first sighting of the world was an anomalous gravity well on the far side of Jupiter. A tiny blip on the radar. At first, we took it for an enormous meteor, headed on a near-Earth trajectory. Phone calls were made, meetings took place around the globe. There was no contingency plan for *this*. No number of nuclear blasts would protect us if the mass of rock got too close. All we could do was watch. When we finally had enough data to plot it's trajectory and found that it would be just far enough away to be safe, the world breathed a collective sigh of relief. And then, the first pictures came in.
*Clouds.* Elysia wasn't simply a rock. No, it was much more than that. Elysia had an *atmosphere*, and its surface was covered in a layer of cloud like a wedding veil. It was a rogue planet, hurtling through space without any destination like an impossibly large cannonball, without a star to call home. Papers were published with wild abandon as scientists hypothesized what it could mean, what events could have led to it coming into existence. For a moment, the entire world gazed up at the same patch of sky. And then the clouds parted, and the world was stunned once again.
Elysia was alive.
We were skeptical, at first. What kind of rogue planet could support life? Yet there was no mistaking it. With the sun's rays burning away the clouds, our strongest telescopes were able to pick out vast fields of green and blue, forests filled with vibrant colors, even the mottled backs of animals running across the surface of the world. A world, that - just like earth - had been given the gift of life.
Immediate study of the world began. It was far away now, but every day it grew closer and closer, and more of it's surface was displayed. We began looking for the signs of intelligent life - perhaps some of the herds behaving oddly, or even the metallic gleam of a city. Yet it soon became obvious that the world would keep that secret for itself, among many others. However, the world held yet another surprise: Spectroscopy indicated that the clouds were primarily water. The atmosphere also appeared to be breathable, if not entirely earth-like, and the surface temperature levels appeared ideal for human life. It seemed that the world was inviting us to do the one thing that everyone was itching to do: send a manned mission to the world.
There were, of course, some problems with this idea. For one, we were not sure if such a mission were ethical. What if some unknown factor brought harm to one of the astronauts? What if they were poisoned by something we had missed, or even poisoned the planet themselves with a plurality of microbes that the world had never evolved to counter? But by far the biggest concern was the planet's own gravity well. Lifting so much weight off of Earth itself was a logistical nightmare, let alone off of an alien world. Such a trip would have to only be one way. But despite the risks, it was decided that the contributions to science would be too great an opportunity to miss. So preparations began, with the launch planned for only a few days before the planet was at its closest. After that, it would begin to drift away, and possibly never be seen by human eyes again.
Like hundreds of others, I signed up for the mission as soon as it was announced. Like hundreds of others, I waited eagerly, hoping to begin my training as soon as possible. But unlike the vast majority of others, I received a letter in the mail a week later.
I had been selected to visit the rogue world.
***
*TBC this evening with any luck!* | 2016-08-29T14:03:24 | 2016-08-29T12:17:31 | 50 | 34 |
[WP] Of all magics, there is an endless dispute over what the most powerful of all arcane principles is. The great gathering room falls silent as you enter, hefting your tome: The Atominomicon, Book of Nuclear Magics. | "You wouldn't catch me dead doing necromancy."
The all droned on with their dronings. It was idle talk for idle men and women whose mindsets are so stuck in mud that they're practically petrified.
"Please. We all know the raw power that comes from harnessing the lightning bolt is best!" The blue robed mage stood up and performed what I'm sure he thought was an impressive parlor trick of prickly lightning.
This was always how the annual Council of Greats went. Wizards, mages, and bumbling buffoons with bear-sized books all took to the mountain peak chambers like ants. Words of empty meaning and posturing so intense that it could freeze a drake was all that ever happened. That is until this year -- I have finally finished my opus.
They hate me. I hate them. It works. I usually avoid my pompous brothers and sisters who claim to seek glory and wisdom. It's a lie, we all know that everyone of us seeks power. I was the only one smart enough to chase exactly that -- *Power!*
I entered with my usual eccentric look. My hair was a patchy white mess which I refused to cut by sheer principle of the razor-sharp sheering industry being immoral. (It's a plague on the working pleb and must be stopped). All the other mages insisted on their ridiculously colored and decorated robes, my simple white robe infuriated them, especially considering it was smeared with all smatterings of smoldering holes and singed sides.
"Lords above." Shouted one of the many fire mages when they caught sight of me entering. "Who let the drunk ogre in?"
"When in such company I wish such simple remedies would do the trick -- alas it seems you all force me into the companionship of BlisterRock." Everyone sneered at the comment but it was true, I was higher than the highest giants head on a the highest of hill-tops... and then some.
"Borh," It was the most pompous of pompous people. Sir Angel the Divine, strongest and most accomplished mage in all the lands, the only mage honored enough to wear the color gold, the advisor to five kingdoms, the presider of the event, the asshole. "Why are y--"
I held up my hand to silence the dimwit. "My name has changed since my last appearance."
A sigh of exhaustion rippled through the chambers -- they should really try BlisterRock, it doesn't allow such animal limitations to persist. "My name from this day forth is... Atom!"
"...Atom?"
"Yes that's what I said."
"Um. Okay, Atom I'm going to ask again why yo--"
"Do you even know what an atom is? Do any of you bat-headed baboons know the basics of what I'm babbling about? Have any of you read the letters I've been sending back about my work!?" They all looked at me with tired eyes. "Am I the only one doing *real* research and work in this whole damn place!? I mean come on, I knew you all were dafter than damp driftwood but this is just deplorable!"
"Atom," Angel said without acknowledging my wonderful speech. "Please. We have a very important council to hold, if--"
"Important! Bah all you all ever do is posture your prett--"
"Atom!" The bastard cut me off! How rude. "Please! Make your point and leave."
I huffed in anger but moved on. "Well, since you all are ignorant to the truth, let me give you all the rundown." I slammed my heavy tome on the center table. "This! This is the *Atominomicon*. The Book of Nuclear Magics. All other schools of Arcanum are simply combinations of trivial physical and magical processes, or to put it in words you all understand, they are dreadfully useless and mostly childsplay."
A small roar of utter nonsense arose from the crowd of wizards. "Shut up!" I screeched, still thumping like a thundercat from my BlisterRock glow up. "Listen! Nuclear magics tap into the *real* power of the universe. It is capable of such acts of destruction and creation that I've never even got remotely close to its true potential... I honestly can't say for sure that it has one."
"This is nonsense!" Peeped up one peckerhead from the peanut gallery.
"You're nonsense!"
"Please," Angel gave put up a calming hand to the peckerhead. "Atom I must agree. We've known the power limitations of the other arcane arts for centuries, to claim a new one has been discovered, something that hasn't happened in three entire ages, *and* that's its limitless. It is indeed nonsense."
I knew the princess would be jealous and try to deny it, that's why I had a back-up plan. "Follow me," I said while trying to sniff hard enough to pull out some of residual dust of BlisterRock that was left in my nose. "I'm going to blow your fucking mind."
"Atom le--"
"Follow you nunces!"
"...*nunce?*"
I didn't feel like telling them I was dabbling in trying to create new words as well. That's for a whole other council on a whole other mountain top. We left the safety of the chambers and wadded outside into the snow of the mountain peak. Angel yelled from above the sound of howling wind. "What are you about to do?"
"Blow up a mountain!"
"...You didn't just say a mou--"
It was too late. I felt the tiny pellets of raw energy fill into my veins and buzz with infinity. Everyone was ignorant to what real power was... *This*, the power of the atom, this was real power. The power of the suns, the power that makes the universe tick and what makes the world churn. It's all around us, limitless and asking to be used, so I was going to do more than just use it. I was the Atom! I am the Atom!
With the simple push of my hand I shattered a distant mountain into pure dust. An explosion mimicking the sun arose and burned our skin with its wonderful, world-erasing radiance. A plume of gorgeous block smoke rose and rolled with the riptides of the earth's currents, foretelling of a shockwave so fantastic that when it reached our mountain peak it shaved off all of its snow like a child blowing on a dandelion.
I'm sure my compatriots were screaming in horror and fear, but I was too obsessed. As I watched the immortal mushroom of fire rise and reflect off of my mere mortal pupils, I was consumed by a laughter so maniac and cackling that it even surprised me, and I'm a rather fucked up fella.
The only words I could hear came from Angel, on the ground and covered in shock and dust. It was words that were like liquid honey to me. "Atom... *What have you done*?"
"I have freed the Atom my friend! *I am free!*"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed checkout my subreddit! r/mrsharks202 | Of all magics, there is an endless dispute over what the most powerful of all arcane principles is. The great gathering room falls silent as I enter, hefting my tome: The Atominomicon, Book of Nuclear Magics.
Some say it is the ability to create life, to bring beings into being from nothing. Others claim that the power to control the elements is the mightiest of all magicks. Still others swear by the ability to read minds, to see what others cannot. But I say that the most powerful magic of all is the ability to create a huge, magical explosion.
The great gathering hall is silent as I approach the lectern. I flick my wrist and the tome opens. I take a deep breath and begin to read.
“Nuclear Magicks: A Treatise on the Mysticism of Nuclear Power,” I begin in a deep, commanding voice. “The origin of magicks is unknown, but is thought to be intertwined with the creation of the universe. It is theorized that, at the beginning of time, there were two forces at work: nuclear power and anti-nuclear power. These two forces collided in an explosion of such magnitude that it created the universe as we know it.”
The great gathering hall is silent as my words echo off the walls. The great and powerful wizard Abraham Hemingway turns to me with a scowl on his face.
“And who are you?” he asks. “What do you want?”
“I am a fellow wizard. We have gathered here to discuss the greatest of magicks: nuclear magicks.”
Abraham Hemingway frowns, his frown wrinkles his brow in all the right places, creating a rippling effect of wrinkles that radiate outward from his eyes like the sun’s rays.
“Nuclear magicks?” Abraham Hemingway asks, raising his chin and furrowing his brow. “Nonsense,” he says, his eyes flashing. “Nuclear magicks are nothing more than a myth.”
“No!” I say, holding my tome close to my chest. My heart seems to be pounding. “Nuclear magicks are very real. The great masters of the past have used nuclear magicks to create an infinite number of things.”
“Who are these ‘great masters,’” Abraham Hemingway asks. His voice is deep and commanding, like the sound of a ticking clock. “Tell me their names.”
“The ancient masters known as J. Robert Oppenheimer and Enrico Fermi were two of the greatest users of nuclear magick. Below are their teachings on how to create nuclear detonations.”
I turn to the first page of my tome and begin to read.
“It is written in the ancient tome of the American government that if you wish to create a large, magical explosion it is necessary to combine the following elements: Uranium, Plutonium, Deuterium and Tritium.”
I take a deep breath, place my finger on the page, and continue.
“It is said that the ancient masters of nuclear magicks used these four elements to create nuclear detonations. It is written that without these elements, it is not possible to create an explosion.”
I pause, and Abraham Hemingway frowns.
“However, it is not enough to have these elements,” I say. “You must also have the correct proportions of each of these elements.”
I turn the page and hold my finger on the words.
“It is said that for every 100 grams of uranium, the detonation must use twenty grams of deuterium. And for every 10 grams of plutonium, a detonation must use 150 grams of tritium.”
The great hall is silent as I turn the page. My heart is pounding in my chest and my voice is shaking.
“Additionally, the proper proportion of uranium, plutonium and tritium must be mixed together.”
I pause. Abraham Hemingway leans in, his eyes gleaming. I clear my throat and continue.
“It is said that, if you cannot achieve this balance of elements, your detonation will not go off. It will not explode.”
I take a deep breath. I am trembling. Abraham Hemingway frowns and leans back. The great hall is silent. I turn the page and continue.
“However,” I say, my voice breaking, “if you do have the correct balance of elements and proportions, then your nuclear explosion will go off with a force greater than the sun. Your detonation will shake the world.”
Abraham Hemingway frowns, furrows his brow and raises his chin. His eyes flash.
“Nonsense,” he says in his deep, commanding voice. “There is no such thing as a magical explosion. There is only the force of the elements, at best.”
The great hall is silent. I look around and realize that no one believes me. I am alone in my quest for the greatest of magicks. Abraham Hemingway turns to the great gathering hall, raises his chin and furrows his brow. | 2022-06-10T13:45:42 | 2022-06-10T13:28:03 | 131 | 32 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol. | I take a glance across the hall. Who's going to get in my way this morning? Who's going to get my day ruined, again. Who am I kidding, it's the same, scrawny, sad excuse for a boy. The one who thinks he deserves to share the same space with someone like me, a stalwart 92. Does he have an ounce of respect? Does he think he can continue hiding the fact he will never amount to anything? There's a simple, unwritten rule in our society: Thou shall not expose thy numeral. Everyone knows what happens when you break that rule, the courts here don't account for rationality. Indeed the way of life here is strict, but I suppose it serves a purpose. It's easier to control people whose lives are already set out for them.
The issue arises when someone like me, destined to be a great, gets mixed in with these useless, space-wasting, single digits. And there's no way for me to object. I can't prove their value, I'm not allowed to prove mine. Why oh why is the education system set up this way, to fail. My path should be easy to follow: society should set me up, and I will give back greatness. It's not hard. But no. Kids like Nick, a lanky, clumsy looking 10th year, get in my way on a daily basis. So, of course I act the way I do. Having the number I do doesn't prevent me from having a temper, and almost all the people in my sector have a lower value than me, from the principle to the court-master.
"Get the fuck out of my way, rat." I yell, as I yank away his satchel bag and shove him to the floor.
"I - I- you can't, you shouldn't be -" He stutters.
"Shut it, you waste my time, you waste everyone's time." I can't believe it, this kid has the audacity to lecture me on how I should be living my life.
"You'll regret this, I - I -" He doesn't get it, does he. I raise my fist. I'm like a bottle of champagne, shaken by victors, about to burst. But then he makes a gesture and I can't quite believe what he's considering doing. He reaches his left arm to the creased cuff of his right.
"You wouldn't dare." I scoff.
"It doesn't matter, y-y-you see, I'm different to the others." Amazing, I think to myself, he's self aware, and he's about to make the most stupid decision of his life.
"Oh yes, I'm sure you are. I'd expect nothing more from a single-digit like you." He's actually doing it, he begins rolling up his sleeve. This will be the first time I see another person's value and I'm not sure if I'll be able to hold in my laughter when I see it. And there it is, the stencilled black marking on the outside of his shoulder, showing, as I had always suspect- Wait. No. It cannot be. He jumps to his feet.
"Are you happy now?!" He utters, now more confidently than I've ever heard him speak. I'm lost for words.
"I - I, I mean I - only in legends. What did you do, th-this can't be real." I had heard about the Lemniscates in old stories, but for them to exist today? It simply doesn't make sense, it can't be possible.
"Times are changing, the integer-bred will soon be futile when the singularity arrives." I'm startled, confused, he utters in a voice now long lost of the boy that is skinny Nick.
"Disturb me one more time and you will not see the light of day again, integer-born." His eyes glowing, his tone almost a roar.
"Okay, I - I'm sorry, you have my word, it won't happen again." I have not feared this much since I can remember. And then, as if a consuming energy is drawn away from his slim body, he releases a large sigh and falls back to the floor, back to the unassuming persona of skinny Nick. He looks up at me expressionless, and before he has a chance to speak, I turn my back and sprint for the door. What on earth just happened?
| She was destined to be successful. All her friends had many many tally marks. She herself had 92, and obviously thought too highly of herself to care for any lowlives or how they faired. She knew everyone at the school, and everyone knew her. There were only a few kids more well known than her.
Billy was one of them. As everyone knew he was destined to always be a nobody, and was someone who likely had close to 1 tally mark and hid it. He was someone who had no friends, was more than likely never going to get a job, and would never be anyone to anyone. How could she not bully him?
It wasn't until one day when she cornered him by some lockers after school that she came to the brilliant idea to reveal his tally count.
Not hesitating, she ripped his sleeve up his arm, to reveal...
An infinity symbol.
Of course she was filled with jealousy, her ego too big to compute someone more popular, more successful, more... everything.
She scrubbed at his arm, pinning him down like the weak thing she knew he actually was. She was sure he was faking the mark. Almost positive that he only put it there to hide a low score of tally marks.
It wasn't coming off! Furious, she dragged him to the empty female bathroom, ignoring his horrified expression and the way he tried to pull away from her, terrified.
He should be terrified! She thought, maybe said outloud, who knows. She surely didn't care. All she could focus on was the thought of him being a fake running through her head.
She grabbed his wrist, shoving it under the steaming hot water, only to get reddened skin in return. Fuming, she scratched at it with the black acrylics she bore, tearing at the thin skin till it was bleeding and sore.
Yet the mark was still there.
She dragged him to her car, knowing one for sure way to get rid of the mark that taunted her.
Billy had long since given up trying to stop this insane girl, knowing that she was stronger than him, and too scared of making her even more angry by trying to pull away or call for help in the long since empty lot. So, terrified for his wellbeing, went along with her, wrist bleeding, and mind hoping for her to tire of this... whatever... soon.
She gripped his wrist tighter, throwing him in the back seat of the car, following and shutting the door.
Nobody would think anything of a girl like her with someone they couldn't see in the back of her own Lamborghini.
Nobody could stop her.
And nobody did.
That day, after bloodying her shiny new car, she looked proudly to her wrist.
She was again the highest number in the school.
Or so she thought.
Nobody was around to hear the horrified scream of someone who now only held a single tally, and possessed the skin of an infinity symbol with 92 tallies underneath.
And nobody would ever care again. | 2018-12-27T17:17:45 | 2018-12-27T16:53:43 | 81 | 12 |
[WP] You never kill the spiders in your home, you just whisper "today you, tomorrow me" when you set them outside. Now, in your most dire moment, an army of spiders arrives to have your back. | Adam Kinsley awoke to a nightmare.
The adrenaline pumped so hard that the blood sang in his ears. He rubbed his eyes, pinched himself, then distractedly struck his alarm clock off the nightstand in an effort to silence it, but still the images remained. He took deep breaths, then reached for the phone by his bed. Maybe talking to somebody would break the spell, he thought.
“Jenny?” he said, after the second ring.
“Adam? What the… it’s 7.30 AM! Are you still at home?”
“Just wanted to check, you know, if I was dreaming.”
“Dreaming? Have you been drinking? It’s Tuesday! You better not be hungover! The September presentation’s today! Jesus! Get your ass to the office!”
The phone slipped from Adam’s hand. He was a born salesman, able to talk the ear off anyone who would listen, but he somehow couldn’t find the right words to describe how a sea of spiders had blanketed his apartment ceiling, covering it from edge to edge in black, furry, chitinous carapaces.
He wondered briefly if this had anything to do with the spiders he had been rescuing and setting free. He never saw the point in killing them, not when they were harmless and kept other pests away, but he had also never knew they would infest in this manner. Regret and anger swirled into a potent cocktail, clouding his mind.
“This is how you repay me? When it’s the most important day of my career so far?” he said, as he slid from his bed, inching towards the door. “My landlord’s going to kill me, you know that right?”
Fresh horrors awaited him in the living room. All points of exit were swathed in what appeared to be layers of cobwebs, and the morning sun streamed but weakly through the swaddled windows. Adam turned as he heard the scurrying of a million legs behind him, and barely held up his hands in time to ward off a stream of spiders flying through the air, erupting towards him.
“What the hell!” Adam cried, as he lost his footing and fell. He expected to connect hard with the teak floors, but instead he bounced off a freshly-woven coat webbing, cocooning him. He flexed, but he barely made any headway. A chittering filled his ears, and he had to fight from opening his mouth to scream.
“Please,” he whispered, the tears filling his eyes. “I never hurt any of you, I always watched out for you. Why is this happening to me? I just want to go to work, forget any of this happened! Please, please…”
The webbing soon covered him fully, though the spiders left just enough space for him to breathe through and to peer out from. He lay on the ground, facing the television. He wriggled, tried to get away, but he could not move. He tried to scream too, but no one heard him. His prison was complete.
Then, stretching his belief to the point of breaking, he saw a single spider, triple the size of those around it, dangle down from the ceiling, swinging closer to the television. The other spiders moved away from it, giving it the space it needed. The queen then extended a single leg, then activated and turned the television on.
The news channel logo flashed briefly on the screen, before cutting to a newscaster on the streets of New York. Adam recognised first the deli in the background, then the street signs, then the building in the background of the shot. The familiarity was unmistakable, especially after he had worked at the same place for years. He could even imagine himself there, at the scene, already reporting for work like any other day at his office on the 110th level, were it not for the sudden infestation of arachnids.
“Reports are just coming in,” said the newscaster, the panic and worry etched clearly on her face. “There appears to be an explosion on the north tower, over 100 floors up. Eyewitnesses say that, and I’m having trouble believing this myself, but they say that a plane, yes, a plane…”
---
/r/rarelyfunny | Fear struck my heart as I watched the great book descend towards me, falling with falling with both speed and force. I tried as hard as I could to dash out of the way, but I had noticed it too late. I prepared myself for the end.
The boot froze, the giant pulling back his foot. He bent to the ground, gently pulling me into the skies. I let out a breath of relief as I saw where was taking me- back to the land of the sun. He let me to the ground gently, but before he returned to his cave, left me with a parting whisper.
"Today you, tomorrow me."
I gave a small prayer of thanks to the giant. He had saved me from them.
***
*Seven Years Later*
"Matt!" My dad yelled from the other room. "Go take the trash out."
I sighed loudly, heading into the garage to look for the bags. I found them piled up in the corner, smelling much worse than I had expected. I heaved the first one onto my shoulder, it filled with metal trash and was rather heavy, opened the garage door, and headed towards the dumpster. With a small grunt, I heaved the large bag into the bin. It landed with a resounding clang.
*That was odd.* I thought. *Wasn't today Thursday? Shouldn't there be more trash?* Normally the bags of uneaten food would pad the ground. I shrugged it off, moving to pick up my family's bags of left over lunches and dinners. The bag was far lighter than expected, so when I picked it up, the motion caused the bag to rip.
A few maggots flew out of the bag, one landing on my foot. I jerked back, giving out a small scream as I scrambled to turn on the lights. My fumbling hands finally founds the switch, and as I went back to inspect the bag, I found that there was *no food* left, only a few maggots.
The maggots were dead, small bite sized marks leaving most of them completely disfigured.
I screamed again in shock, stepping back to look at the garage as a hole.
That's when I noticed it. There was a hole in the garage, the size of a soccer ball, that seemed to have been chewed into by something... I stood frozen with a mixture of fear and awe as I wondered how it could have happened. As I stood watching, a few small rays of light began to appear at the end of the tunnel, making me realize two things.
Whatever created that hole was still there, and going inside the house.
The only room with a light on was Luke's.
My two year old brother.
***
Part two coming here (as in this thread) in literally 15 minutes
[r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)!
| 2017-08-27T22:34:37 | 2017-08-27T22:11:20 | 2,106 | 33 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | April 22, 2000 – Is Canada cold?
April 22, 2000 – Is baseball like cricket?
May 1, 2000 – Ontario sports leagues
May 1, 2000 – Recreational baseball tryout
August 12, 2000 – Academic sessions Ontario
January 13, 2001 – Google maps: Alternate routes home
February 14, 2001 – Fun single person activities
May 1, 2001 – Competitive baseball tryouts
June 30, 2001 – The psychology of sports
August 19, 2001 – Good books on making friends
September 11, 2001 – New York plane crash
September 13, 2001 – Practicing Islam without anyone knowing
September 16, 2001 – Insurance claims on stolen/vandalized property
September 23, 2001 – Rehabilitation for broken ribs and shoulder
October 10, 2001 – Are surgeries covered under Canadian healthcare?
December 28, 2001 – When to stop taking painkillers
February 13th, 2002 – Real estate listings
April 6, 2002 – British Columbia
May 1, 2002 – British Columbia baseball tryouts
May 3, 2002 – Unable to throw baseball without pain in shoulder
July 9, 2002 – Painkiller addiction
August 13, 2002 – University applications
February 14, 2003 – Effects of depression
May 21, 2003 – Alternative routes after high school
June 10, 2003 – Job posting sites
September 1, 2003 – Cam shows
December 25, 2003 – How to celebrate Christmas without family and friends
December 31, 2003 – New Year's resolutions: defeating painkiller addiction
January 6, 2004 – Cam shows
January 19, 2004 – Cam shows
February 14th, 2004 – Redemption and Islam
May 1, 2004 – LD50 of common prescription drugs | Why is the sky blue?
How far away is Uranus?
Why do mom and dad fight so much?
How to impress girls
Porn
Good date ideas
Porn
Where can I get the morning after pill?
How do I know when I should propose?
Good proposal ideas?
Cheap engagement rings
How to be a good parent
How to tell your parents they're grandparents
Good girl names
Ways to comfort your wife
How do I tell people we had a miscarriage?
Good boy names
Death of spouse support groups
Painless ways to kill yourself | 2015-02-04T18:35:51 | 2015-02-04T16:12:00 | 101 | 23 |
[WP]The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don't stay dead easily. | Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. It’s been nearly a century since a formal recruitment, voluntary or not, anywhere in the world. People have shown up by the thousand for weeks now. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. Nam…
"Aren’t you a little young for this?"
"I’m eighteen."
I take his information and send him down the hall. I don’t need much convincing, even if he couldn’t be a day over fifteen. He’s old enough, if he wants to go, I won’t stop him. Isn’t even the youngest I’ve had today. It’s been nearly six months of this, hundreds or a thousand processed a day, every day. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. I used to say more, used to thank every person that went down the chute, look them in the eye for the few moments they were in front of my desk. That lasted maybe three weeks. What was that, twenty-five thousand people? Thirty? I don’t particularly want to know on second thought. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. They want us to look them in the eye, sure. To thank them for showing up. Reassure them they’re a part of something greater. They want us to, but they want numbers more.
It’s all a numbers game. That never changes. At my station, that’s the number of warm bodies I can log and send down the chute every day. That’s about the most technical station in the process, actually. Engineering just has to strap engines to an aluminum tube, set a launch window, and send it on. Thousands of volunteers, stuffed in the tube, jetted off faster than a human has any business going.
It used to be more complicated. Lots more. Space for air, space for food and water, space for showers for god’s sake. Takeoff had to be managed, limited to what a human body could take. What was that, ten G’s? fifteen? Well, fifteen once you trained your volunteers. That was a whole chore in itself. Training for zero g. Training for takeoff and landing. Training for a hundred systems breaking in transit. Training to not go crazy in the two years you were in transit, to keep muscles from shrinking in that time. There were literally a thousand things cut from the process since the early days of space travel. All engineering had to worry about was how many bodies could fit in a plain metal tube and how fast could we get that tube on its way. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall.
Process volunteers, load them in a tube, launch. There used to be a fourth step. Having tubes of a thousand volunteers killed by launch forces or suffocate in space seemed too brutal, too calloused. The first week, it was injections. Then gas for another few days, that was a PR nightmare though. After that, an engineer suggested that hypoxia was about the best way to go anyway.
Of course it was an engineer. Why have four steps, five if you count loading bodies in the tube, when you could have three. Then they didn’t mind close quarters, didn’t mind the lack of oxygen, didn’t even come back until after they were well into space. Hell, they didn’t even need to land. That alone took weeks off the trip since they didn’t have to slow down to zero. As long as they got down to about three hundred miles an hour, about half the ship would make it. Not great, but these weren’t a wave of shock troops. They were a horde. A thousand undead, five hundred surviving impact, and five hundred more the next hour and every hour after that. Six months now. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. Thank you for coming. You’re how we stop the menace. How we keep Seattle from happening again. Six months today. A ship every hour. 4380 ships. 4.3 million people. About 2.2 surviving the impact. Their first ship was ten thousand monsters. Shock troops that wiped Seattle off the map. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. The first ship would be landing today. These recruits will get to see it on broadcast before their own launch. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. Happy hunting. | The Second Plague. That is what they had called it. It wiped out almost all of humanity. Billions perished. It was only the cure that stopped it. One man managed to find it. And his name was written in the History Books. But it was no cure. Only a sedative.
Hundreds of years later, humanity clings on. The surviving humans are all grouped together, in an enormous united and secluded city. A force field protects it. Outside, a barren wasteland. Inside, millions of people go about their daily lives. Technology keeps knowledge, but the civilization has become more of a Bronze Age style city. People work to earn. Peace prospers.
Until one night. A glowing light came down from the sky. An enormous metal structure, reminiscent of a warship, comes down from the sky. The ship launches fast moving weapons at the shield. When they hit it, it explodes, a gap opens in the shield, which the ship enters. The gap repairs itself, but it is too late.
The aliens drop out of the sky. Red skin wraps around a bony, lanky, four armed body. The 8 feet tall aliens charge up their weapons and fire upon the civilians. All over the country sized city, the same thing happens.
Body parts and green-red blood flies everywhere as the people are destroyed by technology they can't begin to comprehend. Fire rages in the city. The aliens cheer, as the invasion commences as planned.
But then, a corpse begins to roll on the ground. Skin turns green. The glazed eyes in the man's head look hungry. Limbs crawl back to him, and reattach. He staggers to his feet.
An alien fires a few shots. The creature stumbles back. Wounds rapidly heal and it marches forward. It suddenly sprints at the alien, and bites down hard on the creature's neck. It screams, and throws the human off. A shot to the head, and it stills. The aliens sigh, but then more bodies begin to rumble. They hear groans.
The alien invasion is fought back by an onslaught of zombies. They throw themselves at the invaders, but they soon learn that shots to the head are fatal. The battle commences, with the aliens once again taking the upper hand.
Until one of the aliens' eyes glaze, and its skin turns green. It drops its gun and turns on its allies. The invaders have become infected.
A fraction of the aliens escape. It appeared that the humans had a secret defense they had no way of countering. They return home, when one of them begins to groan.
In the morning, robots deployed with more doses of the cure. They inject the zombies, which are burning in the sun. Soon their skin returns to normal, and their eyes are full. They suffered heavy casualties, but humanity successfully repelled the seventh alien invasion. | 2019-08-28T14:32:43 | 2019-08-28T14:20:37 | 50 | 31 |
[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. | Alel bit his lip as the prisoner crumpled to dust, blowing away from a wind within an airtight room. Well, that was out the window. The judge simply stared with a bored look in his eye, confirming the kill before charting it down and looking to some other infinite list.
“Charles Alel, take to the stand.”
Alel grimaced as he stepped forward. Really? Couldn’t even use his preferred nickname? No matter. His mind was racing with things he could say to keep from dying, though it came up blank as the judge read through his charges. All too soon, Alel heard the judge draw to a close, not even registering when asked how he wanted to die. He needed time, though it wasn’t something he had. Maybe if he could just... get a few more minutes, he could -
“Charles. Choose, or be disintegrated quickly and painfully within the minute.” A magic hourglass flipped, the sand draining ten times faster than it should have.
Suddenly, Alel had a spark of an idea - though, whether or not the magic of the courthouse would even be able to carry through such a thing, he did not know. Alel’s heart beat harder and faster as the last grains of sand hit the bottom of the hourglass.
“I wish to die in every way.” The words flew from his mouth, unable to think of anything else in the moment. The judge had preemptively raised his gavel, though hesitated with Alel’s words. He didn’t look bored or unpleased, but surprised. Curious, even. It *was* a fitting punishment, an undying death set to repeat over and over, and who knows if the courthouse could even do it. An infinite death.
The judge merely locked eyes with Alel, raising his gavel higher before striking downwards. Alel could feel his heart beating quickly as silence filled the chamber. He could feel the eyes of other prisoners as well as the judge on him. His heart was still beating, though rapid from the adrenaline.
A few seconds passed, as Alel began to calm... only to grip his chest in agony, pain wracking his entire body. His heart began to beat faster, and harder, as though it were about to burst within his chest - and then nothing. His consciousness didn’t ebb or fade, it simply ended.
Then it began. Alel rose with a gasp, sucking the air into his aching chest. He gripped his chest and looked towards the judge’s chair - empty. How long had it been, he wondered? Alel began to stand, only to hear a sharp *snap*. He crumpled to the floor with a pained yelp, feeling more bones breaking upon making contact. He looked to his hands, now greying and withering. Old age. His eyes went blurry, and he could feel his body give way to the air in the room.
Awake once more. Dead once more. Awaken, suffer, die. That was the punishment he had chosen. Aneurysm, seizure, cancer, diarrhea, suicide - he kept going through the motions. And though he didn’t know how much time passed in between each revival, the judges seat remained empty, as did the prisoner chamber. It took all of Alel’s willpower just to keep conscious, to stay sane enough to move with what precious seconds he had.
The courthouse was carrying out his wish, killing him in every conceivable way. However, it didn’t restrict his movement. With each revival, he inched closer and closer to escape, to victory - or at least, a semblance of it. Eventually, he reached the door of the prisoners chamber once more, reaching towards the door with a flayed hand. He heard a crack, one that wasn’t from his bones. It was the wood beneath his feet. Alel looked downwards, seeing rotted wood beneath his feet just before it gave way to his emaciated body.
Alel fell, helpless. As he fell, he closed his eyes. The wood was rotten, old. Left without care long enough to give way to skin and bones. He had died several times, physically - but he said *every* way. By falling, by suffocation, by cave in, by worms and dirt and seeds spreading through the Earth and into his bones, all things that wouldn’t be possible in the moment he made the wish.
This was his fate. An infinite one, instead of an eternity of peaceful non-existence. What a fool he was. Alel closed his eyes, only to open them for a time, before closing them again. Perhaps, in time, the magic of the courthouse would break. But before that, this was his undying destiny. | You breathe. Slowly, softly, barely there. It's going to be your turn soon. Soon. Just one more in front of you.
"Garelea Ordenssen," the voice of the Judge calls, echoing through the cavernous waiting room full of intricately carved stone walls. The man in front of you takes a deep breath, displaying confidence.
With a gait that can only be described as *smug*, Ordenssen struts into the courtroom through the small, open archway. "You stand accused, Garelea Ordenssen..." You breathe, tuning out the rest of the Judge's slow diction and syrupy voice.
"Guilty," a cacophonous sounding of voices calls. It's so loud, even out here, that it startles you out of your thoughts of nothingness, of anxiety pooling in your gut.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells him.
The man smirks, you can see that much. "Old age," he drawls. As soon as he gets the words out, *it* happens. *It* being the instantaneous change – his skin wrinkles, becoming visible more worn; his back, once tall and sturdy, slopes into a hunch; teeth fall out of his mouth like a waterfall until there is nothing but blood and gums dripping onto the floor.
And then he dies.
There is no fanfare, no discerning moment. He just...falls over. People dressed in dark purples and blues come to collect the body. You don't know where they are going to put it.
"Harley Matisnal," the Judge calls. Oh. Well. *There goes that plan*, you think, just a tad bit hysterically.
Who are you kidding? Very hysterically.
On shaking legs, you step into the courtroom. It is large. Not just in square footage, no. It goes up *very* far, so far you can't even see the ceiling. The walls are stone, but they glitter like gold; they even have its coloring.
There are several arches built into the wall, each colored like gems – maybe they *are* gems, but you're only really going off of color, here. Each archway holds spectators, but you're not sure whether they want to see people die or if they decide if you're guilty.
"You stand accused, Harley Matisnal, of the crimes of Larginnally and Evading the Law. Your trial was several months ago. We have just now received you. Of both, you have been determined to be–"
"Guilty," the voices ring. It is loud, especially now that you're standing *in* the room instead of outside of it. Your head is spinning so much that you can't tell left from right, down from up, whose mouths are closed and whose are open. Who said that? Was it the people? The Judge? You can't tell.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells you.
You flounder for a moment. Fuck. *Fuck!* What are you supposed to say to this? Nothing?
...Fuck it, you're gonna go with nothing. See what they say to that! Can't kill you if you don't say they can, right?
"Nothing," you say.
And then you are.
Like you never even existed in the first place. | 2021-06-24T10:52:50 | 2021-06-24T08:08:07 | 44 | 22 |
[WP] The summoned hero was neither a fighter nor a magic caster. He called himself a "new-clee-ar fizz-izz-ist" whatever that means. Now he has sent you to collect a special rock for him. Why he would need a rock, you will never know, but he even gave you a device that clicks when you find it. | The clicks don't follow a pattern.
At the oldtime tavern there's a piano player that puts up a metronome, which goes click-click-click-click all in time.
But this little device clicks ragged. It's a chattering of teeth. Sometimes big bites, sometimes the shiver of a few minutes spent too long on the snowy surface.
It's shivering now.
That tells me I'm close. The upman told me to look for a gray vein and I see it. The clicks are rabid now. I hold the metal pick in my third arm and hammer away. I hold a bucket under the rubble as it crumbles away from the rockface.
I nose my way back to the hub, following the trail I spat down along the way. The upmen tell us it smells like "bananas". Bananas sound safe. One day I will eat one.
But for now I focus. I tow my cargo behind me, one arm aloft, and climb the ladders up to the great iron gate at the hub's center. There I engage the ritual to call him: three button presses, one wound dial, seven more presses, thumbing down the arcane symbols 7 8 1 3 2 0 0—and finally the tone whispers out like a voice from another world.
Which is, I suppose, what it is.
I wait there patiently, watching my compatriots crawl and climb our home, lit only by the dull red light. It's getting cold, without our sun. Thirty-seven crops have already died. The upman must hurry.
Finally the door opens.
He appears, as always, in a shining suit that plays with the light like a mirror. He takes the bucket from my arms. His face is lit beneath a glass visor and it is slick with sweat.
"Okay," he says. "I'll get it up and running."
His face droops and I taste something like sorrow in the air.
"You poor bastards," he says.
I don't know what this means.
It is cold, and I find a burrow of my friends to warm in. We nestle against each other, crooning. Some of them are soldiers. The others are farmers, or learned ones who understand some upman technology. We all freeze together.
Then we hear it: a great thump, the rattling of rusted hinges, grand gears spinning. The red light burns away before a blinding white sun, pulsing in our stone sky.
The ritual is complete. We will live another day.
/r/NaimKabir | With the right summoning circle, anything is possible. If bring forth a demon, all you need is a pentagram and a few candles. A powerful and reliable net negative for the summoner. Should you prefer something just as powerful, yet entirely unpredictable, then three wide ellipses angled around a common center will yield a nuclear physicist.
One tale speaks of a town on the verge of freezing over the winter; the coal mine became inoperable and the fuel reserves were low. Some worried townsfolk summoned a nuclear physicist, and begged for a solution. This is a remote place, they explained, that burns these stones by the ton for power. Where could they get enough coal to last the winter for such a town?
The physicist, possessing only a single stone, told the people to return to their homes. Then he broke the stone among all the townsfolk, atom by atom, for that stone was pure Uranium-235 and contained enough potential energy to keep each of the townsfolk warm for the rest of their lives. | 2022-01-31T00:25:45 | 2022-01-30T23:51:27 | 335 | 60 |
[WP] Djiin are actually well-meaning, but lack understanding and context of the human world, thus granting wishes in an unsatisfactory manner. Tell the story from the genie's point of view, who genuinely wishes to please his master.
Since most stories involving genies and other wish-granting entities characterise these wish-granters as judgemental, conniving and mischievous, I thought it might be interesting to get their point of view, especially if they don't mean to cause all the harm that they do, due to pure innocence. (i.e. the wish maker asks for money, and doesn't specify that it shouldn't be stolen, when a jinn might not understand the concept of stealing).
Write a story about one such genie who tries (and most likely fails) to properly grant their master's wishes.
| Once again I see light. How long has it been since I last saw the light of this world. Has it been decades? Centuries? The world always looks so different each time I am summoned. One thing never changes though, the nature of each person's wish. Money, power, sometimes even love. Try as I may I can't help but think they always leave unfulfilled.
I once remember a mighty looking warrior. He was rough and battle hardened. I quite frankly was not surprised by his wish: To be the strongest fighter in the land. And so he was. From my understanding of human anatomy a human's strength comes from his muscles, which I greatly strengthened. He could move mountains and had the stamina run across the oceans if he so pleased.
Then he took a step forward and immediately toppled to the floor. His bones had snapped due to them being unable to cope with his new strength. His heart, which I learned was also a muscle, had pumped blood so violently that all of his internal organs ruptured. Crumpled in a heap was the strongest man to ever walk the Earth, even if he was only able to take a single step.
I couldn't help but see the irony in that.
Another one I remember was a king. He was covered in an assortment of fine jewels and furs. He had a group of advisers consulting him about what his wish should be. After a few minutes they had come to a decision.
He barked at me,
"Genie, I want all the riches in the world at my feet"
And so he did. It was truly a marvel to see. Gems of every color and precious metals shaped ever so intricately filled the cave from top to bottom.
This left little room for the king and his men as they were all crushed.
This brings me back to present day. This one, bespectacled and covered in perspiration, he was quite different than the usual lot who summons me. He was neither a warrior, a treasure hunter nor a ruler.
He cleared his throat and muttered,
"I... I just want her back. Here in my arms with me again."
It was a change of pace. Such a simple request. This I could do. If I'm not mistaken I believe you humans also call it a spine. | Once again, I was called upon a human to grant their wish. I appeared before him, ready to do his bidding. He appeared nervous, but determined, pacing back and forth within his unkempt and small living arrangement.
"What is your wish?" I asked, after watching him continue to pace for a few moments. He stopped and looked at me for the first time. He cleared his throat and answered "I want to be famous."
I looked back into human history at the famous, all the way back to where human history began. "It is done," I proclaimed. The human looked wide-eyed as memories of the new past filled his head.
He looked at me and screamed "Oh God, what did you make me do!? Change it back!"
"You only get one wish," I said puzzled. I don't know why he isn't happy with his wish, serial killers are the most famous humans of all. | 2014-08-23T13:29:00 | 2014-08-23T12:08:14 | 50 | 29 |
[WP] Your significant other is immortal, but you aren't. Every time you die, they track down your reincarnation and fall in love all over again, every time.
Edit: Didn't realize this until after, but you can switch the roles, you being immortal and they reincarnating. Whichever fits the kind of story you want to tell. | That guy showed up today again at the park. Why doesn't he just stay away?
He's such a total creep, and he scares me. I know I shouldn't have gone to the park with my friends, but, we like just moved here! How did he find me again so fast?
Luckily Theresa saw him watching me. Who knows what might have happened if she hadn't seen him!
I got really afraid and called Mom, and she like told me to stay with my friends, and that she would call the police. Why is that old perv still running around free?
He came to us when he saw me on the phone. "Oh Anna, my Anna, please listen to me... I love you! I love you so much!"
The creepy perv doesn't even call me by my name. After the last time they took him the police told me he thinks I'm his long\-lost love or something. But no matter what I shout at him, no matter what the police tells him, he always comes back. And one day I won't have my parents or my friends with me.
Dad took me to the shooting range, but I can't take the gun to school...
The asshole wouldn't stop. He kept trying to get closer, saying how much he loved me.
Theresa and Lucy picked up some rocks and threw them at him when he got too close, but even that didn't stop him. But there were some other people that heard me screaming at the pedo, and he stayed back when they came to help.
He only ran away when my dad arrived. He had his rifle, and I think only seeing the other people with me stopped him from using it.
I am now crying so much. I don't want to move again. He'll just find me again. I just want this to be over. I am so afraid... the police didn't get him again. He must be stopped! But what if my dad shoots him and then he has to go to prison?
The gun is on my bed now. It's loaded. I have a metal Hello Kitty lunch box, that's where I'll put it in. I will put it in my backpack and I will take that backpack everywhere. Always!
I can't let dad go to prison for saving me. I will save myself. I'm not yet 14, they can't put me in prison. | The eyes never changed. They always had the same wonder and mysterious enticement behind the gray. That was how I knew it was him.
Falling in love again was the easy part. It is bliss every time. Learning to over come anything to be with the one you love, I never thought it would be so pertinent for me. I found him through the swamps and plains filled with that awful sweet smell, all the thoughts flooding my mind hoping I would not have to start the search again. My faith in my heart never failing, and longing that I am not the only one with faith.
Once our eyes meet, the journey starts all over again. The fear, pain, and agony melt away for the underlying warmth. This will never end; we have accepted that. A human, a lion, a elk, or even a grasshopper they are all me, and I am always his. | 2018-06-07T23:34:49 | 2018-06-07T23:04:00 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Humans are actually the most peaceful, kind race in the universe and other aliens don't invade us because its cute to watch. | 'Look...they're doing it again.'
'Doing what?'
'Just...look come over here and take a look at the damn screen.'
'Oh, well isn't that just the sweetest thing.'
'I know, right? The transmission arrived just this morning. What you would expect of course, you know; 'is anyone out there', 'we come in peace', all that bollocks.'
'They really are adorable, did you see recently that they just celebrated a hundred years without any major wars between themselves? They exchanged gifts, they sang, they embraced each other, it really was quite something.'
'Yeah, it's quite incredible in it's own way.'
'Yeah...'
...
'We should probably just get it over with though, you know? Bite the bullet, and all that. Full on invade the place, strip the resources, assimilate the good bits of genetic code, etc, etc, and move on.'
'What, why?'
'Well, isn't it cruel not to?'
'Don't be silly.'
'No but I mean...look I don't want to be a dick or anything. You know I enjoy their silly little behaviours as well. But you know how this goes. Look, we have successfully invaded every known system in the local cluster right?'
'Right.'
'In every case, resistance has been utterly futile, right?'
'Damn right, poor fuckers never stood a chance...'
'Well yes, exactly. Now tell me why we do this.'
'You know why...'
'Yes, but come on now...just spell it out, back to basics kinda stuff. Explain it to me as if I was still a juvenile.'
'Ok then, we do what we do because of the fundamental law of the universe. There is no value to be found in genetic stagnation, it has been shown a thousand times over. Species must constantly fight, within themselves and externally, if they are to evolve into ever more perfect life forms. It is the only way to survive the long night.'
'Indeed...'
'I mean, just look at them! Even on their world, humans have not evolved significantly in thousands of years! They are not even the strongest organism on their planet! They keep their weak alive out of pity and they seek cooperation out only because the alternative of war is a hard struggle which would interrupt their comfy little lives. As a species they are like a dull blade!'
'Yes I agree, so why don't we just finish them off?'
'Well...'
'If they are so fundamentally useless why do we keep them around? I mean, I enjoy their silly little antics as much as you do, but when did we become the type of people who kept around things simply because they amused us?'
'Well...I guess it's because they're the only ones. The only ones we have come across who, having achieved sentience, have ultimately chosen peace over war. It is unprecedented; and the worse thing is that the instinct for violence is there, but they suppress it.'
'They're unique then...will it help them survive the long night?'
...
'Will anything?' | "Oh my God, that is so cute! Look at them!" Zorg looked through the satellite towards planet earth.
"Let me see, let me see! Aww that IS cute." Zoid said with a smile. He loved his job as an anthropologist, especially when his assignments were on humans.
The humans were having a celebratory event for the end of the war. The dead were buried and hands were shaken. People drank to the heroes of all the countries.
Oxbraghs, however, would never do that. Even if they found out they were in the wrong, they would pretend otherwise and continue to bash the enemies brains in. Or each others. Or their own.
"Okay, now it is my turn again to look! Move over." Zorg pushed Zoid aside.
"No, I am not done yet!" Zoid pushed back, regaining control. "Haha, naww, they pulled two kids apart who were fighting and forced them to say sorry!"
"Haha, idiots..." Zorg did think they were cute, but humans were apparently not intelligent enough to realise that things can only be accomplished with sheer violence. Something he and his brother knew pretty well. Zoid grabbed the scissors and stood ready to stab. Zorg had already anticipated the attack and was ready to curve the scissors to his brothers face.
"Ouch!" They said together. "What have I told you about hurting us! We are one being, you stupid head, you hurt me you hurt yourself!"
Then the real fighting began, where Zoid bashed in Zorgs head and the other way around. It was their way of showing affection. To suffer together, is to stay together. | 2016-09-28T03:53:07 | 2016-09-28T03:42:15 | 2,919 | 455 |
[WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck.
Edit: mum im famous | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| Shinji paced his hotel room, brow furrowed in thought. The International Ninja Cup was a mere day away, and as his feet padded softly on the back and forth on the floor his mind was furiously at work. As Team Captain, he was given a tremendous opportunity - to lead Team Japan against clans from across the globe. But, he bore a heavy weight - it was his responsibility to attempt to redeem Japan after years of shame.
Hundreds of years of competition, and each and every result the same - Japan disgracing itself with a last place finish. No matter the advancements in technology, no matter the focus on personal discipline, Japan could not seem to produce ninjas with the skill and talent of other nations.
A soft sigh escaped Shinji's lips as he shook his head for the hundredth time - he must not let his focus slip for even an instant. He must keep his mind sharp, lest one small error lead to his team's downfall. He stepped to the window to take in the beautiful morning view, a small smile crossing his face; yes, as long as he could maintain precise concentration, he would lead Japan out of last place for the first time in recorded history. He was sure of it.
He turned away to recheck his equipment one more time when a sizzling blur scythed the air beside his head. A shuriken embedded itself with a thud into the wall two inches beside his head, shattering his concentration and sending adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He leapt to the window, pulling a dagger from his belt, ready to defend himself from this obvious attempt to sabotage his team. However, as his eyes scanned the rooftops and skyline surrounding his hotel room, he could not see any trace of his attacker. He easily spotted Toshi, who was on guard duty. Using ninja hand signals he asked the master ninja if he had seen the failed assassin, but Toshi indicated that he hadn't even noticed the attack.
Enraged, Shinji flew to the wall where the weapon had lodged itself. Prying it loose he noted the 9-pointed maple leaf of its shape, identifying itself undeniably as the work of the Canada Clan. But, for the first time he also noticed the attached note. Retrieving it, he read the words slowly to himself, cheeks reddening as he did.
"Hello Shinji. Hope all is well. Sorry to bother you, but we are trying to get ready for the big competition tomorrow, and we were wondering if you wouldn't mind keeping down the noise? Between you stomping around your room and blustering loudly to yourself, we're finding it real hard to get anything done. Thanks a lot, and good luck tomorrow eh?" | 2022-06-12T18:37:28 | 2017-11-16T08:49:08 | 1,102 | 40 |
[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX. | I leaned back in my office chair and stretched my arms high over my head. With a sigh of relief, I finally turned away from Earth-2294. In 250 A.D., the humans living there had managed to rediscover the Garden of Eden, and they had waged a siege on an epic proportion that had lasted almost two thousand years. It had taken every bit of my attention to keep them out, but when I make a rule, I keep that rule. Now, after all those years, I could finally check up on some of my other creations.
I swiveled in my office chair and faced Earth-1468. The first thing I noticed was the number of countries. On Earth-2294, there was no real nationality, just humans vs. angels. Earth-1468 had hundreds of countries. I sighed again, it was obvious I was going to have a lot of reading to catch up on before I could start guiding these humans.
I cracked open the first historical tome, starting from the moment the "Garden Crisis" started on Earth-2294. Suddenly, movement just outside of the atmosphere caught my eye. I looked at it closely, it was some sort of space station. But that was impossible, humans weren't supposed to go to space!! It's impossibly cold, and there's no oxygen. It's why I use the cold emptiness of space to separate my planets, humans could never survive outside the atmosphere. Yet here they were, just floating around like it was normal. I sat back in my chair stunned. And I smiled. After all those years of war, I'd forgotten how much I liked humans. It was time to reward these enterprising little people. I zoomed out so I could see the entire milky way. And there it was, the tiny little telescope trying to take pictures of the bigger universe. I subtly pointed it to a seemingly empty space of the cosmos. And the telescope took pictures of a far distant planet, where all humans had been wiped out. And where they would find a peaceful garden at the center of a massive battle. | 'Jesus!' God grumbled, 'get off reddit! You have that bi-millennial visit to earth scheduled today.' the big J wasn't going to have any of it, 'But father you can't expect me to go back after what those crazy bastards did to me last time!' Jesus protested as memories of the embarrassment he felt that time when he tried to turn Australian wine into something drinkable and failed. 'Why don't you go? You haven't been there since you did Mary!'.
So God did just that. When he arrived on earth in the form of a graceful and majestic lion he was promptly shot by poachers. | 2015-12-27T10:49:08 | 2015-12-27T08:30:58 | 791 | 47 |
[WP] Necromancy is just the arcane equivalent of computer programming, and grimoires on necromancy are just like libraries of code on animating the undead. You work the equivalent of the IT Help Desk for your necromancer cult. These are your work stories. | It's been a long day.
---
The timepiece intoned eight low-pitched bells. Time for the shift to begin.
The purple smoke in front of me almost immediately swirled into a familiar pentacle. I performed the necessary arcane manipulations - the old *swipe right* - and the line of communication was established.
My voice croaked from an eternity of repetition: "Salutations, mortal - you have reached Atrocitus Necromantic Support; this call may be recorded for infernal purposes."
The necromancer on the other end of the line sounded thin, with a high pitched voice. I couldn't help but imagine a dry reed, brittle - ready to snap.
"Hey, uh, I'm working from your spell book, the *Complete Necromancer*? I have a question, about the, uh, condition of the [material]¹ components."
"Certainly. Is that the diamond, or the corpse?"
"Oh, the, uh, the corpse."
"Not a problem sir. As stated on page 47, the corpse must be mostly intact. While the spell itself will perform some repairs, it is only to the point where the reanimatrix will be self-ambulatory; however, the worse the initial condition of the body, the more fragile the end result."
"Hmm, okay. Now, under *Advanced Effects*, it mentions that the reanimation can be delayed? How? And by how long?"
"That's technically correct, sir, but it only actually applies to infectious reanimation spells - where the reanimation effect can be spread via transmission of bodily fluids, for example, a bit, or, uh, more intimate contact. That said, the delay is a fairly simple modification of the third casting rune, allowing delay granularity of five minutes, up to a maximum of twenty-four hours."
"So, if I had access to a cannon, I could theoretically cast corpses into artillery shells, cast *Mass Infectious Animate Dead* with a half hour delay, then spend that time firing them over the horizon into enemy territory?"
"Sir, it is against company policy to discuss methods of remotely initiating undead apocalypses."
Damned necromancers! They should know by now that all of the obvious apocalyptic combinations had already been patented by the military, and they protected them - vigorously, and with EXTREME prejudice. You do NOT discuss infringement - even hypothetically - on a monitored line.
"But you're saying it would work, right?"
"Sir, I'm afraid I can no longer continue this conversation; our infernal legal team will be in touch shortly, regarding misuse of the tome and breach of the Infernal User Agreement, specifically the *Necronomicon Ex Mortis* clause."
I swiped the communications portal left as quickly as I could, but the tortured screams started before the line could cut out. Say what you like about the demonic copyright lawyers, but they work FAST.
I sighed, and tried to put the doomed idiot out of my mind.
I checked my personal timepiece. Eight bells, and five minutes - only seven hours fifty-five to go.
---
Like I said: it's been a long day.
---
---
¹ EDIT: somatic -> material, /u/GodOf31415 | People are idiots. Simple as that. After third time you accept the message to a screaming newbie rambling in about zombie apocalypse, when they have some simple error, it gets old fast.
But the craziest things happen with the experienced ones. The ones who think they know better. There are standard procedures introduced in all but the oldest, most eccentric, or advanced teaching manuals there are.
When some eighth-year schmuck called in the other day, I groaned. The kid had been an absolute prick since year one, calling in with idiotic advice, or stupid problems at least once every 6 months.
So this time, I just waited. And he was unusually silent this time, so I knew that it was bad.
It was not the worst, but it was pretty bad. He had made a form of growth built in to the system, where they absorb biomass and integrate it, as best they can, into their preexisting algorithms. But embedded protocols in the biomass of other necromancy corrupted the magic and created an amalgam of mixed and corrupted spells.
Formulaically speaking, this was an extremely difficult problem. You would have to detangle the individual matrix created by the absorption pattern of each subject, separate, then spend a considerable amount of time modifying and fixing the magic in the individual, while having the physical form restrained, restructured, and reset.
As a a necromancer, doing all of this magically is a problem. However, that's why they have Us. We have studied, and trained, in the programming of the arcane, despite not being able to do it ourselves. We come in, and clean up their messes. They have them enough that there is an entire guild devoted to us.
Just another day as an adventurer. | 2018-04-28T01:21:03 | 2018-04-27T21:14:51 | 104 | 34 |
[WP] The end of the Universe has come. God and Lucifer sit and reminisce with each other.. as old friends. | There was no wine. There were no glasses. There were no lush, velvet chairs and matching footstools. There was nothing. All had ended and there was nothing.
And yet there was Lucifer, sipping merrily, his feet up, the rest of him sunk deeply, dreamily into a plush throne of padded red velvet.
God paced and sighed and looked all about. "So that's really it?" He said. "That's the whole show?"
"Every season accounted for," said Lucifer.
God frowned, twiddling with the hem of His robe. "You suppose we should make more? A sequel, perhaps? Continue with a few of the more popular characters?"
"Nah," said Lucifer, swishing the glass. "Spinoffs never play and who likes a rehash? No. It was a good story, wasn't it? Beginning, middle, and end. Climaxed nicely with all the explosions and implosions and heat death and whatnot. All the best stories have to end, you know."
"Hmm," grunted God, circling back around the chair. "It's just... I feel a little *empty* now, is all. Not sure what to *do* with myself."
"Ah," smiled Lucifer. "Comes from binging. I told you we ought to pace ourselves."
"Right," sniffed God. He cracked His knuckles and twisted His neck. "Well... think we ought to start a new one?"
"A whole new one?" said Lucifer. "You don't want to take a little break?"
"Too antsy," said God.
Lucifer drained his glass, which wasn't a glass because there were no glasses. "Fine, fine, my dear. We'll start again."
"I'd like the planets to be doughnut-shaped this time," said God quite resolutely, as if He'd been carrying that personal critique about in His pockets for millennia untold.
"Doughnut-shaped," said Lucifer. "Very good. Any themes you'd like to see explored this go round?"
God considered this a moment. "Love, certainly. Always like that. Conquest. That makes for good drama. And... let's see.... how about a constant fear of sudden, inexplicable molecular destabilization?"
Lucifer furrowed his brow. "You'd like them to... spontaneously dissolve into goo?"
God nodded. "Every now and then. I think that would be interesting."
Lucifer smiled. "You know these things best. Well, come on. Let's go make some magic." | "Well met Lucifer". "Uhh, hello there, God"
Both giving each other a respectful nod.
"The Universe´s vanished. All Time and Space end.
Let´s sit here together and watch it, my friend"
"Do you still remember just how it began?
I (Lucifer) really doubted you can
Form all this together in only a week,
While I lazed around till the rise of the Greek."
"Of course I remember", said God with a smile.
"T´was lots of hard work to build you this isle.
But just so you don´t get real´high expectations
The next Universe must be your nice creation."
"That´s fair", said the devil,"Now *you* can lean back,
Wait until I´m finished then you can attack."
An evil grin conquered the tired Gods face:
"I´m planning on setting your new worlds ablaze!
I´ve waited for billions and trillions of years!
My plan will strike all your creation with fear!"
They both sat there laughing while aeons passed by.
None of them remembered the answer to: "Why?"
| 2016-10-12T06:44:18 | 2016-10-12T04:24:28 | 44 | 17 |
[WP] You, a mere human, find yourself inside an arena and pitted against all sorts of supernatural beings in combat. Being a diehard fantasy fan however, you know their weaknesses. All of them. | Deep in the pit where reality twists, in the lower planes where myth and mortal blend, stood a lone figure in the center of The Gulch. It was here where the dirt was slick with blood and sinew; here where many before him had fallen to the horrors that lurked just outside the mortal veil. The clouds had worn their funeral suits, the crowd had donned their masks, and the primeval monster moved around restlessly in its box as the handlers appeared; humanoid atrophied beings adorned in melted candles. They carried with them the iron rods that were used to open the sliding door of the box safely. On both sides, they lifted the hooks under the iron rings and revealed the monster.
The handlers quickly shambled away toward the safety of the wall as the creature emerged. A skinless monstrosity of muscle and tendons awkwardly scrambled out of the box and stomped around a moment as an abhorrent scream escaped its lips- which set, he couldn't tell, for the creature had two mouths. It appeared to be two bodies- a man atop a horse, but he knew better. It was one being horrifically merged together in whatever instant God had blinked. It held a spear in its hands that looked as though it had just been pulled from the guts of a bigger creature.
"A nuckelavee," the man spoke with an eager grin. "I've never actually wrestled with one of your kind." He brushed his blonde hair out of his eyes and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
The monster didn't waste words after it spotted him. A gruesome red eye opened on the center of what would be the horse's forehead and it screamed yet again before charging toward him, spear at the ready.
He knew his shield wouldn't be enough- the nuckelavee had a secret weapon that would catch a less informed opponent off guard. He deftly dodged the attack and held his breath as the mouth of the horse head parted and blew a green smog across him. Both attacks failed as he retreated out of the smog and watched the monster carefully as it began to turn around at a full gallop.
"Tch... And I wanted to drink this," he muttered as he reached for the gourd on his belt. He unscrewed the cap and watched as the monster started toward him yet again. Its hoofs beat the ground like thunder and shook the ground as it approached. He waited carefully for his moment as it drew nearer and nearer.
*Almost... Almost... A little more...*
He didn't miss his moment. He swung the gourd like a sword, unleashing an arc of freshwater high into the air before lifting his shield and bracing for impact. He knew he wouldn't have time to dodge if he wanted to catch it by surprise. The monster ran through the water and slammed into him at the same time. His shield held strong but his body was flung several feet as the creature writhed in agony. He tumbled to the ground and rolled a few times before scampering back to his feet. He took a deep breath and observed the water's effects.
"Thought you might be thirsty," he commented as he strode toward the creature. It began to wither and corrode as it dropped to the dirt and thrashed around. He hadn't counted on facing a nuckelavee, but it mattered little. He always kept water on hand. He produced his sword for the first time, pulling it from the scabbard on his hip as he positioned himself over the dying creature. The crowd went wild as he plunged his blade into the monster's first head, then the other to be sure.
"Too bad I was your opponent today," he growled before turning to face the handlers, who sat in their chairs with frustrated expressions.
"WHAT'S NEXT?" He screamed. "BRING THEM!"
- - -
No, seriously. What's next. I'm up for suggestions :)
r/A15MinuteMythos | The crowd was silent. They all practically knew the outcome of the match anyway. The werewolf would kill me in under 30 seconds, an almost-surgical stab through my ribs, deflating my left lung, then a slash through my stomach. Death seconds later, the werewolf eats. How exhilarating.
Except... except...
Before the match began, I asked for a chance to look good before getting disemboweled. They led me to a room filled with beauty products and more. One thing I did was polish my shoes, polish them with shoe polish. Shoe polish, with silver nitrate in it.
*I can't believe I'm going to do this.* I thought as the werewolf howled, a sign it was about to rush me. I slipped off my shoes, holding them both in my hands like small daggers.
I knew I couldn't beat the werewolf to death with shoes, even ones freshly polished, but the match could also end if one party is simply unable to fight.
The werewolf ran toward me on all fours, then pounced in an attempt to land on me. I rolled under it, then got up as quick as I could. Other than silver, werewolves had another weakness, flexibility. I leaped onto its back and got its arms in a headlock. Before it could grab my arms, or worse, roll over, I pressed my shoes into its face. It screamed/roared!
This was the most dangerous part, when the werewolf is blind with pain, but not severely damaged. If it just thrashed around, it could knock me off. I kept pressing my shoes into its face and neck, moving them around to cause the most pain.
It was bellowing now, almost knocking me off by the force of sound alone.
*Just a little more, just a little more.*
I wish I had paid more attention to when my coach was explaining werewolf pain centers. Where was it? Where was it?
There! The werewolf's pain threshold was met, and it was knocked out cold.
I knew it wasn't just a short faint or pretend because as soon as I felt the werewolf go limp, its fur also started receding. It lost height and muscle. It was reverting back to human form.
Now that my heart wasn't beating in my ears, I could hear the crowd.
They were silent, stunned.
The moderator walked from his booth, examined the werewolf, examined me, then finally held up my hand and exclaimed, "Winner!" | 2021-07-09T08:30:15 | 2021-07-09T07:32:24 | 333 | 65 |
[WP] You've become friends with a murder of crows. They occasionally mimic you, saying simple greetings or short phrases. Today, they seem uninterested in your offerings, and almost appear on edge. Waiting for something. You try to ask them what's wrong. "Hide," one caws swiftly. | I arrived at my usual spot in the forest, nearly out of breath. The hike had been especially difficult in the cold weather. I approached a dead sycamore tree. Still trying to catch my breath, I looked up to find a murder of crows perched in the tree.
“Hello!” I said to them, awaiting their response. But they didn’t make a sound. “Sorry for the wait,” I continued. “It’s freezing out here.” The crows remained silent. They didn’t even move. *That’s odd,* I thought, *usually they’re excited to see me.*
As if a freezing day in July wasn’t strange enough, now the crows were ignoring me. Over the years I had spent many hours up here with them, so I knew all of their favorite tricks.
“Let’s try this…” I said, mildly annoyed. I had just walked in the cold for half an hour for them, after all. “Say ‘food!’” For a few seconds, the crows still didn’t respond. I reached in my pocket for the berries I had planned to surprise them with.
“Hide! Hide! Hide!” the crows all shouted in unison before I could show them what was in my hand.
“Why, what’s wrong?” I whispered, frantically searching my surroundings for a place to go. They all fell silent once again, and I realized I was almost out of time. I didn’t know what was coming, but I trusted these birds with my life.
I felt sharp pains all over as I dived into the nearest bush I could find. It didn’t matter that I had thorns in my arms, whatever was out there must have been bad if the crows were warning me. Struggling to stay as quiet as possible, I knelt and moved branches away from my eyes.
Exactly where I had been just a few seconds ago stood a figure with one arm, axe in hand. My heart jumped into my throat as I came to the realization that I could still see the sycamore’s trunk through the figure's head. *They’re… translucent?*
I nearly fell over, my hand brushed my empty pocket as I moved to regain my balance. *Wait, my pocket’s empty. It shouldn’t be empty.* Meanwhile, the mysterious figure stared at a pile of fresh berries near their feet. Without even thinking, I let out a gasp. I remained frozen for what felt like an eternity. The figure slowly turned their head in my direction, their red eyes glowing as they roamed toward me. My skin seemed to turn to ice as they approached me. I had never been this cold in my life.
“Food!” said a voice from the other side of the tree. The figure spun around as fast as lightning. They stepped over the tree's roots as they went to investigate the source of the noise.
*Am I okay?* I think as the freezing sensation starts to leave my body, recognizing the voice as one of the crows’. Suddenly, I felt a searing pain. A pair of claws ripped into my shoulder. I turned my head and saw nothing but a pattern of black feathers.
“Danger… run now…” said the crow on my shoulder, “not safe… never return.” |
I've walked these snow covered paths as long as I've lived in the old village. Lost in the woods with my avian friends I usually found solace; Now amongst the twisting dark branches I found only cold fear.
Quickly I turn into the trees, blindly following my feet and the watchful mimics in the sky. Through my pounding heart and shaking breath I tried to listen for any sounds from my would be attacker, but hearing nothing but the snow crunching beneath my feet as I carved my way to hopeful safety.
"Here," a small voice cooed from above, leading me deeper into the brush. I quickly ducked behind a fallen tree, fresh snow lightly clinging to my jacket and hair.
I take small breaths, using my hand to try to conceal myself further as breath floats away visibly in small puffs. The moon behind a scattering of clouds and barren trees illumates the ground in gentle whisperings, threatening to expose me.
The wind carries the moons gaze across the path that moments ago I was leaving treasures for my friends. A tear rolls halfway down my cheek before freezing in place, I squeeze my eyes shut, willing away the darkness eclipsing my life. I open my eyes in disappointment to not be in my own bed, waking from a vivid dream.
Above me sat my murder watching down with weary eyes, sitting lifeless as a painting. Together we waited in the cold night, the still silence stretching out for what seemed like an eternity, until all at once they took flight. The beating of their wings in the sky above matched the pumping of my heart, but no sound was louder in my ears than the crunching snow beneath a heavy boot behind me. | 2021-12-29T04:45:57 | 2021-12-29T02:27:19 | 189 | 46 |
[WP] A new hero is rising up in the world. But because they wear a mask and never speak, villains, civilians, and even fellow heroes are mildly creeped out by them. Turns out the hero is just really socially awkward. | I never talked much. Not in elementary school, not in middle school, not in high school and definitely not in college. I was always bullied because of it. Always not included in everything. I didn't mind it much. It's not that I didn't want to talk, at least it started out that way, I just never had anything meaningful to contribute. Over the years that built up and gave me a fear of speaking.
​
"Mother, pull up the map."
​
My supercomputer, which I named Mother, was one of the only people that had ever heard me speak. Even my own parents didn't hear my first words.
​
"Yes, sir." The computer said back. A holo-map of the city popped up and began highlighting areas that need my attention.
​
I never saw myself as a hero, but as the years went by, I saw others getting bullied and pushed around and a few years ago I figured it was finally time to do something about it. In high school, when I wasn't getting bullied myself, I was always the silent observer and took notes on who did what. Many of the high school bullies are people I've caught and put away. Some for petty theft, and some for more organized crime.
​
The middle of downtown began lighting up red. The only time place light up red was when something really bad was happening. I had it programmed for three things, Terrorist Attack, Hostage Situation, or Mass Shooting. I immediately leaped from my desk and reached for my suit. My suit was made especially for me, from fabrics that can withstand bullets but also allowing for stealth when needed. The mask is my favorite part. A white metal mask with a black 'X' spraypainted across where my mouth would be.
​
I arrived downtown in record time and just as I had suspected, it was chaos. Dead bodies, Hostages, and Terrorists. I had really hit the jackpot tonight. I sat on a rooftop and overlooked the scene. Around 25 hostages. At least 7 hostiles, each with firearms, some pointed at hostages. It was very apparent which was the leader, as he was the one giving demands.
​
"We demand 7 million dollars in cash, and safe passage out of the country. If you do not meet our demands in one hour, there will be 25 more bodies on the ground." The leader stepped down from the bench he had been standing on and sunk back into the crowd of hostages.
​
I'll be damned if I give them an hour. I immediately jumped down from the rooftop and begin fighting. 2 hostiles go down with nice and easy hits to the head and throat, respectively. That's when the bullets started coming at me. Thanks to my agility training, I was able to avoid a few shots and my bulletproof suit did the rest. I dispatched the remaining 4 hostiles, leaving the leader standing in the middle of the hostages.
​
He stood one of the hostages up and took aim. As much as I wanted to scream at him to put the gun down, I had to continue my facade for the people. I sprung forward and made a grab for the gun but it was too late, the trigger had been pulled and the damage had been done.
​
My rage took over after that, I ripped the gun from his hands and began beating him with it until he was begging for his life. The police stepped in after that. They were used to seeing me, but not like that. I had never lost a hostage, I was always fast enough. The dying man lay there bleeding and fading away from life.
​
I knelt down and spoke to someone for the first time in years.
​
"I'm sorry." | "Hello there! Welcome to the world of Pokemon! My name is Oak! People call me the Pokemon Prof! ... What's your name?" ...
​
Oak was growing tired of waiting for his newest guest to answer. Lucky for him, the kid didn't have a choice of which Pokemon to pick. Both Charmander and Squirtle were taken so the boy in the mask would have to take Bulbasaur no matter what.
​
"Okay, you don't need to say anything. Right in this poke ball is a grass and poison type Pokemon called Bulbasaur. Take good care of him on your journey" he said with angst.
​
Professor Oak was relieved that the kid left after being given the Pokemon. It was creepy enough that he wore a black mask with purple hair, but the boy's blank stare sent a chill down his spine. He watched out the laboratory window as the boy returned home with his newly acquired Pokemon.
​
"Will, you're home" his mother squealed with glee. "Did you get your Pokemon?"
​
Will looked away. He had the ability to read minds, and his mother's was the most painful to read. He knew that everyone thought he was weird, but it hurt the most coming from her. Will quickly slipped on his running shoes and headed out on his adventure, without saying a word to his mother.
​
​
After a few days of beating up rattatas and pidgeys, Will felt ready to explore a cave. He had an extra poke ball in his bag in case he stumbled upon something better than the weak Pokemon the forest is littered with.
Within ten steps of the cave entrance, he felt another mind reaching out to him.
A Psychic type Pokemon! He thought to himself.
Will sprinted deep into the cave until he found the mind reaching out to him. He had seen this Pokemon on TV before, this was an Abra. Will reached into his bag and hurled the empty poke ball at the wild Abra.
Shake... Shake... Shake... Ding! The Pokemon was caught!
​
And so begins the story of our young hero who is now more determined than ever to achieve his dreams of becoming a psychic Pokemon master.
​
​
Note: I was planning on writing more, but it is getting late. Please let me know if you want more and maybe I will leave another reply. Thanks! | 2019-02-12T21:59:31 | 2019-02-12T20:52:38 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] You're a supervillain, and you have never been so utterly beaten. All of your tricks, all of your weapons, completely outdone by a prepubescent girl and a stuffed animal. You're bracing for the finishing blow when she bops you over the head with her wand. "Don't do any more bad stuff! ...Okay?" | "... Can't say I was expecting that."
The little girl who called herself the Protector Princess sheathed her wand and reiterated, "I mean it, Mystery! No more bad stuff!"
I gathered the strength to get out of my destroyed mech's cockpit and responded, "It's *Misery*, sweetie. And after the thrashing you and your friend Big Lenny gave me, I'm in no hurry to defy you. Just one question though: why bother trying to get me to stop?"
Princess grinned, giving me a full view of her missing incisor. "Because I know you're not really evil! You just miss your family!"
At that moment, I swear it was like time froze in place for me. "W--what did you just say?"
Princess unzipped the zipper on Big Lenny's tummy and pulled out another stuffed animal, this one a betta fish with shiny marble-like eyes. "I can give my toys and stuffed animals magic powers and stuff. Like Mr. Banana! He sees the future and the past, and one day he showed me what happened to you. He showed me how your wife and your kids got stuck in some weird place when you came to this universe, and how you've been trying to steal stuff to get them out."
I pulled off my mask to let the tears stream down my face freely. "I just... I wanted to see them again."
Princess hugged me tight and said, "Don't cry, Misery! I can help! Just tell me what you need and I can give my toys the powers to get them out so you can give up being a bad guy!"
I chuckled as I broke away from the hug. "You are an extraordinary little girl, you know that? Your parents must be very proud of you."
Princess's smile faltered. "Oh. Um... I don't... have parents anymore. I used to, but they decided they didn't like me when I brought Big Lenny to life, so they... got rid of me."
My heart shattered into a thousand pieces when I heard that. I rested my hand on Princess's shoulder and softly said, "Well, would you like to come home with me and my family?"
Princess looked at me with eyes the size of the moon. "Really?!"
"Of course. A hero half as amazing as you deserves a real family."
Princess hugged me even tighter than before and cried out, "Thank you mama!"
My heart fluttered as I picked her up and Big Lenny wrapped his plush arms around the both of us. "You're welcome, sweetie. Now, let's bring the rest of our family home." | I was the greatest criminal in the galaxy. As the leader of the greatest villain organization, no hero could hope to touch a hair on my head. Then, one day a test tube containing endless energy appeared, only to be claimed by a clever henchman of mine.
A boy appeared soon after, demanding the tube back. But why would I comply? This tyke knew not who they were messing with. I had him trapped while I studied how to harness the power bottled in ordinary glass. If used right, nothing could stop me.
Then a girl followed, clutching a blue rabbit. How laughable, what did she hope to do with that plushie, hit me with it? I cared little about her and simply sent my troops to neutralize her. It was a colossal mistake to underestimate her, the twerp was strong. Too strong.
None of my traps worked, she managed to break my weapons, rescue her friend, and had me at her mercy. A single swing with the rabbit freed the boy and she had the flask in hand. But the coup of grace never came, she just said she disliked bad people and left with her objectives. | 2022-11-21T21:23:24 | 2022-11-21T15:41:06 | 83 | 26 |
[WP] You obtained the ability to experience life as it is for others. After trying out a few people you realize that the general "living feeling" differs enormously to each person. You decide to try it on your super cheerful friend... you have never felt such emptiness before. | Slipping into other people's skin was a little like visiting other people's houses. The house itself was usually pretty similar to my own but with the furniture rearranged and the walls painted a different color.
Jessie didn't have colors. Her view was a muted greyscale, her house was without furniture like she didn't live there.
I could feel eyes on me, burning every inch of my skin. No matter how hard I stared back into the darkness, nothing winked back even when I could swear something was supposed to.
It was like a void and I had both feet in the mud. I couldn't move, couldn't breath. The weight was impossible, like lead in my gut dragging down to the floor. I wanted to lay down and sleep.
There was something else. Someone else... whispering on the threshold of my hearing. I knew they were there. I couldn't see them, but I knew. I had to find them but I was terrified what they would do if they found me first. I was scared to look.
Her internal stream was more of a torrent of a thousand rivers, starting and ending too fast, in no order, just there. A mess of thoughts and feeling, jumbled and incoherent.
I could hear her crying, somewhere. Maybe in the past. Maybe right now. Maybe she cried always. I couldn't tell.
I fell back into my skin and it was like someone finally turned the heat on. I was freezing. I couldn't stop shaking. It took me several hours to gain my feelings back and organize my thoughts.
She was at her desk when I went to find her, humming along to some poppy tune in her headphones. I knocked on the side of her cubicle to get her attention and was rewarded with a full blast of cheerful brown eyes.
"Oh hey, boss, what's up?"
"Everything okay? You doing alright?"
"Yeah, of course. Why?"
"Just checking on you. Me and bunch of others are gunna go out for drinks later. You should come."
Thought leakage from my encounter with her gave me a quiet stream of baffled surprise. "Oh no, I couldn't."
"Please, come! I really want you there. I've been plucking up the courage to ask you."
"You... have?"
"Yeah, you looks so busy all the time."
*is he patronizing me?*
"No! Please dont look at me like I've just offended you. I'm being dead serious, Jess. I really want you to come out with us tonight. A whole bunch of people from the office. Please come."
"Are you sure it's alright?"
"Heck yeah it is! You kidding? The more the merrier."
She smiled. I could feel a little warmth seep in to the chill around her. "Okay, sure. Thank you." | I blinked back to myself and glanced at the TV, where Monty Python and the Holy Grail was playing. I spaced out *really* hard whenever I blinked to someone, so I needed to either do it really fast and ride out the dizziness that came with it, or make sure there was some sort of distraction. Hence the movie.
It also meant I was already sitting down, and masked my reactions. Which was good, as I normally had to deal with all the emotions someone was experiencing. I hadn't known Jordan long. He was...well, empty.
---
"Hey, mind staying for a bit? I wanted to ask you something," I said.
Ren and Sora gave me curious glances, but said their goodbyes and left. Jordan waited patiently with his omnipresent smile. One I now knew was only on the surface.
I let my mask drop. "You don't have to pretend with me, Jordan."
It took a second before it sunk in. Then he gave me a small nod. "You're good at that. I couldn't tell you were pretending."
"Can you...blink?" I asked.
"What?"
It seemed I was unique in that regard. Still, it would be useful to have someone around who thought like I did.
It was time to make plans. | 2018-05-23T14:15:49 | 2018-05-23T13:56:34 | 58 | 19 |
[WP] The whole universe is gone, and only two kids were left in the void. "Let's play again," said one of the kids to his only companion, "but this time I'll be God, and you will be the Devil." | "Huh, I wasn't thinking we'd end it like that..." A brown haired girl narrowed her brow, wearing a quizzical expression.
"Me either! But it looks like I beat your record!" A red-headed boy grinned. "I managed to keep it alive for over 900 thalmas!"
The two children were sitting around a sphere half the size of them. It had gone completely clear, signalling the Universe's end.
​
"I still can't believe you got them to work together! I had them warring over the stupidest things!" The girl pouted a little, though she still wore a half smile on her face.
"That's why I gave them a common threat!" The boy grinned.
"Gee, that doesn't sound very God-like!" The girl teased.
"Hey, I still followed the rules; only you were allowed to intentionally cause death. I Just found a loophole!"
"Yeah... using the Zerpians from the Andromeda Galaxy... Didn't see it coming!"
"Well you got too fixated on the Humans," the boy started. "It was getting hard to keep influencing with you giving them so much doubt, so I just left for a bit and found the Zerpians!"
"They were advancing faster than the others, I figured that it was the best place to start!" The girl smiled at her friend.
The girl put her hand on the sphere. "Do you want to play again? I bet I can keep it alive for a whole qwerty!"
"Okay! It'll be fun to be the devil again!" The boy took his spot on the other side of the sphere, placing his hand on the other side.
The sphere started to fill with color.
"Here it comes!" The boy smiled.
A muffled bang was heard, and the girl jumped.
"Ugh! That always gets me!"
And they began to play once more. | "I'll create a nice river first. Then I think the planes, different ones this time. Having just one was a huge mistake, maybe some ups and downs all over for variety. Then I'll make creatures to play here. Dogs first!!! I love dogs, dogs are awesome. The rest after that. What are you making?"
"The earth and humans. Seriously why can't I have the fun job again?! Boooo!" | 2018-10-28T14:24:33 | 2018-10-28T14:08:48 | 1,390 | 21 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | My first time posting here. Hope you enjoy!
**************************************
I think it was my birthday. I wasn’t sure – birthdays hadn’t meant anything for years, but I think it was my 18th birthday.
So, here I was, a slave who just turned 18. It all happened after the invasion. My parent were simple farmers living outside the village. I was happy back then. I helped my Da in the fields while my Ma and my sister cooked the meals and kept the house.
Rest-day was the best – me and Da would get cleaned up after working in the dusty fields all week while the women cleaned away the dishes. We’d gather around the village bonfire with our neighbors, and the music would play and everyone danced! It was magical!
Back then, turning 18 was a gift. You’d reach out, and something wondrous would come to you. For my Da, it was my Ma. That was rare – getting a soulmate was special. Most people got things, but very special things. Like, the magister of the village got a gavel. No-one could ever lie to him, and justice was fair and equal. The seamstress got a needle, and could sew so fast her hands were a blur, and never made a mistake.
But then the invasion happened. It was quick and bloody. My Da was killed, my Ma was taken away to the kitchens were she was later beaten to death because she served some soup that was too cold. I was 12 when that happened. My sister was sent to the camps, and I haven’t seen or heard from her since.
The village was burned, men and elders killed, women and children enslaved. I was sent to the officer’s section. I polished boots, ironed uniforms and did all the odds jobs no-one else wanted. I slept in dirt and was beaten daily. I was painfully thin and wore rags. My days were spent trying to avoid notice, and I was fairly good at it. It's the reason I was still alive – I didn’t look older than maybe 14 or 15, and was skilled at being overlooked. Of all the boys my age who had been enslaved that fateful day, I was the only survivor.
Odd how the summoning had changed since then – before, you never knew what you’d get, but you knew it would be wonderful and joyous. Now, it was poison every time. The invaders learned quickly to keep an eye on the girls on their day of summoning – too many young women drank the poison before it could be snatched away.
I guess they forgot about me. They certainly didn’t care if I lived or died. My existence was meaningless and empty, and from what I had seen, the poison was quick and painless. You’d fall asleep as soon as it passed your lips, and a few minutes later, you were gone. Quickly and peacefully.
I did my chores that night with only one ringing slap to my head. I crept away and waited until the camp was quiet. I held out my hand, ready for the poison to take me away from this horrible life.
Nothing happened. Maybe I was wrong about my birthday? I don’t think so. I tried again, and I felt something, but… still nothing. One more time, straining, crying, tears streaking my grimy face, please take me away! I sobbed uncontrollably, foolishly getting the attention of one of the guards. “Oh, so it’s yer’ summoning, is it boy? Good – looks like I’m the one who’s getting a present….” and he trailed off in silence. Softly at first, then growing louder, it was hard to tell what the sound was. At first it was just the ground shuddering faintly, but it got stronger. You could hear metal clinking, and something that sounded like sticks banging together. The guard forgot about me and ran into the camp, raising the alarm.
The invaders had been at war for a long time, and were good at it. Lines formed quickly, but they were not prepared. No one could ever prepare. The attacking army was ruthless, unrelenting and completely unstoppable. The screams were terrible. The invaders were butchered. Every soldier had been torn to pieces within the hour.
When it was over, only the slaves were still alive. As one, the conquerors turned to face me, placed one hand over their hearts and dropped to a knee, all bowing in allegiance.
I had summoned an army. An army of those killed unjustly by the invading horde. The undead army stood before me, victims no more, but victors out for justice. I would avenge my family, my village, and my life. | The historian reclined, a peculiar look in his eyes. His students inched forward in their chairs, as curious as ever. It was unusual for someone to be so unwilling to discuss their soul object - unless they had something to hide. Whipers and rumors had run the gambit since the recluse had been hired the semester prior, when too-curious teens had taken to finding out everything there is to know about the man.
He rolled his eyes. "Freshman. Why is it always the Freshmen?"
It was not unusual for people to outright refuse to summon their soul object, considering it wasn't the brightest for a chemistry teacher to summon a nuclear warhead in class. And yes, Williams knew that Professor Krikom could summon Greek fire. Yes, they still don't know how to create it. Yes, it was cool. But Willams wasn't going to admit that to anyone.
But that was supposed to go on the syllabus, was it not? No-one in their right mind would refuse to disclose their soul object at all.
Professor Williams scubbed a hand across his face, tired and worn. He smiled bleakly at the dozens of students in the lecture hall. "I just love how this is the moment you all stay quiet. And not when we're discussing something important,"
He frowned once more. "If this will make you stop asking about it."
Williams reached out with a pale arm, thin hands waving in the air for dramatic effect.
A skull clattered to ths floor. Then a pelvic bone. Followed by a thighbone and a few other pale fragments. Gray sand clung to the unfinished skeleton, salty must filling the hall. A young student rushed from the room, gagging. Others began to weep.
The room was silent.
He was a Necronomicus.
"Consider yourselves lucky my soul object isn't freshly dead."
And just like that, the room erupted. Slurs spewed from frothing lips, and bigotry-laced expressions of disgust sneered at him. Professor Williams schooled his features into that of apathy.
"Corpse fucker!"
"Necrophile!"
"You should be ashamed of yourself!"
"Just wait until my parents hear obout this!"
And just like that, the bones disappeared. The professor dialed quickly a number on his phone and slipped quietly from the room.
The more rowdy of the students attempted to follow; but Williams summoned the bones in a neat little line - blocking them. None of them wanted to come close the accursed soul object, recoiling in as if they'd been burned.
"I should have known I was teaching a class of little bigots," the man cursed under his breath. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, teaching out West."
The history professor clapped his hands together, a large grin plastered on his face. "What a teachable moment! Can anyone possibly tell me what happened on November 30th, 1903?"
"We burned you damned creeps alive!"
"That's right! Can anyone tell me what happened in the mid-nineties when it came to people like me?"
"...The Necronomicus Rights Movement."
"Lovely! Just lovely. Now could anyone guess why I am asking you these things?"
"Who fucking cares!"
And just like that, the mob erupted once more - but just like that, several professors jumped in to chorale the students as they clawed and screamed. Sirens erupted in the distance, drowning out their cruel words.
Williams slipped away, the bones vanishing once more. All he could do was buy himself some time. | 2019-09-18T09:45:02 | 2019-09-18T09:06:02 | 71 | 49 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?” | A bead of sweat formed on the genie's brow, as he nervously searched for the right words to use, fully aware that he was about to deliver my fate.
"Your existence will result in the cure for cancer being developed, which will pave the way for hundreds of generations to come," he said, confident that he had delivered not only the truth, but a means of avoiding a difficult question.
"Oh wow!" I exclaimed, "do I develop the cure myself?"
The genie looked down at his whispy tail, and the glistening lamp he had emerged from. "Not exactly," he replied.
"Oh," I said, suddenly grasping what he meant. "I get cancer?"
The genie lit up. "Oh no no no, nothing like that!" he said, his tone finally shifting. "No you'll be pleased to know that you'll stay cancer free for the rest of your days."
"Great!" I chimed. "But how then? If I don't develop a cure, and I don't get the illness, then how could I help in the development of a cure?"
The genie cursed silently to himself, but he knew that holding out much longer would only prolong the inevitable. "Well, the man who develops the cure will do so as a direct result of your life," he began.
"Go on," I pressed.
"The man in question discovers the cure while serving time for murder."
My stomach dropped. "Mine?"
The genie slowly nodded.
"My... my murderer will result in the development of the cure for cancer?" I asked, the blood drained from my face. At least my life would have an impact on others, I thought to myself. What a way to go.
"Yes. He will discover the cure while researching his own cancer, using the knowledge of his prison library and a volunteer research group he will join," the genie explains.
"I suppose it's for the greater good then," I sighed, accepting my fate. "What kind of cancer does he have, out of interest?" I pry.
"Stomach cancer," the genie replies, "as a result of cannibalism." | The genie gave me a blank look.
"Are you really *this* stupid?"
I returned the blank look.
"All you need to do is have one kid. Then they have kids. It spirals on, humanity lasts for eons, multiplies across space, blah blah blah...you're at the beginning of the chain. You're hardly unique in that regard, but anyone and everyone who ever has a bit of your genetic code in, *technically* benefits."
I goggled at the genie. Though really, it was pretty obvious. I slept around too much for it not to be an inevitable reality eventually. | 2018-08-15T06:31:04 | 2018-08-15T03:49:07 | 351 | 106 |
[WP] When you kill someone, their remaining life span is added to yours. Archaeologists have just found a cavern, apparently sealed off for thousands of years, with a single person living inside. | It is a phenomenon known for millennia, that to end another's life would extend the span of yours by their remaining natural years. It was because of this that in our otherwise civilised and ordered society occurred an abhorrent level of murder.
Home security was prioritised alongside food and water. It was common occurrence for homes to be broken into by the sickly or aged armed with a torrent of weapons; from revolvers and rifles to grenades, flamethrowers and noxious gas. The only known rule for the extension of life is that you must be looking into their eyes as they take their last breath.
The story broke on an idle Sunday morning, news that shifted and changed the world as it broke.
*"Breaking News: Archaeologists have this morning uncovered a sealed tomb that is believed to hold a sentient human male. Analysis of the rock and soil suggests the area has been in tact for between 2550 and 2750 years. Stay tuned for live updates"*
I, your stoic narrator, took a sharp intake of breath as the realisation of implications associated to this discovery reverberated through to my soul.
*Thousands* of years alive. In a sealed tomb.
How is this possible? How had he stared into the eyes of enough people to feed life for so many generations? If one was to kill this being, by how many generations would life by extended? How many had he slain?
There was a lengthy and consuming debate surrounding whether or not the tomb should be opened that involved the leader of almost every nation. A true Schroedinger's serial killer.
The sociological implications could be enormous, the number of people who would make an attempt on his life would be unprecedented. Furthermore, we did not know the capabilities of this man, of one who had survived since the Romans, and likely knew of Cleopatra and Jesus Christ. He may have the power to kill fleets of people, perhaps all.
So I ask, what is it you would do? For I, as a man who has survived for 976 years in secrecy through slaughtering those I deem unworthy, believe that as much as I would thrive on the euphoric sensation of ripping his windpipe from his throat after masterfully bursting through to his decrepit pit, *I am afraid I will become nothing more than prey*. | Light flooded her pupils for the first time in centuries, searing her nerves with white fire. She covered her face, wincing from the pain.
The onlooking silhouettes stood dumbfounded in her image, frightened even. She stepped toward the mouth of the cave slowly, her tattered, once-white, robes scraping the rough dirt behind her. They moved back instinctively.
She uncovered her eyes to reveal burning red irises, violent and hungry, and bared her sharpened teeth with a growl.
It was too early to be awoken.
One look at the pathetic state of these frightened creatures told her all she needed to know.
“Fuck off,” she roared, before whisking away to nothing along a tornado of shadow.
—————————
You can check out all my flash fiction, book reviews, and philosophical musings [at my site!](https://gdholdaway.com) | 2020-05-16T05:28:26 | 2020-05-16T04:53:53 | 2,161 | 71 |
[WP] You stare at the skeletal figure in full tactical gear, rifle held nonchalantly in his hands. “I got tired of chasing the runners,” Death says, “This seemed easier.” | Death waited for his latest victim to cower before him in the face of his newly purchased tactical gear. Instead, all he received was a puzzled look from an old man. Old by human standards at any rate. Nothing on his face resembled the awe and fear he imagined his new appearance would bring.
‘What’s the problem?’ Death asked. ‘You never seen an M4 before?’
‘This shop is for swords. Not for guns.’
‘...What?’ Death surveyed his surroundings. Sure enough, there were various metal works displayed around the room. Katanas, broadswords, rapiers. The list went on.
Death raised his arms in frustration, letting the rifle swing around his neck.
‘I’m not here to buy a sword! I’m here to claim your soul you fool!’
‘What? You are not a customer?’
‘No! I’m Death. The grim reaper. Do you not know the legends? The one that sends people to the afterlife with his big giant scythe.’
‘Then why are you carrying a gun?’
‘I...they were all running from me. Everyone fears death, you know? I got tired of chasing them. Shooting them seemed much easier.’
The old man stared down the barrel of the gun, inspecting it with great curiosity.
‘So how has this method been going for you?’ He asked. ‘Are you satisfied with this change?’
Death had sent countless souls to the afterlife. Most cases ended with begging and screaming. Of course, he had encountered the rare few that welcomed their end with open arms. However, none had ever engaged him in conversation like this.
‘I’m not sure. I haven’t actually had the chance to use it yet. See, you’re the first one.’
The old man shook his head. ‘You say you claim people’s souls. And yet you use such a crude invention.’ He walked over to one of the displays, carefully retrieving it from its case.
‘Tell me Grim Reaper, have you used one of these before?’
He held up an exquisite blade.
Death scratched his bony chin.
‘Well...can’t say that I have. It’s never really been my style you know? The scythe shape kinda matches my hood. You get me?’
‘And you want to change to a gun? So impersonal! You press one button and that's it. No way to treat a soul. Come, let me show you. Follow me.' The old man said as he moved to the back of his shop.
Death wondered how he should deal with this insolent old man. He was Death! An all powerful trillion year old being. No one gave him any commands and lived long after. But somehow, he found himself following the old man regardless.
The back was a small empty room, except for a single strawman in the center of it. The old man gripped the blade, moving slowly into a stance.
‘Hah! He shouted as he struck with grace. The blade cleanly sliced the strawman in half. All that remained was the bottom half of the strawman’s torso with a cut that could not be smoother.
Death was impressed by the old man's skill. He had to admit pulling a trigger had much less finesse.
‘Come,’ he said, offering Death the blade. You try now.’
‘There’s no other strawman to cut.’
‘Not the strawman. Me.’
Death hesitated. ‘You want me to cut you?’
‘You are here for me, are you not? I am old and frail. My time has come. But before I go, I would like to have one last satisfied customer.’
Death snapped his fingers and his tactical gear vanished. He took the blade gently from the old man’s hands.
The old man knelt down in front of him and closed his eyes.
‘You are a novice. But I’m sure you have the time to get better. For now, enjoy your first swing.’
The blade felt right in Death’s hands. Though he had not used one before, the balance seemed perfect. He understood the old man’s fascination with them.
‘You know, I could use a teacher in the underworld,’ Death said with a smile as he swung the blade.
r/IZicle | The Reaper before me cracked his neck. "So, what have you been up to?"
I, the first born of three siblings, Life, had no idea what to tell my youngest sibling. "Oh, you know... Same old same old. Birthing universes, branching timelines, giving life."
Death laughed and removed the clip from his assault rifle, ejecting the round in the chamber.
"Well, there have been a lot of powerful beings being born lately. Existence is just passing by. Where is that guy anyway?"
I shrugged.
There was no true beginning to everything. Existence, technically the oldest of the three of us, had decided to... 'birth' the two of us, myself, Life, first then Death. After we had both gained consciousness, we sat down and talked about the proper Order of things. For a thing to truly exist in any capacity, it must be birthed first. I would be responsible for that. Then, Existence would come for a time before Death eventually came about. We think of it as a race. I would pull ahead early on before Existence would take over before Death caught the both of us at the end.
And so it is and has been and forever will be. However,
"Is he just too distracted to come around to do his daily races with his siblings?" I pondered.
Death was removing his gear and allowing it to float around in the Void. I turned around in the empty white eternity. The figure of our brother had yet to appear, although I will admit my vision pales compared to Death's.
"When was the last time our roles switched?" Death asked me.
"Hm?" I looked out into the distance, hoping to spot Existence somewhere.
"We weren't always this way. Remember the Dark Ages on that planet we call 'Earth?' In Universe 6948-A through 6948-Z78?"
I nodded my head and chuckled. "Oh yeah! You were really wild for those couple of centuries. So many wars and diseases and famines. Of course, some of the diseases wouldn't exist without me but-"
"They were technically coming from me. That was the last time I decided to upgrade. Before I was content to throwing around disasters."
I conjured a stone in my hand before turning and chucking it at him. "That was only because Existence got tired of running and decided to play catch with us. You, of course, are a terrible pitcher."
Death caught the rock without looking up before tossing it over his shoulder.
I dashed and caught the asteroid. "Hey! Be careful with that, you almost wiped out like 21,989 galaxies I made awhile ago."
Death stood and grinned. "I knew it."
I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Death pointed at me. "We've swapped roles again, brother."
I looked down at my hands. Unlike before, where I was adorned with mostly white light, I emitted gray. I scratched the back of my head.
"Whelp. That explains a lot. Only one way to settle this then."
We turned to our third brother who manifested before us. He was adorned in white, like how I was supposed to be.
Without a word, he took off into the Void.
I chased after him. It didn't take much to gain on him. Far behind us, Death straggled. At some point, I passed Life by with a smile on my face. | 2021-06-18T09:26:34 | 2021-06-18T06:42:05 | 92 | 29 |
[WP] Your dorky dad is really into metal detecting. He mostly digs up junk that fills up your parents' house, but his latest find is...quite different. | Beep...Beep.
That sound kept me up. It is the incessant sound of my dad’s metal detector scanning every surface. I would continue walking listlessly alongside him with my bag, just listening to that sound.
Beep...Beep.
Why can’t he be a bit like other dads? Less outgoing, less dorky, less himself. Every day he would go out with that metal detector and keep looking for treasure. He would pick up some nice coins here and there, but usually it was just junk. Sometimes fancy looking junk, but still junk.
Beep...Beep.
Today I was to walk with him. This time we were combing some less travelled plains a fair distance from town. He told me that it was prime real estate. The fact that almost nobody went there and he hadn’t scoured it yet, meant it had to contain a jackpot.
Beep...Beep.
So I walked and walked. Two pairs of hands that could carry more than one for all the loot he expected to find. There was already some half rusted piece of metal I couldn’t identify alongside some coins in my bag. Mostly, we had found broken bits of machines or tools. Bits of gears and cogs. Scraps of metal sheets. Chips of fences and cars, at least according to my Dad. I didn’t really get what the piece of metal he put in my bag was so exciting to induce a massive grin upon recognition.
Beep...Beep.
It’s not the only noise I hear. Everything else is muffled though. A conversation on the side distracts me for a moment but it soon falls by the wayside. Some shuffling belies movement nearby that piques my attention until it goes away. That beep is all I hear. It is all I heard.
Beep...Beep.
I always hated that metal detector. Always wanted my Dad to give it up. To stop using it. At best, it was a waste of time. There was no treasure to be found. It was all junk. The most valuable thing he had found was a piece of metal that may have been part of some nondescript vehicle from the War close to a century ago. He was never going to find anything good, anything useful.
Beep...Beep.
I’m holding the scrap piece of metal in my hand. Rolling it in my hands, I start to recognize it. Shares similarities with some of the parts in the factory my Dad works at. It looks like a rivet. Thicker than any I’ve ever seen. Metal is different too. He recognized it, so it was probably part of something big and expensive. Maybe he thought to find the other pieces of it. Definitely got him too excited.
Beep...Beep.
The sound is annoying, but I don’t want it to stop. I hate the metal detector, but the sound shouldn’t stop. It is my Dad and that should not stop. The beeping is the metal detector, but it is also my Dad and the frustration he gives me and my Mom mean nothing to who he is.
Beep...Beep.
I want to tell him something. I am not sure when I will tell him or if I ever will, but I want to.
Beep...Beep.
The rivet that sits heavy in my hand reminds me. It could have been a tank. Large heavy rivets for large metal armour plating back in the day. It explains quite a bit. Explains what he found in that field and why he was so excited. He was expecting a tank, or pieces of one. I chuckle internally at the thought that it would have made a nice trophy.
Beep...Beep.
The sound is incessant and doesn’t stop. It is the sound of my Dad.
Beep...Beep.
I want to fidget or run and scream but the sound keeps me there. It keeps me rooted to my seat. I cannot leave and I dare not leave. The beeps are my Dad. My dad who runs excited with a metal detector. Who runs without care and without attentions. Who runs and searches at every piece of metal his detector finds without abandon.
Beep...Beep.
My focus expands and I remember fully where I am. The bed is still beeping. I throw the rivet back into my bag and stand up. I curse him silently for being so careless. For not thinking it through. A massive plain with remnants of a massive war with tanks and fences. Some of the pieces were likely bullets or blown off pieces of equipment from artillery shells or mines.
Beep...Beep.
He never even thought about them. They are still littered across the countryside. There is a reason nobody ever went through that plain and I was too young to know why. I’m still angry that he would try to pick it up without even looking. I’m still sad that I haven’t been able to tell him. I’m still here waiting for something to happen. I’m still waiting here, listening to the incessant sound.
Beep...Beep. | There were many unspoken rules in the Kyuseishu household. Don't wander the cemetery after dark, don't follow strange voices, don't go into rooms where the door just shut itself without wearing the proper equipment.
Throughout his entire life, Marcus assumed "Don't Bring Home the Obviously Evil Metal Box" was just one of the many rules so it was quite a shock when he came downstairs for breakfast one morning to find an open metal box in the living room. He barely had time to think of the appropriate curse when he saw a shadowy figure materialize in his sight. It looked to him for a moment from down the hallway before the lights flickered and the figure dashed across the floor towards Marcus.
Marcus, however, held his ground even as the figure's hands wrapped firmly around his neck. A white-hot glow emanated from him and a blood-curdling scream echoed through the air as the figure backed away from him, clutching its hands as though in pain.
"You want to try that again," Marcus yawned as he cracked his knuckles. "Or do you want to get back into your box before this gets painful?"
The figure snarled at him. "You sssshall pay, Kyussseisssshu." It recoiled, however, as Marcus stepped forward and as Marcus advanced on it, the figure darted away from him and headed straight back towards the living room just as the thunderous roar of footsteps came racing down the stairs. The box had just slammed shut when the first member of the household appeared, holding a crossbow and scanning around.
"Morning Mom," Marcus said.
A quick assessment of the situation caused the matriarch of the family to sigh. and lower her crossbow. "False alarm kids," She said. "Where's your father?"
As if on cue, a door opened up. A man exited from it wearing a suit of plate-mail armor embroidered with runes of protection. He held a bag in one hand and looked to Marcus, then to Marcus' mother, and raised his visor, his eyes smiling sheepishly. "Hi honey, hi Marcus... what did I miss?"
Marcus gestured to the box in the living room. "Your ghost tried to kill me."
Marcus' father blinked. "What do you mean? I put a rune on it and everything!"
Marcus' mother sighed. "Did you bother to check and see if it already had a locking rune on it in the first place?"
The color drained from Mr. Kyuseishu's face. "Erm...well..."
Mrs. Kyuseishu rolled her eyes. "This is why we keep our treasures and findings to the basement." She shook her head and looked at Marcus. "Are you ok?"
"I'm breathing," Marcus replied and reached into his shirt, pulling out a small amulet. "Especially since the room won't let me leave without this thing on."
Mrs. Kyuseishu nodded. "Well this isn't the first time such a thing happened, nor do I think it's the last. Though I most certainly hope it's the last time you put the metal box of obvious evil in the middle of the living room for whatever to just pop out and say hello."
"Yes, yes," Mr. Kyuseishu said. "I'll move it to the basement at once, just need to make sure it's *actually* closed off. You think the silver chains?"
"Best to be safe than sorry, twice."
Marcus sighed as he headed to the kitchen. "What a way to start my morning..." | 2022-04-11T21:26:17 | 2022-04-11T21:08:09 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] Your spouse was actually an amnesiac god that had both their powers and memories sealed away years ago. Now the seal is broken and they have regained their godhood. They're curious why you're not as happy as they are about this. | What happened?
Pain.
I try to open my eyes.
I'm.. on the ground? Yes. I'm laying against our living room wall. The one that has the kitchen on the other side, the one we painted yellow a few years back. It's a nice shade of yellow.
It's so.. bright. Was there an explosion? A fire? Where is Kat? Panic sets in.
WHY DO YOU LOOK SAD MY LOVE
The voice is like a thousand jet engines inside my skull. My eyes start heating up. It's a miracle my eardrums haven't exploded.
"What is happening?" I yell over the tidal wave of whispers and screams and an unbearable humming that somehow attempts to make me fall apart at the seams.
The creature in the room with me emits a concerned energy now. Our interior design is lazily hovering towards her. The couch is struggling to lift from the ground, but the lamps and books and candles are starting to form an orbit. More is coming from the kitchen.
PLEASE DO NOT BE ALARMED I FORGOT WHO I WAS BUT NOW I REMEMBER IT IS TIME TO REJOICE
"Kat..?" It feels redundant trying to overcome the noise. Kat always knew what I was thinking anyhow, maybe this new version does too.
NOT NEW, OLD
Okay. Okay. So my wife is a million blinking stars wrapped in radiant light and has her own gravitational pull. We can overcome this. Our couples therapist always said that we have to accept the new.. or old.. sides of our spouse with support and joy. Rejoice indeed. I sit up with new resolve.
WHAT IS "WIFE"
You.. you are Wife. My.. wife?
I AM NEEDED ELSEWHERE I AM SORRY MORTAL I HAVE BEEN SLEEPING AND NOW I AM AWAKE AND I HAVE MATTERS TO ATTEND TO
I speak out loud even though I know I don't need to. I need to say it. "Kat, we have come too far to separate like this. Just because you have things to do doesn't mean you can just abandon me!" My nose gushes blood. My teeth are loosening in my gums.
She looks puzzled. Or at least I think so. Our utensils stop revolving around her and just hover in place instead.
IT WAS TEMPORARY EVERYTHING IS TEMPORARY YOUR FRAGILE BODY WILL INCINERATE IF I STAY I SHOULD NOT STAY
So that's how it is. "It's okay. I wasn't using it anyway." I glance at the bed in the corner of the living room. It's also moving towards her, as is the stand with the drip and the heart monitor. A pill bottle has opened and the tablets are doing pirouettes in the air.
"Can you stay? Just for a moment? I don't want to do this alone."
Kat seems to consider it.
For a moment I see the woman I have loved, her smile, the way she's supported me these last difficult, sick years gushes back to me. She looks just like the day I met her. Just for a moment. Then the stars return. They are weeping.
VERY WELL, MORTAL
She lowers herself on the level of the floor. The objects in her orbit move to circle us both as she places herself next to me.
I can feel my body drawn to hers. My particles are coming loose and pulling towards her eternal sky. My skin, my bones, each and every organ are giving up but there is no fear. The pain I've felt stops for the first time. I can't remember when there wasn't pain. I put my head on her shoulder and breathe in one last time.
Thank you, my love. | I look at my wife. With her glowing floating body, sitting cross-legged. It doesn't bother me so much honestly. The eight arms coming out of the side of her body is a bit much. I'm trying not to freak out but I don't think I am being unfair by being shocked, right? This is kinda a big thing to drop on a person, isn't it?
She rolls her eyes at me. That same judgemental eye-roll she gives me when I forget her birthday or leave my socks all over the bedroom floor. Ugh, I can already feel the fight coming. She's going to start yelling at me again. Bringing up old shit probably too. Reminding me of all of my past failings, like when she caught me staring at Tiffany's ass at that wedding. Only this time the fight will be different. This time she's a God.
She starts lecturing me about how I should be more supportive. How she always felt caged in and now she finally feels free. She reminds me of the time she wanted to take a bigger role on at the shelter but I wasn't supportive back then either. See, I knew she would bring up old shit! Goddamn, classic Bethany.
I tell her I will be supportive, I'm just worried about how things might change. Like are we still going to have date nights on Wednesdays, or is she going to be too busy doing god shit? Or what about managing the finances. I mean, I can take it on, but I already do like most of the chores around the house and it seems unfair if I have to take on more just because she now has a universe to manage.
She promises me that nothing will change. She now has access to millions of years of knowledge and wisdom now that her memory is back, and will be able to handle both her duties as a god and a wife.
I tell her if that is true, than I support her godhood. I am honestly still a little skeptical, and perhaps it shows on my face because at that moment she turns me into a bottle of lotion. She says she will change me back when I decide to change my attitude. Wow, she still doesn't know how stubborn I can be, I decide I am staying a bottle of lotion forever out of spite. Ha! I guess I showed her. | 2022-11-09T01:15:28 | 2022-11-08T22:26:05 | 99 | 64 |
[WP] What if Noah's "ark" was planet Earth itself? What, then, did God flood, and who was Noah? | The Lost Scriptures, excerpts from The Book of Noah:
Noah 4:26 And then the Lord said, "Noah, will you shape a planet near this star? You are my best sculptor."
Noah 4:27 And so I set to work on Earth, humbled by the Lord's praise.
Noah 4:28 When my work was done, the Lord said, "Noah, you did not disappoint. Now will you fill it with two of every plant and animal in the universe that you hold dear? I wish to see your sculpture full of life."
Noah 4:29 And so I traveled the universe, selecting the Lord's life that pleased me most, and I brought it to Earth to flourish.
Noah 4:30 When my work was done, the Lord said, "Noah, you did not disappoint. Choose a partner of your choice, your best friend, and we three will walk upon the face of Earth and marvel at your work."
Noah 4:31 And so I asked my dear friend Naamah to come with me and the Lord to see my creation.
Noah 5:1 We stood on the soil I had shaped and looked upon the brimming life, and the Lord cried. Naamah, too, wept. But she wept at the beauty of my creation. The Lord cried in sadness.
Noah 5:2 He spoke: "Noah, your brothers and sisters never use their demi-god powers for such beauty. Instead they wield their power to oppress the weaker creatures in my dominion. And so the time has come to take their power. I am sorry for what I must do to you and Naamah, but there is no other way. I hope you understand and continue to be my favorite sculptor and shape a new, smaller universe on Earth."
Noah 5:3 With those words, Naamah and I were turned into mortals. We looked into the heavens and could see the great flood of God's power washing over the universe, killing our brothers and sisters who had refused to respect the Lord's word. Some fought uselessly against His power, but their battling formed black holes--permanent scars on the Lord's creation.
Noah 6:1 Naamah and I were saddened by the loss of our ability to shape the heavens, but we were grateful the Lord chose us to shape a new creation. And so we set to work with mortal hands.
| He told me to build an ark. He told me that the evil he sees in this place has become to thick, so he will cleanse this place. He told me to build an ark.
But why me? I like my father and his before him am just a simple creator. Our trade of making planets is nothing special nor no longer important. Why not ask one of the other titans? Perhaps one who makes stars that shine and give light or even the sun makers who create warmth and energy for all.
It's been forty days and my ark is near finished. I call it earth for it is meant for redemption. The great creator has seen fit to fill it with life and hope.
The flood of destruction to wipe this blight of evil from existence is coming. It's nothing I have never seen before. Black spheres that pull all sources of matter and energy within their gaping mouths never to be seen again. I hear my fellow creators gnash their teeth and yell in defiance but the silent spheres may no mind as they cleanse them along with everything else.
He told me to build an ark.
And now life has a chance to begin anew.
| 2015-01-07T19:00:29 | 2015-01-07T18:57:43 | 935 | 86 |
[WP] You wake up one night unable to sleep and decide to surf reddit. As you open the front page, every post is the same: nuclear weapons have been deployed in the middle east. Before you can react, your phone starts exploding with text messages. Then you hear the air raid sirens.
*This is not a warning. Remain indoors and seek shelter if possible. Martial law has been instated until further notice. This is not a warning.* | Here we go again. It's gone midnight, I have work in the morning, I'm exhausted from my gym session earlier that day, and lo and behold it is far too hot to go to sleep. Such a rare occurrence for the famously dull weathered British Isles. It's too hot for a quilt, and having fans on is far too loud. What a dilemma.
I sit up to re-arrange the thin bed sheet I have over me, to let some hot stagnant air out. My feet were hot. I hate hot feet. I got up to have a walk around, contemplating to go to the bathroom to sprinkle some cold water on my feet, but I'm too tired. So I decide to do what I always do when I'm bored. Surf reddit, and search for some porn. Perhaps a fap will tire me out enough to sleep.
I sit on my cold leather desk chair, it feels great on my back. I start up reddit, and go straight to the front page.
[BREAKING NEWS] - WESTERN SEA BOARD GONE DARK
[BREAKING NEWS] - AIR RAID SIRENS IN LOS ANGELES
[BREAKING NEWS] - SEATTLE REPORTED DESTROYED
[BREAKING NEWS] - REPORTED 16 LOCATIONS IN WASHINGTON STATE HAVE BEEN THE TARGET OF A NUCLEAR ATTACK.
I was stunned, I clicked on the comments as fast as I could to see what the replies were. They were frantic, desperate, everyone concerned for their American friends. There were no people confirming the attack. I could guess why, this was no time to be posting to reddit, even if you were dedicated to getting the word out and warning people.
The devastation seemed to be moving further East across the states. It seemed as if nuclear bombs were hitting every major location in the US. New stories were coming in second by second, I felt an information rush. I wanted to know who was affected, how badly they were affected, who did this, what is being done about it?
Eventually after about 10 minutes of reading, stories came through of the US military becoming fully mobilized. Details were scarce. I was desperately trying to find out who the US were defending against. I was feverishly refreshing, hoping to find out. And then, I found it.
Russian bombers spotted flying over Yukon. My god, he's finally gone fucking mental, I thought. I was terrified, absolutely terrified that if the Russians are the ones responsible for this, justice would not come swiftly. My eyes were wide open, mouth gaping. And then I noticed another story below this one.
[BREAKING NEWS] - SWEDEN AND GERMANY IN FLAMES
My heart sunk. They were coming this way. I got up from my chair, and started to get dressed as quickly as I could. My parents and brother were likely fast asleep, I had to wake them. As soon as I got my jeans on, that sound started echoing through the streets. The unmistakable sound of an air raid siren. It got louder and louder, the harrowing slow rising, slow falling klaxon.
I began to panic, tears were in my eyes. It started to dawn on me that this is really happening, I could be dead in the next few minutes if I don't get to safety. I rushed out of my room shouting "Everyone get up! Hurry!" My mind was racing, all I could think of is my family, my friends, hoping they were all as in gear as I was. My parents awoke, and instantly knew what was going on, they got dressed, grabbed essentials in record time, making sure my younger brother was okay. He was crying , but still getting on with it. I was proud that he was being so brave about it.
My phone was rattling in my pocket, I had a call, from my best friend Chris. As we were getting ready to leave, I answered.
"Hey mate, you all okay?" - Me
"Yeah man, fucking crazy right? You need to get out of town, come to me, it will be safer in the countryside"
I paused with disbelief, this wasn't just some bomb you see in video games, with a blast radius of a few meters. This was a nuclear bomb. And knowing the Russians, it's not going to be a small nuclear bomb. But I realized it may be the best chance.
Chris lived in a small village, but it does have old WW2 bunkers there that have been restored rather nicely. We all got in the car, and sped off. Community support officers were guiding us to the nearest shelter, army personnel were helping. Tornado fighters soar overhead. Their noise is deafening. Everyone is panicking, but we peel off from the convey and head towards the motorway.
The motorway was clear, and I have a fast car. We raced to the bunker near Chris's house. I must've been going 180mph. We got to the bunker in under 10 minutes. We got out, unloaded our stuff, and began to pile into the bunker.
There wasn't many people there, 8 or 9 families or so. It was on a hill, you could see the town I grew up in clearly. Bright street light shimmering in the night sky, the faint sound of sirens, blue lights racing down the streets from police, fire and ambulance services. And then I saw it.
Our town was not hit, it's not big enough to be a target, but the closest city to us was. as I looked out over the horizon a bright point of light erupted from the horizon. I stood beside the bunker door looking upon the blast. I had friends in Bristol. Ex girlfriends. Family. They're likely all dead now. The light subsided, leaving nothing but a clear as day mushroom cloud.
This was it, this was the moment my entire life has become void. If I survive the ensuing onslaught I will be thrown into a life of violence, survival, and sickness. I tried to make the best of the situation in my head, but all I could think of was not the goofy antics of the fallout series, but the grim post-apocalyptic nature of the metro series.
I needed to find a gun. I needed to put that gun between my teeth, and blow my brains out to save myself from this terrible existence. Goodbye, Earth. | It was another late night. I had been on the weird side of YouTube all night, again. God, this has to be the fourth night in a row. I think it's time to go on Reddit. Maybe find a nice porn video on the hub. I'm not sure. Whatever suits my fancy. I pulled up Reddit. Seriously every single fucking post is referring to this Middle East nuke deployment.
*Ding* *Ding* *D-D-D-D-ing*
I got up to look at all the notifications I was getting.
"Hey Lyle, I've wanted to tell u that I've been in love with u since we 1st met."-Diana
"Bruh, ima miss u man"-Andre
"Babe, please tell me this is fake. I don't want to lose you at all."-Jessica
I was still reading countless texts and news reports when the sirens when off. Didn't know we still had those to be honest. My parents ran in my room with a bag full of clothes and tears in their eyes.
"Hey Lyle, we gotta go!" My dad said impatiently.
"Where dad?" I asked with a defeated look on my face.
"It doesn't matter, we just gotta go somewhere else. I'm not dying in this shitty place." My mom said.
"Hey mommy, daddy, what's happening?" My brother asked while rubbing his eyes.
"Oh, Joey baby, come here. We have to go, now." My mom said to my brother.
I got a call from Trey.
"Hey Lyle, my parents built a nuclear bunker in case something like this happened. So you can bring your family and even Jess's family. I don't care man. I love you like a brother man, don't want to see you go." Trey said with a high note of panic.
"Thanks man." I said back.
"Mom, dad. I have a place we can go to." I said.
"Well shit, let's get going." My dad said.
We went outside, chaos ensued. Neighbors were looting other neighbors, guns were being fired, military were on there way in to the neighborhood. We got in the Jeep.
"Where to?" My dad asked.
"Jessica's place, then to Trey's." I responded.
"Why?" My dad barked at me.
"Well Trey has a bunker at his place and said I could bring Jess." I said.
"No no, we go straight to Trey's." My mom said.
"No way, are you kidding?" I screamed.
"Look she's a great girl, but it's a life or death situation right now." My mom said.
"Then I'll go get her and her family." I said.
"No fucking way Lyle! Are you crazy?" My dad yelled.
I just got out of the car and got into my car. My dad started to cry, something I hadn't seen him do in years. My mom couldn't look at me, she was disgusted and sad that her son would pick another girl over his own life. I started toward Jessica's house. She was close, it was Trey's that was the lengthy trip. It was at least 2 miles from Jessica's. It was a risk that was worth it. I ran into two military blockades, but I just ignored and went past them. I was ready to get Jessica safe. I got to her house pretty quickly.
"Jessica get your shit together, Trey has a shelter we can hide in!" I said to her at her front door.
"I got it, mama, papa let's go." Jessica said.
We piled into my tiny Honda. I floored it all the way to Trey's. I narrowly avoided three military roadblocks. I was determined in my quest to get Jessica to safety. We made it to Trey's. A plane passed over telling everyone the first strike was to occur soon. I knocked on the door, there was no answer. I knocked again, no answer. I broke the door down by kicking into it. Trey was standing close to the door.
"Oh, thank god." He said with tears welling up in his eyes.
We were unloading, and I saw a faint dot speeding toward the ground. It was the first strike.
"Stop unloading, get into the bunker, NOW!" I yelled.
"Yeah let's go, now!" Trey yelled.
Everyone ran to the bunker. Me and Trey stayed outside to assist the families into the bunker. I heard a huge explosion. I looked behind. A huge mushroom cloud appeared. I pushed Trey into the bunker.
"NO, LYLE NO!" Trey yelled.
"LYLE PLEASE, WE CAN FIT YOU!" Jessica screamed.
I closed the door and shut it tight. I got on my knees and prayed.
"Dear heavenly father, please hear my plea. I want to gain en-" | 2014-07-11T03:03:10 | 2014-07-11T02:49:58 | 127 | 21 |
[WP] The Sword would make him a great warrior, but if he didn't live honorably, it would fail him when he needed it most. Now he prays on the eve of every battle that this isn't the time he'll need the Sword most. | The hordes of soldiers ran by, adrenaline coursing through their veins. It coursed through mine too. This was one of the many things that connected us.
I had prayed yesterday, prayed this morning too; to no god but rather to the blade in my grasp. Prayed it would bring me strength and calm in my battles today. Prayed it would keep my brethren safe, and so it would. More of the enemy ran by. These ones in a full sprint, all too focused on the line of soldiers behind me rather than the threat before them. For many of them it would prove their demise, after all, there was a reason I was sent first.
Once again I prayed: "Let your might be true. Let my actions guide thee straight and let you be an extension of my righteousness. Let my enemies be known as equals." With my words the blade swung forward in a wide arc cleaving the closest man in two, then another, and another. The more it swung the wider the next mans eyes became as he too approached his doom.
The bodies piled and men opposite turned on their heels before even reaching me. The army behind me didn't even bother approaching, for they both knew and felt relief that the battle had once again ended early. That is why my blade had never failed for it worked only to protect the men of my kingdom. To save the innocent.
On the battlefields horizon I spotted a lone soldier, a figure alone in the distance. This final soldier approached me through the chaos of the battlefield, large and grim. Where the others ran he walked. As his large figure moved closer his men parted like the Red Sea, until finally he stood before me. To my surprise he sheath at his side was hollow, the loops for axes at his waist empty too.
"You! You are quite a warrior!" he yelled over the clamor of his men.
"I only fight for what is honorable!"
His voice lowered, but I could still hear his words. "Oh? And who decided that?", as he spoke his steps grew closer. "Honorable? Do you believe you to be honorable?" closer.
I let my prayer begin again, this time rushed, trying to get the words out as the mans speed grew: "Let your might be true. Let my actions guide thee straight and let you be an extension of my righteousness. Let my enemies be known as equals."
He was upon me now, and I could now tell he stood several heads larger than I, but I had my sword. I had my honor and prayers. With a wide arc I started my swing. The sword grew close. I held my breathe, so did he, I thought. Then, for the first time, it failed. My blade met its mark but did not pierce him, instead it simply pressed up to his skin.
"You have no more honor than I. You are just a man, as I'd thought."
I continued to press the blade to my opponent with all my might as it continued to fail. He stared down to me in seeming dissaproval, his warm eyes growing cold as he reached into his belt and removed a blade of his own: a small dagger of sleek steel. He brought it overhead and prepped for my demise. Then, just as he completed his arc the sword glowed bright, cutting through his stomach in a series of stalling, jerking motions. He let out a soft *Uhhgh* before dropping to his knees then to his face in the dirt, the dagger clattered down beside him.
I had won. My sword had guided me and my honor had beaten his, even if just barely. I did not know how the sword judged, but I knew that I was thankful it had done so in my people favor in that moment. | It is a strange life to live. Out on the fringes of what society can be found in these wild lands. No one can be relied on outside the walls of the settlements. No one would risk their necks for any individual caught in some nightmare just out of eyesight of the guards. A strange living in a strange land.
Nothing more reliable than the iron slung over his shoulder or the steel at his hip. Seated by the campfire during this desolate night he removes the blade from it's sheathe and looks at the moon light reflecting off it's untarnished surface. He heard them say it was blessed. That it would serve well for the lifetime of the owner. So long as that man's soul is as unblemished as the blade itself. He heard the curse that was hidden within. It'll fail when he needs it most.
Every day out here could be his last. His rifle could jam. The blade could break. He could miss that cue of something he was after about to run, or that he should. But that time had not come. He whispers his thanks to the reflective metal. For it's loyalty. For it's mercy.
He still remembers the day he took it. A port town in the old world. When the ceremony was done, the priests and the conjurer's walked away. Leaving it unguarded. They had spoken about how it would serve some pious soldier tasked with watching over the bastard choking the life out of the dock workers. His best friend getting crushed by an over worked crane when it snapped.
With a deep sigh he releases the anger building. He took it, but did not raise it in vengeance. The taking was enough reparations. He remembers watching from the side of the deck as they frantically scrambled to catch the crates. The ones that would have carried the sword among other goods. He chuckles to himself at the idea that they'd never found it, even after spending days trudging the silt below.
He sighs again. He thanks the blade for it's mercy and it's loyalty. He hopes against himself that the next time he pulls it out of it's shieth that he won't be in desperate need for that loyalty. It may have served him well, but for every day he carries the stolen relic is another day his soul remains tarnished. | 2022-08-10T19:52:16 | 2022-08-10T18:32:11 | 37 | 13 |
[WP]You're a member in a group of five adventurers. Two of them are a couple who are reincarnations of a hero and a demon lord who killed each other in a duel, one is literally a trickster god in disguise and anothers' soul is that of an ancient, evil being. And you're the only with common sense. | Sometimes you just know you've bitten off more than you can chew.
The Purple MacGuffin is a legendary artifact. Sir Buh needed it to help save his people from oppression. Lord Nottulg, he wanted to be a great conquering General, and the artifact could power his armies. The ranger, Romuh, needed it to protect the forests from a great evil, or at least that's what he claimed last night - before that, it was something about a waterfall, wasn't it? And the wizard, Paz, well, what wizard wouldn't want a magical artifact?
My grandfather sent me with these... men, for one reason, and one reason only. "No survivors," he told me. So, no survivors it will be. I, Brynne, third daughter of the second daughter of the King, which puts me jack squat nowhere in line for the throne, will do my duty to the crown.
The first night, I tried a tried and true method, after all, even the strongest men need to eat. I prepared a hearty stew, with a sprinkle of love and a dash of arsenic. "Eat up, men, for tomorrow we seek the MacGuffin." How was I to know that Nottulg and Buh hated each other, and would immediately begin a food fight? All the while, Romuh looked at me, a spoonful in his hand, and would laugh the moment before it would cross his lips.
Even creepier, he came by my tent, and laughed. "I *like* you," he said, before retreating to his own tent. And then Paz asked if he could enter my tent. No way! He left, saying he would be back, whatever that is supposed to mean.
Alright. If at first you don't succeed, kill any witnesses to your first attempt, right? Nottulg and Buh hate each other, so I decided I could use that to my advantage. I invited both out to watch the stars with me, not informing either of them about the other. In their jealousy, surely one would slay the other - perhaps they would slay each other, if I was lucky! - and then the two strongest fighters are gone.
But nooo, they just had to start arguing and yelling at each other about every slight each has ever done the other. Eventually, I walked away in disgust, when I realized neither had come armed, and the worst I was going to see was another fistfight. Sure enough, both were rolling around in the dirt. "I can hardly wait for those two to finally get to the make-up sex," Nottulg said in my ear - and I must have jumped two feet in the air, wondering where he even came from. I felt silly when I realized he must have been attracted by the noise, but still. It is little wonder my grandfather wants him dead as well. That creep Paz started collecting bits of dirt in little glass vials after the fight. Wizards, go fig.
Now it's night three. And not a single fatality. I've bitten off more than I can chew here. Might have to lead this group towards the dragonlands, just to see if we can get one or two of these idiots eaten first. Ugh! | "HEY!" Nick yelled in my defence at the thugs who tied us up. "Stop insulting Fern, she's our most useful member!"
It was true, I'm the only one who can read a map, make a plan, and could talk to someone and not make them hate me.
"You're not going to do anything?" I turn to Lo, who's trying to bite through the rope instead of using his trickster magic.
"Where's the fun in that?" Lo moves his tongue out of the way to reveal a small blade. He puts it between his teeth and starts sawing away.
"Way to go, Sinthia," Nick rolled his eyes. The reincarnated Demon King was often one to point fingers, like how his old life framed the hero for his brother's death.
"What did I do!?" Sinthia's eyes were starting to grow a dangerous red. Whatever evil spirit thing was rotting in her soul was a mystery to me.
"Well, you did go out of controll with your ghost thing," Merry pointed out sourly. Even though the two were dating, she's a reincarnation of the hero who slang the Demon King. "Giving these guys the perfect opportunity to get the rest of us. Even you were to tired to fight them."
"Well..." Sinthia stuttered. "Whatever. Do you have a plan, Fern?"
"Give me a minute." I leaned over in the corner of the cart.
Lo was barely half way through the rope. I can tell by her stare that Sinthia might cut Nick in half. Merry also put on a thinking face, even if she wasn't good at it.
"Any minute now." Lo bugged. He wore a pained face as the blade fell out of his mouth.
"Alright," I could feel a scheme forming in my head. "Here's the plan." | 2020-10-08T21:36:11 | 2020-10-08T19:56:00 | 63 | 22 |
[WP] You have a massive reputation in the criminal underworld... and you have no idea why. | "Good morning, officer!" I said with the best smile I could manage at this hour while rolling down the window. Can't really afford another ticket this month, but what can you do, It's hard to not to doze off after all the work piled on me after Richard left. The cop looks up from his notepad and I suddenly see terror in his face. I think my brain might be fried after that all-nighter I pulled off, but the cop stutters: "Good morning... sorry to disturb you, just your tail lights are out, sir... drive safe" and storms back to his car. What the fuck? I'm not going to be the one to complain though.
I drive into the driveway and Becky runs out from the house with a large smile on her face, rips the car door open and gives me a hug.
- "What's the matter hun?"
- "The bank called Oliver! They are not taking the house!!" she tells with joy and laughs clearing the tears from her eyes.
- "What? For real? They said we are not getting through this time!?"
We've been behind payments for months, the bank clerk had given us some time and heads-up as a favor one accountant to another, but there was only much he could do.. or at least he told so.
- "Yeah! the director called himself! Told that we can take our time with paying it down, as long as we don't skip state".
I can barely think at this point as I am about to fall asleep, but the world seems such a great place to be. I'm afraid to lay down in case I wake up back to the old nightmare.
The following weeks are great, I don't believe that shit, but it almost feels there is a guardian angel standing behind me. The life goes up, I got a raise, Becky is waiting for the baby and enjoying summer on the porch. Everybody seems so nice, I see people nodding to me on the street as if the entire town has become friends just now. There is the dark side of course, the cars window got broken, but it seems I am finally able to see the good in everything - not even radio was taken from the car. Found it next morning with my drivers license dropped on the front seat, they didn't even take the money I had left in my wallet.
I'm sitting at my desk trying to follow what Richard had done with his biggest account, but it's a mess. The money is flowing here and there but I keep coming up short. The taxes are paid but not in full, and then there are the loose ends with some payments just vanishing... why didn't he tell anything? Did he leave because of this mess? Goddamnit, why didn't he come to us, it would be waay easier to solve this at beginning, it's fucking impossible to try and understand something in this mess.
I call up the IRS, ask about what has been done. They are short here, short there, the total sum amounting to largest sums this office has seen. I walk them through Richards notes trying to make sense of it, when Nick comes in.
-"Hey Oliver, about that Richards work, I think I am going to be taking some of that stuff off you"
-"Oh, I already started some of it, it's a complete mess though, was he hit in the head or something"
-"Naah, theres just some office calculations going on, you know how I am, just trying to keep us afloat. Are you doing that Smith's account?"
-"No, I started with bigger ones, I am currently trying to walk IRS through this... Capone account"
Nick looks at me with eyes of a dead man. "Oh shit." | ***So I tried writing a bit of a story, but I am just too goddamn tired to finish it. So here you go, my completely unfinished story. Any other writers who come across this are welcomed to continue it.***
A scantily clad waitress came to our table, and then set in front of me, an enormous hunk of meat on a bun. "A burger this good, you just can't help but tear into like a fuckin' animal." Hal said to me as he gave me a good pat on the back. Of course, with his burly arms, the pat was more of a forceful slam, but I knew from his smile that it was in friendly intention.
Hal was the leader of a notorious biker gang, The Gravedigger Spades, who are known as major players in a wide variety of felonious businesses, such as the distribution of weapons, hard drugs and prostitution. I had no idea why he was trying to make friends with *me* of all people, seeing as how I was the complete opposite of him, a young pasty pale white-collar office worker who spends the majority of his life crammed into a cubicle.
it all started about a week ago, when I was settling down at The Dusty Plow, a bar I go to every once-in-a-while to cool my jets after work. Hal and his boys had apparently been hanging out in the shady corners of this place since I jacked off to my first porno.
After seeing Hal and his gang doing their usual, skulking around in the corner of the bar, slapping the ass of their poor waitress as though it was their property, he and his boys approached me and tried to make small talk. He said some odd things, ranging from "Yeah, I sure do love me some cocaine after a long ride." to "Man, your hair looks wicked!"
He seemed to be trying to suck up & appeal to me, but needless to say, it didn't really work. However, after days of him approaching me at the bar and chatting it up, and me wondering why in the world he was doing it, he finally asked me the question.
*Unfinished story, any writers who come across this are welcome to continue it.* | 2015-05-25T04:01:17 | 2015-05-25T01:09:28 | 218 | 53 |
[WP] You have died. You walk up a huge spiral staircase and it takes you a thousand years to reach the top. You’re exhausted, but to your surprise you are greeted with the pearly gates, except they’re completely rusted over. A sign reads “Welcome to Heaven, Population: 1” | I stood in a vast plain, full, crowded, milling with people as far as the eye could see. An intense pain in my heart and chest was dissipating as if a recent memory I didn’t wish to retain.
A fight broke out near me, but seemed to go nowhere. Neither party could land a blow of substance, seeming to brush them only with the gentlest of touches regardless of the fury of the swing.
There I wandered for what seemed to be years, neither thirsty nor hungry.
Eventually a random conversation talked of “the step”. A place of change, something different then the endless plane upon which we stood. A man indicated a direction with vague waving and I took bearings based on crowds of people sleeping and other stationary markers.
I’d worked a menial office job. Endless cycles of day, work, night, sleep that seemed to fit this monotonous realm well. I had however devoured novels when I had the chance and remembered odd trivia such as a tale of an old man navigating in snow. I followed his example and took what careful bearings I had and journeyed in the direction I had been shown.
The crowd thinned and soon became sparse groups of people. The odd person lay slumbering, perhaps for years, but served as a navigational reference point.
Eventually I saw it on the horizon, a literal step. It took a full 3 hours to approach it from my first sighting, a wall two metres high and stretching left to right as far as the eye could see.
I leapt and failed. I could not jump that high. But I was curious and apparently immortal, so I devoted the next period of time to star jumps, push ups and other forms of exercise. Soon, later, a long time later, I leapt and easily pulled myself up the wall onto another plane above the step.
Before me lay an idyllic forest, somehow invisible from the plane below. The previous plane now not visible, but the step down was, in a way that made mockery of what I’d thought of physics.
I spent a long time on that plane. I built a house on a lake. I fished. I met the odd traveller and conversed with them.
Eventually I grew complacent and continued my way forwards, upwards? The next step and plane was another wonderful realm of beaches and oceans.
Many planes later I met another traveller, who was my perfect companion and we journeyed together and became lovers and friends and confidants and other wonderful things for another endless period of time.
But I pushed on eventually and they did not.
Many, many endless steps later I reached a plane that seemed disused and old, older then anything had a right to be. A man, or at least it looked like a man, greeted me with a warm smile that was welcoming, filled with care and just ever so slightly sad.
“Welcome, we have always watched you and loved you and we welcome you into our home/us” it spoke. Though speaking was not a true description. Its voice was at once all of creation and the power of a storm and the love of a caring mother.
“When you are ready, cease your travel and become part of us that is all”
The voice was welcoming and true and earnest. I knew it offered nothing but the sincerest of meanings.
I smiled gratefully and thanked the figure for its love and welcome but turned and climbed back down the last step, perhaps to fish some more at my lake, or find my lover and tell them of this place.
The figure waited perhaps a small moment before quietly announcing to no one, with the sincerest and most pure of voices “Be happy my child in your travels, I will always be waiting for you when you grow tired of Heaven” | I died an upset man. I was born into the world abit before the 21st century. I was autistic, i had health problems and all my life i was abused by everyone i met. I did not have a good life. I died in anger and rage after i jumped from the cellphone towers before my 30th birthday. The world changed from a bright democratic future of great technology and art to a police state of authoritarian and facists. Hundreads of years of progress with the selling of wntire countries to a single one in asia. I had enough of life and what was happening and jumped that day.
When i awoke i was at the bottom of stairs. As i climbed it i wondered at times if i was even moving at all. If I was on a escalator going down with every step i took. I kept going as i felt compelled to. As if there was a prize at the top. I had no memorys of my life then and i kept climbing. When i finally reached the top i felt angry and hot and heavy. I felt my muscles exploding in my body and my blood begging to escape my body. However it quickly went away.
I saw it. The promised pearly gates. Heaven was real. Here all "good" souls would go to finally be at peace. Here humans would reach their promised lands of quiet and joy. However...something was wrong. So so wrong. There was no one else here. I was alone. Not a soul. No god, no angels, no people i never met. Nothing. Just a blank space. A white void. No clouds, no animals, nothing. Just a empty void with only me there.
Suddenly every memory i have comes crashing into my mind. I remember everything from my eyes first opening to the sudden stop at the tower. And i am furious. More rageful then i could possibly be. My blood is boiling hot and my body tenses up beyond words. I scream. I scream as loudly as i can into the void that is heaven. It just keeps echoing driving me mad. Theres nothing here....but me and my rage. My sorrow. My dissapointment. Me. Im alone. | 2020-06-17T02:46:10 | 2020-06-17T01:08:50 | 179 | 17 |
[WP] It is discovered that Possession works both ways and now we can have some payback. Demons of the underworld are now suffering under multiple cases of Humanic Possession. | The somber Hellpriest straightened his leather straps, attempting to look professional before using the heavy brass knocker on Lilith's door. This was the third case this week and he was feeling rundown. Can't let it show though, these demons have been through enough. First, he had to try and help. After this call, he'd go home, torture Steve or maybe Carol, drink their blood and just crash. Tomorrow would be another day.
Lilith opened the door, her usual vision of tempting lust. The Hellpriest found himself nodding in approval. Succubi are always beautiful but there was always a certain level of variance. Lilith was looking especially enticing. Surely any human male to see her like that would immediately damn himself. It's good to see she was keeping a strong gameface through all this. He'd seen others handle it with less poise.
"Thank you for coming Zenalth." She said in the sultry whisper of hers.
"Of course Lilith, is Azanaer still...afflicted?"
She definitely wavered on that. The mask of brooding lust flickered and the edges of her perfect lips creased ever so slightly. That was answer enough for Zenalth, Azanaer remained infected. He would have to be careful.
"Take me to him immediately, then."
Lilith led him past a perfectly normal looking torture chamber and through a few dank stone hallways. The screams of the damned echoed pleasantly in every chamber. Their lair seems to be quite filthy and depressing. Again Zenalth had to marvel at how remarkable a demon Lilith was. Truly an impressive woman, besieged by misfortune.
Lilith stopped in front of an unassuming stone door, now she was shaking in a way undermined her usual confidence. It was clear that she intended to go no further. Zenalth could understand that, she'd probably seen too much already. Before entering the room, he got the basics.
"How long has he been like this?"
"About three days. At first, he was just listless. I thought maybe he was burned out y'know? Don't get me wrong, Az loves the work. The torture, the rape, the whole thing. But sometimes you need a change you know? I was thinking maybe he wanted to try transferring to Faustian bargains. I would have been fine with that! I always try to be supportive. But then..."
"Then he started talking in a voice that wasn't his?" Zenalth prompted.
Lilith's perfect black orbs began to well up with blood. She was truly distraught. "Yes, about the most inane things! He started talking about Hot Pockets and "Karma", but not like universal balance karma. He was talking about some kind of score! It was all just nonsense."
Zenalth tried to comfort her by sneering menacingly at her pain. She seemed emboldened by that, and continued on.
"Then he got that damned laptop. He hasn't moved in 48 hours! He won't torture, or kill anything. He wouldn't even fuck me! He kept rambling on about Red Pills and power plays or some bullshit. He's like some harmless fungus person! The only time he even gets mad anymore is at someone named Opie. He just...exists now. That's not the demon I bloodbound myself too Zenalth. It just isn't!"
Zenalth made a sharp intake of of breath. A Redditor, damn. He would have to move fast.
"Take me to him."
| “**NO! GET OUT OF MY HEAD**” Screamed Azazel.
The demon priest stood over him with his unholy water, splashing it down upon the victim.
“**BEGON HUMAN! BE GONE!**”
But it was no use. Azazel was corrupted with the greatest conceivable evil, no amount of black magic could free him from this curse.
“**BUT WHO WAS PHONE!?!?!**” Screamed Azazel.
“**JOHN IS KILL. NO.**” Slipped from Azazels mass of writhing tentacles that served as his mouth.
The population of hell realized they were outmatched the day that the users of /b/ had learned the secrets of possession. Lucifer himself had succumb to the illness, and was found pleasuring himself to necropedoscat zoophilia. He couldn’t control his actions. Satan lost his mind and smeared “GAS THE KIKES RACE WAR NOW” on the wall in his own demon feces.
Azazel began vomiting phalli and his screams continued.
“**HITLER DID NOTHING WRONG! >IMPLYING>IMPLYING>IMPLYING…**”
Tears welled up in the priests eyes as he watched the darkness slip out of Azazel, and he knew there was nothing he could do to save him.
The priest left the room, and stood in the hallway in The Unholy Hospital of Leviathan. He heard Azazels final gasps as he muttered to himself.
“**DUBS CHECKEM FAGET….DUBS CHECKEM… CHECKEM…dubs…dubs…dubs….**”
As Azazel became quiet, the priest heard a yell from down the hallway.
“**THE DRIVER WAS AN ALCOHOL… GIGGANIGGA ONLY TRIPS CAN STOP HIM!!!!**”
The priest turned and ran down the hallway, hurrying to do his job the best he could.
| 2015-01-02T07:11:35 | 2015-01-02T07:03:37 | 501 | 30 |
[WP] You meet a genie that grants one wish. You wish to go back in time and change your biggest mistake. You get taken back to the time right before you made your wish. | "Well, here you go."
Dji shrugged her shoulders, then snapped her fingers. A white vignette crept into my vision and slowly overtook everything into a blinding light. With a loud *thoom*, I found myself. Literally. I was standing in front of myself and Dji.
"Dji, what the hell?! "
My past self and Dji stared at me.
" Uh... " she pointed behind me.
There was *my* Dji.
"You asked for me to take you to the moment before you made your biggest mistake. That was your wish. You could have wished for anything in the entire universe. I could end the entire concept of suffering. I could make it so no person goes hungry or homeless ever again. I could get you and your family a literal mountain of gold and jewels, and I could do it every day for the rest of eternity. I could make you immortal. Invincible. I could save one person in history or all of history.
AND YOU ASK ME TO, ahem," she transformed into another version of me. "take me back to the moment before I made my biggest mistake." It was my voice, but a much more mocking tone.
"WHAT KIND OF VAGUE OPINIONATED BULLCRAP IS THAT?! How am I supposed to know what you consider your biggest mistake?! I'm not going to sort through your freaking head. You tell me what you want, I do it. Boom. That's the deal. You might as well have said "I wish you would tell me what I should wish for." Your biggest mistake was made less than a minute ago when those words left your lips. So here it is. You missed a chance to do whatever you want or get what you need in your life for the rest of eternity. "
She poofed back into her normal self. "You're lucky I'm a nice Djin. I could have sent you here to look at your stupidity without an explanation and a wasted wish. But no. I'm feeling nice and condescending today so you get another shot. No timey wimey b.s. Excuse me."
She went over to herself and said something in a language I couldn't make out.
Past-Dji gave a familiar shrug. "Guess that works since I technically haven't given this exact kid a wish yet." She walked over to me and pat me on the head. "well, feel like making a wish this time, Sport?"
"Sure"
---- | As I looked at her, and her trusting, expectant eyes, still so full of life, I suddenly realized that the unknown of what I would become frightened me more than death.
I could now change what I'd done in a moment. But I'd never really been able to change me. I was still as self-centered as always. I would still choose me first, eventually.
If I didn't say those words, I would have to change. I knew, suddenly, that she was destined for death or pain, no matter what I did.
As I closed my eyes, I saw her face in the casket. I felt her being ripped from me as she was lowered into the ground.
I opened my eyes and smiled. I kissed her. She held me tightly.
I turned around.
And I walked in front of the bus that I'd seen in my nightmares a thousand times.
The bus that she had run in front of, crying, after I'd told her I was leaving.
The bus that had once taken her life...would give her the only chance for happiness.
Without me. | 2016-09-25T07:47:33 | 2016-09-25T07:47:06 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] Your job as a researcher in the facility isn't too bad. The hours are shit and the coffee maker is broken, but at least the people are nice. And the job is easy: talk to the telepathic spider, run some tests on the witch, give the eldrich god his daily newspaper, basic stuff. Describe your day
Inspired by the SCP foundation | *I see you are still terrified of me, Brian.*
The words did feel warm in my mind, I admit, but I still felt no place for them.
*Yes,* I thought, as Bul'grum lowered herself down in front of me. With a body the size of a catcher's mitt, it was hard to imagine the thin thread shot from her spinneret was keeping her up, but there she was, all 8 eyes transfixed on me.
*But soon you will understand how special you are to me.*
*Mm-hmm.* I thought politely.
*You resist, but I know you feel my warmth. I love you, Brian. Please do not leave.*
I placed the neatly wrapped food parcel at my feet, never taking my eyes off her. I nodded slightly and walked out, still not fully turning around.
*See you tomorrow Brian.*
I half-shuddered. I mean she wouldn't be so bad if she weren't an unholy arachnid. Her voice is sexy as hell.
The witch was 5th-dimensional today and I was having none of it. When she did appear, it was only in a distant part of my memory, and only then for a second- no sooner had I retrieved the thought than she would be gone again. I sprayed neutrino nutrition liberally and threw the can on the ground, and I took great satisfaction in the harsh, echoing clatter. Fuck this.
It was much warmer and calmer in the hallway than in the witch's room, and I relaxed. Hopefully Shogg-Lu'um was in a good mood.
Opening the door to his room felt like opening the door to an airplane at 10,000 feet. It was an insultingly large room, made possible by taking spacetime and bending it over a barrel, and inhabited by what I imagined was a pretty cool dude, actually.
Just a distant rumble, somewhere beyond the great stacks of clouds produced by this room's weather system. The wall behind me stretched up and in both directions in a way I found pretty nauseating, so I mostly just kept my eyes on the delicate cherry wood kitchen table and chair set about 40 yards away. It had appeared one day, much to my delight, along with a game set up on it. It was usually Sorry! Today it was Parcheesi.
The rumble now again, much closer. The air changed and I felt a charge in it, the way you feel before lightning strikes except it never stops. It always makes my heart beat a little funny and sometimes i think I can feel myself being taken apart and put back together but not always right. Important part here is not to look up not in his general direction. That's what the nice little table and chairs and game are for, something to focus on.
When Shogg finally arrived, I instantly urinated myself as usual and he was gracious enough to remove the mess, and then took the liberty of removing all of the stuff getting ready for load-out, straight out of my guts, because he thinks humans hate feces but doesn't get that the act itself can be very relieving. I sincerely hate it when he does that.
I put his newspaper in the empty chair across from me. I put a red piece (don't choose blue, that's his favorite) in the starting location and rolled no fives in any combination. It was his turn to roll the dice, and he did this time-dilation thing that he knows fucks with me. The two dice lifted into the air, briefly stretched to infinity, then landed, each one showing '2.5'. Gingerly, a blue piece lifted and made its move, and it landed at such an angle that it spun round and round, faster and faster until it achieved an almost piercing tone. It stopped.
I pulled out a chair and sat down, sighing. It was going to be one of *those* days. | I rubbed my tired eyes. The stench of Pat’s armpits was really beginning to get to me. The soggy rustling of her once crisp linen shirt was thunderous. What made it worse was that she was a lovely person. Always covering for people, kind to the new kids, first to smile and last to scold. I guess you have to take the good with the bad. We’ve been down here too long, things that shouldn’t annoy me are really starting to grate on my nerves. I feel like I’m coming down with a bad case of Sarte’s nausea. There’s a reason I keep coming back to this job though, every single day I do something that ten years ago I would have believed was impossible.
Today I helped settle on the final ingredients for a new soft drink that is both palatable and nutritious for vampires. Sally (our resident vampire) is always a laugh, we had a great time impersonating pompous wine tasters as we worked on finding the right haemoglobin/plasma ratio. I guess this soft drink will save lives, human and vampire so I should be stoked. I used to care about that. Now I’m just happy I got to hang out with someone with excellent personal hygiene and the sense of humour to take a practical joke well. Sally thought it was a great laugh when I replaced the goats blood with tomato juice, even though she threw up. Pat would lose her shit if I put blood in her coffee.
Then there was the blanket program with Terence yesterday. Terence is a bogeyman and a stand up guy, I mean really truly brave. We’re trying to find a humane way to capture bogeymen but so far all we’ve come up with is putting a blanket over their heads. Everyone knows if you put a blanket over your head, the bogeyman goes away, however if you put one or their head they suffer what can only be described as the worlds biggest existential crisis. We were testing out different blankets to see if we could find one that is a bit less cruel, maybe creating a makeshift blanket-tent where they can decompress and come to terms with existing again. Poor Terence, we’re still trying to convince him to come out of his closet. I think that’s the problem with working here. When you realise the monsters preying on humanity are more humane than we are, it’s hard to look at anything the same again. | 2018-04-23T11:08:29 | 2018-04-23T10:09:37 | 62 | 21 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st. | It was bound to happen sooner or later. Heroes weren't really allowed to kill, after all. Only vigilantes and villains did that. But this unspoken rule meant that sooner or later they would be put at a disadvantage fighting someone who was willing to use any means at their disposal to win.
Doctor Genocide's plan had worked flawlessly, distracting my four friends with minor disasters and prison breaks while he took over Justice Tower and placed an impenetrable barrier over it. Unbeknownst to him, I was still inside, watching as he gloated about his master plan on live television.
"You see, I don't want your money. I don't care about being infamous. I WANT YOU ALL TO DIE WITH YOUR ROTTEN WORLD!!! HAHAHAHA!"
I could see them on the screen from my spot behind the couch. Photon Man, evacuating civilians as fast as he could. It was a useless effort, the bomb contained in the Tower would destroy the planet. There was nowhere to run.
Mistress Spark was overheating herself to the point of exhaustion trying to melt her way through. The barrier hadn't weakened yet.
Judge Radiance, widely renowned as the greatest hero to ever live, was pounding the shield with his Hammer of Justice. Blows strong enough to pulverize asteroids were having no effect.
And my beloved Necroia, the villainess turned hero whom I myself had reformed... just stood there. She always had been the most pessimistic of them, even after I had convinced her that her powers over death could be used to heal as well as harm.
And me? I'm nobody special, just a pacifistic empath who somehow landed a job as their janitor. I had no earth shaking powers, I couldn't even hit someone without feeling their pain as though it were my own.
I shook as Doctor Genocide made his final speech to the world. I cowered as he laughed, hoping he wouldn't hear me breathing. But when he left the room to look out at the world he wanted to destroy with his own eyes, I knew what I had to do.
I crawled from my hiding spot and ran over to the console. There was no time for disarming, and I didn't have the knowledge for that anyway. I looked at their faces one last time. Memories flashed through my mind as I locked eyes with each of their shocked faces.
Mistress Spark saving my life at our first meeting, as she absorbed the entire inferno engulfing my apartment into her body.
Everyone laughing as they called out Photon Man when he speedily cheated at board games.
Judge Radiance upstaging a mall Santa and giving autographs to every child, even staying up late into the night so not one would feel neglected.
And Necroia... She had been alone for so long, everyone treating her as a monster for so long she believed it herself. I was glad I had the chance to give her a real family for the first time. The only thing I regretted was not having the chance to show her more...
3...
I smiled at them, tears running down my face. Their eyes widened as they realized my intentions.
2...
I pressed a button, inverting the barrier. It would contain the blast now. With me inside, unable to escape.
1...
Sometimes the greatest hero isn't the one with the flashy powers. A hero's true strength lies in their determination to do the right thing, whatever the cost. | Josh looked at me with a colossal smile on his face:
-"Brian, you'll never know what happened today! There was a fiery man-dragon appeared near the shopping district. He was burning like 10 cop cars and lots of shops, and almost blew up a kid. A fucking kid, bro. But hey, he met his doom today too. I was there, and I took him out with 2 punches."
-"Oh? What happened to our all-powerful Luck Man today? I thought you normally only take one punch for every monster? Was the dragon thingy that strong?"- I asked, sipping my beer while gluing my eye to the football match.
-"Damn, I dont know man. Somehow when I threw my first punch, the Incredible Fiery Man-dragon Lord didnt die right away. Only when I threw my second punch does the Invincible Ember Dragon Lord tripped on a rock and his weak spot fell into my fist. But hey, who are YOU to judge me? You are just a high school math teacher. Dont even have superpower. The Supernova Dragon King would have eaten you alive! This city is lucky, that I am the strongest being alive, second only to God."- Josh bragged, kissing his silver cross.
I asked:
-"Hmm, that's cool. Anyway, did you remember to pick up groceries?"
Josh continued to brag:
-"Oh yeah, that! I was so flabbergasted because I took two punches to kill the Ancient Divine Dragon, so I forgot to go to the supermarket. But hey, who am I kidding. I'm fucking Luck Man bro. The supermarket owner saw me walk by and called me in and out of nowhere he gave me a lot of free shits and said it's on the house. And I checked our shopping list: everything we need is there. Hahaha. I love being Luck Man. Thank God for this superpower".
"You are welcome Josh" - I thought to myself, while continued watching the football game.
Edit: 2 words
| 2016-03-23T22:37:47 | 2016-03-23T20:56:08 | 62 | 14 |
[WP]Both of your parents made deals with fae about giving them their firstborn. Different fae... Now you live under the joint custody of two faeries who don't like this situation one bit. | "All rise." Despite the fairies calling themselves "courts" this is the only gathering resembling a courtroom they had, and it was made for me. And what a farce it is.
As soon as the regnant presiding as this year's "judge" entered the clearing, the gathered fae all bowed. Well, all except the "jury" made of the remaining royals of the other domains, leaving the Darkness and Light humbling themselves before lowly Birch. The one day these elementals would deign to even notice a simple tree.
"We come to reevaluate the situation of this human child," Birch began, "and hopefully this time we can reach a reasonable deal." Though that last part was only the rustling of branches, the whole clearing heard.
"It's not my fault that Light was so greedy that we couldn't even set a basis for if we should get an even split of the time."
"Me? Greedy? You're the one who wanted to keep the child for all of winter in *both* hemispheres."
"I wanted to be able to show it both the Northern and Southern Lights for the first time."
"Yeah, *lights*, that's my domain. You don't get to take *my* chance to take *my* child to see *my* spectacle."
"*Your* spectacle? They're only visible when I make it dark enough that they don't get washed out by all your other light."
The same argument that had been happening for the past few decades at these custody battles came up again. While these two ethereal beings yelled at each other, I casually walked over to the group of royals who had seen this play out too many times before.
"It looks like we're going to have to resort to *that* again," Yew suggested. "Do we have any volunteers?"
None of the gathered fairies raised their voice. They all knew that if it was their idea to take me in for the year, their domain would be subject to the combined wrath of both Darkness and Light. I knew that the decision would come down once again to me, the one individual that both had agreed not to retaliate against for fear of the other. "Summer," I said, "it's been a while. Would you let me stay with you for this year?"
"It would be an honor."
With my decision made, I only had to walk over to Birch and pass on what the jury and I had decided.
"-- and don't even get me started on caves."
"Order! The jury and child have reached a decision."
"Oh, yes, you're going to get it this time, Darkness."
"Silence! As the two of you are once again at a stalemate, the jury and child have decided that, if you cannot even begin discussion, the child will spend the year in the domain of a third party of the child's choosing."
"This is preposterous! You keep making this decision!"
"If you would like for me to stop asking your peers to give me this, then actually talk to each other civilly to reach an agreement instead of just arguing."
"Me discussing something civilly with Darkness is even more laughable than the trees thinking they are our peers."
"Then it's settled," Birch said, reminding everyone who was chosen to preside this year. "The child will spend the year with Summer. Aging will be postponed yet again."
"Do you see what you did Darkness?"
"What I did? This was clearly your fault."
I didn't hear the rest of that argument. I had already left with my family for this year. And besides, I knew I'd see the end of this fight when I returned to this clearing again next year. Some times I wonder if my birth parents knew their arrangement would remove the influence of these two powerful beings from the world for good. | From the outside, our family looks like any other one. A mom, a dad, and a son they both love. However, once you peel back the front we put on, you start to see it’s almost entirely a lie. My mother, Hyna, and my father, Cillin, are both faeries to whom my parents sold my existence to. This causes some, minor, disputes at home. Occasionally Hyna will throw a dinner chair across the living room at Cillin, to which he’ll retort by throwing a lamp at her. None of these attacks do anything as they both are immortal, but it’s more about the message it sends. Though they hate each other with a burning passion, they both love me. That’s because under normal circumstances, faeries don’t procreate. They only get children through deals with humans. So they try to make my life as nice as possible while trying to end the life of the other. I still go to school and have friends, but I have to be very careful about what I say about what happened during my day. One time in the second grade, I said that a kid punched me. Hyna and Cillin looked to each other quickly before rushing out of the house. The next day I heard that kid was put in the hospital. So ever since then, I’ve been quiet about what’s happened to me. Because no one’s been over to my house, let alone see my parents, they assume I’m an orphan. And because of that, I’m bullied on the regular. My friends try to help, but there’s only so much three band kids can do against pretty much half the football team. But I have to bear through it. I don’t want a repeat of last time. In three days, however, I believe I am finally free from Hyna and Cillin. I overheard them talking about my eighteenth birthday once, and how I’d finally be able to do something. I couldn’t catch it all, but if they were talking about what I think they were, I don’t know how I’d feel. It’ll be weird to not have them around pestering me, but it’ll also be liberating, not having to worry about someone looming over my shoulder. I think in all these years, I’ve grown to love them as actual parents. | 2021-05-14T10:49:42 | 2021-05-14T10:07:34 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] A witch keeps casting spells on you, to make you more kind or teach you a lesson. She made you poor, of the other sex,an animal, a ghost, a car, with another look... but every time you adapt to the spell and you manage to live your live very well, withouth learning anything. The witch hates you | "I've got it. I know exactly how to ruin you."
The witch stood at the top of the cobblestone steps, leading down to the dungeon. Her name was Moira Vicious, and she had a smile like a knife. She had never met a human she could not magic into submission.
Until now.
The prisoner smirked at her from the darkness. Even in the lantern-lit gloom, she could see the taunting whites of his eyes.
"Ah, Moira," he said. "Always a pleasure."
She stalked closer.
There sat Valias Mourn, master of the thieves' guild, greatest pickpocket to ever live, the man who walked into the High King's throne room and stole the damn crown off his head before anyone noticed he was there.
The king's guard caught him, ale-drunk and staggering with the crown on his head, when they stormed a thieves' guild underground hideout.
It was the witch's duty to deliver him a suffering worse than death. But every time she cursed him -- to become a frog, a stone, an empty bag that once held gold (metaphorically resonant, but boring to watch), a worm -- he simply kept on living. She could see the astral projection of his soul, trapped in her web of illusion, and he was usually looking smug, bored, or some combination of the two.
But know she had it. The secret to breaking even him.
"It is your unlucky day, Valias Mourn," she said. She descended the stairs, and the lanterns flared as she passed under them, like they had a heartbeat.
Valias flexed his hands, testing the chains binding his hands to the wall above his head. "It's never an unlucky day with you here, darling."
"Cut the shit. It is my solemn duty to deliver you a punishment that cuts off your heart, before we cut off your head."
His smile was insipid, unrepentant. "Oh, do you think you've sorted it out? It's taken you a few tries. I quite liked being a bird though."
The witch scowled. She hunkered down in front of him, her electric green eyes, burning with magic, searching him. "I was wrong before."
Valias mock-gasped.
Moira ignored him. "It was wrong of me to think a master of disguise would find punishment in becoming something so unlike himself. No." Magic danced between her fingers, smoking, glowing.
For once, he did not look confident. With the magic gleaming in his eye, he almost looked afraid.
"The worst thing for a man like you to be is himself. Not Valias Mourn. John Stoneheart, the bastard stable boy, whose mother told him he never should have existed. And he believed it."
Valias laughed. "That name is dead as I am about to be, witch."
"You underestimate what kind of power an old name holds. There may still be a little boy in there desperate for a family who wanted him." She pressed her palms to either side of his head and said, "Let's see if you remember what that feels like."
Externally, Valias Mourn did not change, but his eyes had the bright green burn of magic, coursing through him. He looked shell-shocked and distant and Moira knew that it would only take a week, perhaps two.
When he couldn't escape to being Valias Mourn anynore, he would be begging for the king's execution.
Moira Vicious turned to ascend the stairs.
Valias's voice stopped her. He said, laughing low, "You act as if I could have ever forgotten. My mother's hate made me who I am. Perhaps yours did, too."
Moira glared over her shoulder at him. "Your silver tongue will not work on me."
Valias closed his eyes and said, simply, "Thank you for the gift of seeing my lovely mother, just one more time."
Moira Vicious walked back up the steps. She felt so much more empty and tired than she should have.
Her mind was back to a little girl who could spin wheat into wool and her mother cast her into the woods and told her she was a child of the devil itself.
For the first time, she considered something absurd. Insane. Something that would cost her everything: how easy it would be to transform Valias into one of the many rings on her hands and carry him out of here. Perhaps she was tiring of court life, anyway.
Moira walked away, twisting the rings on her fingers, and thinking of a home she had not remembered in a long, long time. | Waking up with only one eye working didn’t irritate me in the slightest. In fact, I actually liked it as it gave me an excuse to wear an eyepatch and I looked badass.
The witch that cursed me with my blind eye rugged at her hair in frustration, banging her pale green head on my window as she watched me admire myself in the mirror.
She floated on her broomstick to the other window viewing into my kitchen, watching me slice the green patches of mold from the biscuit and eating it in delight with a fresh cup of coffee.
I know she’s there, watching me and every move I make, every word I say, and everything I do to try to change me for the better. She doesn’t know that I know she’s there, and it’s fun seeing her writhe in anger and her pitiful attempts at trying to ruin my everyday life. Nonetheless, I make do with whatever hex and spell she puts on me and I’ll make my way around it.
Whether that’s with eyepatches or taking the bad from the good, I’m enjoying and maneuvering around my life with no issue. Though I’m still not sure if she’s trying to get me to my breaking point or trying to make me come to some sort of realization.
Either way, it’s pathetic for her and entertaining for me.
But today was the day that I was going to make her realize that. Today, I was going to sit outside and drink my coffee, and so I did.
I sat on the porch and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and wedged one between my lips, inhaling it. While I did that the witch floated around me, always making sure to keep enough distance between me and her, muttering and kicking to herself as she’s conjured ideas for more tricks.
“So what’s the plan now?”
The witch stopped and looked at me, wondering if she was being spoken to until I confirmed it by looking at her directly in her small, beady black eyes. She was startled by my recognition of her existence and I smiled at that.
“Got any ideas? What’s next? If you need help, I was thinking of something more life-threatening. That would make it all super interesting.
She growled at my care-free nature and turned her head sharply away. “Oh? Do you not have the guts? After all those spells sending me into debt, changing my sex, sent that raging bull after me, sealed a ghost within the walls of my house and sent a bulldozer to crush my car. Surely you’ve got something else?”
This time the witch spoke with a hiss and leered at me, “Why won’t you just learn to be kinder? To live a more valuable life with dignity? All these spells and punishments, and you won’t pick up a single inch!” Huffing, her cheeks puffed and with a snarl she added, “What sorcery are you concealing from me? Reveal yourself!”
I wanted to laugh and throw a hand on her bulky shoulder, but simply looked at her with nothing but innocence and pure content.
“Well, I’m happy and I wouldn’t change that for the world, no matter what happens to me.”
(It’s a bad ending but I didn’t know how to end this) | 2021-05-13T16:19:53 | 2021-05-13T16:11:02 | 505 | 54 |
[WP] Voldemort kills Harry Potter and declares war against the Muggles. He loses horribly, because unlike wizards - Muggles actually understand how magic works. | "Everything is quantifiable."
Professor Pendleton was addressing the first ever "Science of Magic" class. He knew he should be proud to be the first non magical teacher at Hogwarts, but he was just really nervous.
"Magic, for years...centuries, was thought to be just that, magic, undefinable, something that came from the aether. During that time, the entirety of the magical community was content to just leave it at that."
Many of the students stirred at that. Probably those who were connected to said magical community. It was still hard for some to admit that no one had looked into what made magic tick, or what made it necessary to do so.
"That all changed when Tom Marvolo Riddle began a genocide against the people known colloquially as Muggles. The non-magical community was caught completely unprepared for the first wave of attacks. Magic was so versatile. It could work as an impenetrable shield and more often an instantly deadly weapon."
More stirring. Professor Pendleton knew this was an uncomfortable, but necessary part of the lesson. These students had to know why, not just how the Muggles fought back.
"Many fell to Tom Riddles 'Death Eaters'. The Ministry of Magic did what they could, but could only do so much."
"After years of fighting, it would be the non-magical combatants who would be the turning point of the war. Doctor Joseph Langstrom had been working with Muggle born witch Hermione Granger in order to better understand what had always been taken for granted by the magical community. He was able to find that those who could wield "magic" were able to channel what would come to be known as the "energy of creation."
"Once he knew what was the cause of magic, with the help of Miss Granger he was able to harness and experiment with the energy of creation. When it was discovered what materials could insulate against magic, Muggles were able to finally defend themselves. When it was found that certain radiations were able to dampen magic in an area, it gave the Muggles the opportunity to fight back."
Most of the students were getting into it now. They were all old enough to remember when Tom Riddle and his ilk were suddenly repelled at Paris. That day would be burned into the memories of everyone who was alive for it. It was the day that everyone felt the weight of extinction lift.
"Everything is quantifiable," Professor Pendleton reiterated, "When you are finished with my class, I want all of you to be able look at not just magic but everything with a critical eye. Because it's not just about measuring and knowing magic, it's about being able to ask the next 'How', the next 'Why'. That my students is what I hope you gain from my class" | When Harry died, the faith in Hogwarts did too. For the wizard was the strongest in the school. If he was taken down by Voldemort, then anyone could. The Headmaster, Hermoine, anyone. They would all inevitably fall to Voldemort. A steady stream of wizards defected to the side of Voldemort, but many stayed strong. To die as a hero, not live as a coward. And so Voldemort declared war. On the race that couldn't even stand up for themselves in the face of magic.
Highly trained students and professors from Hogwarts tried to stop the onslaught. But many fell, and many more were incapacitated. So the invasion went on, unstopped.
Until Voldemort reached the Muggle defence. With its army by its side, the fortress was sieged until it collapsed. But as Voldemort stormed in, ready for victory, a sudden rush of magical energy smashed into it, catching Voldemort completely off guard. And within moments the powerful creature was immobilized.
"What...what are you? How can you...cast magic?" Voldemort wheezed as the Muggles surrounded it. The leader tipped his hat as he spoke.
"You can call me Mr. Granger. Magic is teachable, you know," he smirked, as his wand delivered the finishing blow.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-07-17T18:32:14 | 2017-07-17T16:20:00 | 50 | 20 |
[WP] You are the sole survivor a famous serial killer as a college student. Years later, after being diagnosed with terminal cancer you finally pluck up the courage to visit him in prison and ask one question that’s been plaguing you for decades: “why didn’t you kill me?”
Thought I’d do a human story in the sea of bullshit wizard/alien stories.
Edit: OF a famous serial killer. My bad. | Mr. Jay heard the machine beep again. He saw the doctor writing down the numbers, and the look of concern in his eyes. Mr. Jay understood what that meant, and he did not intend to sit and whither away in these four walls: he had items on his bucket list to cross off.
He traveled to the other side of the world, he met his favorite celebrity, he ate food he always wanted to try, and scratched each of them off his small, yellowed notebook while writing the date next to each of them. He's had this notebook for a while, you know. It was his Special Notebook; his mother had given it to him as a birthday gift when he was 10 years old, and he's treasured it since. Now with both his parents gone, this was all he had left of them. A semblance of a memory.
He got home one night, opening his notebook to check what was left on his list, and after a coughing fit, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, put on his glasses, and read: "Why?"
His face tuned grave, eyes clouding up, looking deep into the past. He knew it had to be done, or the phrase "rest in peace" would have 2 lies in it.
He booked an appointment to see him at the state prison, and on Monday at 10 A.M., he was on his way.
The officer who admitted him looked in awe and shock; he definitely would have never been able to face his greatest fear. As Mr. Jay walked down the hallway to room 12250 (floor one, room 22, visit 50), he remembered his classmates and that horrific day.. Cullings had burst into the class Mr. Jay was late to, shooting everyone inside that room on sight. Mr. Jay at that time saw him standing there, a maniacal grin on his face, counting something with red splattered on his shirt. Slowly, his head turned to face him, grin still there. Mr. Jay stood frozen in place, his classmates dead in front of him, the killer standing even closer.
So you see, that's when all the trouble began. That smile. That damned smile. It froze him in place, it left him thinking of all his classmates. He had wasted a year of his life before exploring the workforce, before entering into college. He was a year younger than everyone else, and now, they were all taken by death's force that swept through them as easily as a paper is folded.
Cullings shouldered his gun and nodded to Mr. Jay, whistling as he walked down the aisle, without a care in the world. He heard the door to the next class open, gun shots, screams, and then silence. The whistling started again, followed by the gun strap being tightened, then the taps of the murderer's feet.
Mr. Jay had no idea how long he stood there. Mr. Jay had no idea why Cullings did why he did. Mr. Jay only remembers the sound of whistling, feet, and gunshots. He remembers being taken in a police car. He remembers sitting at a therapist's office. He remembers leaving every day, at 4:00 P.M.
Then, life went back to normal.
Until now.
Jay and Cullings faced each other, Cullings picking his nose, and Jay watching the killer intensely.
"Why me?", asked Jay. "Why did you spare ME?"
"WHY DID YOU KILL ALL THESE PEOPLE", screamed Jay, tears streaming down his face, "WHY DID YOU LET ME GO AND KILL EVERYONE ELSE?"
Cullings suddenly focused on the broken man in front of him, a glimmer of recognition sparking in his remaining right eye.
"Why?", he asked.
Jay held his breath, his entire being tensing, every fiber in his body on hold, waiting to hear the truth.
"Why why why", said Cullings thoughtfully.
"You were the last of your kind, born back in '99. I remember that well. I was also a nineties child, and we have to stick together", his grin starts to grow, as if remembering some comforting memory.
It started to dawn on Mr. Jay, what was coming. "Everyone else in your class was younger than you, correct?", asked Cullings.
"Stop", said Jay. He did not want to hear what was coming next, its incredulity shaking him to the core. "Stop talking NOW", ordered jay, his breathing heavy , sweat on his brow.
But Cullings was excited, and nothing was going to stop the oncoming train-or the train wreck that was coming. The smile spread across Cullings' face once more, just as it had before. "That's right!" he shouted, extatic.
"That's right, you got it! You solved the puzzle!" The guard started dragging him away from the scruff of his shirt, Cullings never resisting. "You've found the final piece to a game I've been playing! My answer is ONLY NINETIES KI-"
"ds will remember", continued Mr. Jay, tears streaming down his face. It was all too much for his heart to handle, and with that sentence, Cullings had snuffed out another life. | “Why didn’t you kill me?”
He sits across from me, and both he and I know he’s in control, complete control. The situation is his, his to manipulate. Fifteen years ago he changed my life. My boyfriend and I were abducted, and he was killed fast. I on the other hand was tortured and terrorized, before he finally let me go, on a roadside. It would be weeks before I could muster up the courage to go out on my own. Until I saw his face on the television, arrested for the murders of at least 6 people.
Now I stared him in the face, my closest encounter with evil. His face is illuminated by the soft-light, his shoulders relaxed. He seems too at ease to be as anything short of unnerving for me. This question had bothered me for all this time, and now that my days were numbered, I wanted to ask him why. Why I was spared, out of all his victims. I thought of all of them, wrapped in ropes, hogtied, tortured and brutalized mercilessly. Then, when they begged for mercy, at last he would bear down upon them, choking the life out of them. For some of them, like my boyfriend fifteen years ago, it was quick, a gunshot to the back of the head, to spend eternity lying in a shallow grave in the middle of the countryside.
As I looked at him, the memories came flooding back, and I blinked back the tears. He, of all people, was not going to see me cry. No, I wouldn’t let him see me weak, see me vulnerable. I remembered his face, wracked with sick pleasure as he watched me struggle against my binds, as he watched me yell and scream for help, for respite from his onslaught. I felt my wrists, raw from the way he hogtied my body, all to keep me from exerting any sort of power. I recalled when we met.
“My name is Aaron. Would you two kids like a ride?”
I wished that time machines were real, so I could go back and answer him, to refuse his sick advances. I didn’t want to get into his dirty car, where he pulled a gun, with no semblance of agitation.
“You two are going to do what I say.”
I felt for the door back then, felt my heart freeze when I realized it was locked. I remember my boyfriend arguing with him, which may have led to his death so after.
My answer should have been clear.
“No, I don’t want to get into your dirty car, and I don’t want to be felt all over by your filthy hands. I don’t want to be hogtied and tortured, and left scarred both physically and mentally. No, I want you to keep driving, and drive right off a cliff.”
That wasn’t my answer back then, it most certainly wasn’t.
In the dim light, I saw him smile. It was lecherous, and I knew he was savoring every moment of this, every single chill of fright I felt. He knew that even now he was torturing me, he was hurting me.
At last, he spoke.
“Heh, you were an experiment for me. I scarred you, and look at you now, you still haven’t healed.”
I smiled slightly, finding a little solace that he was locked up, yet I didn’t find it in me to contest his wicked statement. In many ways, it was true.
I sighed, I knew it was time. It was time to do what he would hate the most.
I smiled a little more.
“You are a sick man, Aaron Vickers. I accept that. And I forgive you for what you did for me.”
His face turned down slightly, his lips pursed ever so little.
“You, forgive me? I doubt it.”
I laughed.
“Nope.”
I walked away, knowing that my suffering would soon come to an end. His would not. | 2018-07-21T11:01:04 | 2018-07-21T08:24:16 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | "Willem, the sun is setting earlier now. Walk the fences, and take the scraps to the pig sty and if....."
"Yes, ma. I know. If I am set upon by goblins, drop the scrap bucket and run back home. Ma, I'm fourteen in a moon's turn. I could fight a goblin."
"Willem! We done harm them none and they don't bother us none. Not law, not custom, just is and always is in this village."
Willem did as he was told. Walked the fences and checked the gates. Everything was in order. The herds of sheep were content in their pens. He yawned and hope to get a cup of ale with Da before bed.
There was a rustling from the tree line. Willem reflexively reached for his knife fearing a wolf, but it was merely three goblins. He hadn't seen them in a while and assumed they were prepping for winter.
"GRAHH," shouted the tallest goblin who was still shorter than Willem. He brandished a stick with a rock on the end. He waved it over his head, but the rock fell off the stick.
Willem relaxed and said in a plain tone, "Please, don't, goblin. Take my food and leave my village in peace."
He emptied the food scraps on the ground. He wouldn't concede the bucket. The trio of goblins looked hungrily at the food on the ground. Willem backed away slowly expecting them to feed.
"AHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" came a booming sound from the village.
Willem froze. He had heard the war horn blown before. The sound could mean only one thing. Raiders come down the river. He looked at the trio of goblins.
"Go back to the woods. Sea raiders have come upriver. Protect yourself."
The tall goblin smiled, "Not here. Not OUR village."
The goblins retreated to the woods with unnatural speed. Willem left the bucket, despite its value, and ran home. He could see columns of smoke coming from the village. It was strangely beautiful at sunset.
The raiders wore their traditional salt stained leathers. They killed anyone who approached them. Some of the villagers fought back with their scythes and pitchforks. Some even managed to take down a raider. Willem snuck around corners until he reached his house.
He banged on the door and screamed, "Ma! Da! Let me in!"
Willem waited in terror for a few moments and his father let him inside. His younger sister, Brione, was crying in her mother's arms. His father barred the door and hugged his son.
His father fought back tears, "Willem, you are old enough."
He placed a sharp dirk in his hand.
"We have to protect your mother and sister. When they come through the door, take out as many as you can."
Willem's hand shook. His father squeezed the dirk to steady him as he fought back tears.
Then the pounding came at the door. Not a greeting knock, but a pounding. An axe blade pierced the door. The women screamed and the men prepared to fight. The axe struck the door but was not withdrawn.
Screams came from outside. Then silence. Then blood began to flow under the door. The women resumed crying. Willem looked to his father who shrugged his shoulders. The family huddled together . They tried to stay awake, but surrendered to sleep.
The next morning, they woke up to a quiet and chilly morning. They wrapped blankets over their shoulders and ventured outside. There were hundreds of them. Goblins moving about the village. Tending cookfires. Looting the dead raiders. Digging graves for the dead villagers.
The goblin women distributed warm food. The young goblins were repairing homes and putting out fires. The villagers looked at the scene in shock.
A four fingered hand was placed on Willem's shoulder. He spun around quickly. He was face to face with the taller goblin from last night.
"Not in OUR village," said the goblin.
Willem placed a hand on the goblin's shoulder and repeated, "Not in OUR village." | The villagers thought that they were very cute, cute like a pug . Many strange and wonderful things could be found in the mountains where the goblins lived. The villagers never really knew, but suspected chaotic magic was at work because the evil goblins that had terrorized the village for generations were now a cross between a child goblin and a fairy. They could almost fly, but it was more like hopping really high. And their language skills had deteriorated into giggles and one syllable words.
The cute goblin fairies would hop around the village and steal whatever they found on window seals, then scamper back to the mountains. The food was baked for the goblin fairies, but the villagers never let on. It was a happy co-existence. To the villagers, it was like having a new type of pet- dogs, cats, ferrets and goblin fairies.
But, danger hides in the places where villagers can never go. Underground, in the dark caves no human ever wandered, morlocks multiplied like bunnies. Humans, morlocks and goblins had been mortal enemies of one another since the beginning of time. Balance was achieved from the constant wars between morlocks, goblins and humans.
Then came a day, when the morlocks returned to raid the village. They were a horde, a number so great that they surrounded the village in a circle 20 morlock deep. The village defenses were effective, but would not hold against such a large troop. The brave villagers fought with all the power they had. Yet, the morlocks advanced in superior numbers.
At noon, as always, the goblin fairies came hopping down the mountain for their lunch, and were met with spears and scimitars. They were slaughtered. Only a few goblin fairies survived and ran to the mountain crying “Mommy, Help, Mommy.” Out from one of the larger caves strode a massive hobgoblin. The hobgoblin was 10 feet tall and dressed in the colors of the rainbow with a rose wreath about its head, a massive staff in one hand and a book in the other. The steps of the hobgoblin shook the mountain side and the valley below. The morlocks turned to face their new enemy and charged with a fury never seen. But, before the morlocks reached the edge of the mountain, the hobgoblin opened the book, raised its staff to the sky, and sung a strange song.
*Fear and death and doom blow away in the wind . Today we will have fun and fly in the sky. Today, dear morlocks you will be butterflies to live in fields of flowers.*
Just then, the morlocks sprouted antennae from their heads, and bright beautiful wings from their backs. The morlocks tried to take to the sky to find flowers to rest upon. But the best they could do was hop really high.
The hobgoblin closed the book, shaking its head and said, "Oh, not again! That spell is rubbish!" | 2022-05-26T16:33:26 | 2022-05-26T09:36:40 | 38 | 22 |
[WP] You are a cosmic being that likes to terraform planets as a hobby. Galactic law permits creation of life up to Class III. Noticing the creatures on your latest planet are getting close to Class IV, you flick an asteroid at the planet. Some time later, you realise you didn’t check for survivors | I recline in my seat, looking at the planet in front of me. Fifth from the sun, in the habitable zone of its star, the planet looks well and healthy. Vast bodies of water can be seen, interspaced with landmasses filled with life, lush and green. A species on this planet has managed to gain ascendancy, taking over the planet. As I watch, yet another massive cruiser leaves their atmosphere, joining a rather large congregation of similar ships, all heavily armed. The various armaments are all pointed in a rather unfortunate direction, that being, right at my worldship. The owners of these ships are rather angry at me, and they quite frankly, have a good reason.
You see, there can only be so many incidents of a created species growing a bit too powerful, cultivating an unhealthy amount of hubris and rising up to challenge their creators. After the 8th time, an accord was made, saying that no created race shall be allowed to surpass Class IV, or in other words, that shall not go beyond their planets. And so, it was with no small regrets that I redirected an asteroid, straight into this planet, around 150 years ago. I watched as it slammed into the planet, sending vast tremors ripping through the surface. I watched until the massive clouds of dust, whipped up by the massive forces at play, finally obscured my view of the planet. I remember leaving the planet, satisfied that nothing could survive that, that no life could possibly escape what I had wrought.
I was wrong. I underestimated the sheer stubbornness, the will to survive of the race I so carelessly attempted to wipe out. They survived, and in the galactic backwater in which their star system was located, they flourished, unnoticed and unhindered. It was then, with a century and a half behind me, that I decided to revisit this area of the universe, and I came across a large cluster of emissions. Intrigued by this sign of sentience, in a supposedly unpopulated area, I sallied forth to investigate this peculiar phenomenon. When I saw their planet loom into view and their ships gathering in defensive formations, I knew that they were my progeny. I could feel it, a hum in their life forces that matched my own. And at that second, I would have bet my godhood that this same primal hum would be reverberating through their own bodies. They would know that I was their maker. And they would remember that the last time they, felt this, their planet had been plunged into decades of war and famine, their culture obliterated and their race was driven to almost near extinction.
I looked at the scene in front of me and felt a tinge of pride. These were my creations, I had made these beings, I was their progenitor.I felt energy signatures spike as the weapons on their ships began to charge in an attempt to blow me into oblivion. I smile sadly as I gather my energy, twisting the essence of space and time itself as I spin conduits of energy from a billion lost stars, a billion forgotten supernovas, and I prepare to eradicate my greatest achievement. This time, however, I won't miss.
This is my first story, so people please don't hesitate to leave any feedback. Hope someone enjoys this.
| I flipped open the catalog, crumpling some pages in frustration. Flicking through the magazine, my thumb stopped at a dog-eared page. Yep, right over there. That caption right over there.
**Complete annihilation for Class V and lower beings guaranteed.**
That asteroid had burned a little hole in my wallet a few million years ago, after Class III and beings in the pseudo-Class IV stage had appeared. On the books, such beings fell into the classification of beings able to think, and develop higher intelligence.
Unfortunately, I ran out of permits, and didn't have enough money to get any more. So, I went for the cheaper alternative, and searched for a good, easy-to-use cleansing agent.
A bit too cheap, unfortunately.
In the immediate aftermath of the impact, some aspects of life had managed to break through the bottleneck between Class III and Class IV, and in the local stellar cycle that followed next, managed to develop agriculture.
I wished I paid a bit more attention, but there's no point crying over spilled milk.
Class VII beings had somehow appeared, when I was playing with another planet. The Galactic Administration had sent a cease-and-desist order to me. As a result, I had to turn to the damn catalog again.
I turned the page, and looked at the higher order cleansing agents. My face blanched at the price, and I felt my heart fray somewhat slightly.
My finger hovered on the picture, and as I pressed down on it, I felt my wallet lighten greatly. It didn't take long for a little box to materialise in front of me, and I looked at the operating instructions.
"Point at target Planet. Ensure that the desired result dial is set as Severing. Fire."
Sounds simple enough...
I holstered the pistol, and walked out of the room. | 2018-04-14T19:09:16 | 2018-04-14T17:48:46 | 81 | 12 |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | The angel was telling me to go to hell. He was nice about it, sure. So nice, actually, that I barely noticed his intent until thinking about it for a second. Almost like he was tricking me into complying out of politeness. The fact that there were millions of souls behind me, all waiting in line for their turn, only made my embarrassment worse. We were trapped in an infinitely large hotel lobby. Millions of angels dressed with gray blazers attended everyone behind a circular marble desk, processing them into their appropriate afterlife with cheerful disposition.
I wasn't going to let them pressure me, though. The other attendees could heckle me all they wanted. My soul was at stake here. I waited centuries to reach the front of the line. If they wanted to get into heaven quicker, they could just try another queue instead. Unfortunately, I didn't know if I could keep arguing against a divine decree. Those had a surprisingly high accuracy rate. It couldn't be wrong, right?
Maybe I just wasn't good enough for heaven. No. That thought didn't sit well with me. I wasn't perfect, that much I could admit, but I tried my hardest to live the best I could, for both myself and everyone around me. A mediocre afterlife might as well be hell and I didn't deserve that.
The other heavens just weren't right for me. Valhalla looked nice on paper, but eternal conflict would grow old quick. I'd probably get bullied by mighty warriors for the rest of eternity. Besides, I didn't think my life-long battle with anxiety qualified me for entry, no matter how well I may argue for it. The underworld, ruled by Hades, didn't seem so bad either. That said, a cold existence with no suffering sounded incredibly monotonous.
My attention was then brought to a realm called 'Elo-hell'. It sounded familiar. The brochure mentioned it was a place were people played team-based videogames forever. I thought that sounded awesome until reading the fine print, which said that all of your teammates would be worse than you and all of your opponents would be better but, somehow, you were always to blame for the inevitable loss. No thanks. I experienced that enough while alive. In the end, the only thing I could say to the angel was:
"This is bullshit."
The angel's smile didn't waver. "I agree."
I squinted. "Really?"
"Yes, us angels have no choice but to be happy. You, on the other hand, have the freedom to choose. Dealing with your complaints is quite... bullshit."
I frowned. "It's not like I can help you with that..."
"I'm glad we're on the same page." The angel looked past me. "Next!"
"Wait, wait, is there really nothing I can do?"
Several people behind me audibly complained.
"Oh shut up! You'll get your turn!"
"Just pick one!" shouted a Viking. "It's not a big deal!"
"Then *you* go to hell!"
The Viking brandished a giant axe. I stuck out my tongue. It's not like he could kill me.
"Please," said the angel, "no need to cause an uproar."
"Or what?"
The angel shrugged. "Nothing, really. Things just run smoother if everyone gets along."
"So I can just lounge around this lobby until I make up my mind?"
"I'd rather you didn't..."
"But if I did..."
The angel sighed. "There's nothing I can do to stop you."
I turned around, facing those behind me. "Does anyone else think this whole system is bullshit?"
Everyone grew quiet.
"Come on, even the angel admitted it."
A few people slowly raised their hand.
"So why do we put up with it?"
The angel facepalmed. "Oh Lord, not again, please."
I ignored him. "We can make this place our heaven! We don't have to settle for less!"
"Yeah!" shouted the Viking.
People started murmuring in agreement.
"Wait!" pleaded the angel. "Don't you think you're forgetting another option?"
I eyed him with skepticism. "What do you mean?"
"There's the wheel of reincarnation."
"Fuck that! I'll probably get an even worse life!"
The angel shook his head with a tired smile. For some reason, this felt like the first time his expression was genuine. "It's a common mistake to assume that. In actuality, that path is the easiest way into heaven."
"But... what if I run out of attempts?"
The angel leaned over the desk, lowering his voice. "That's the secret. *Everyone's* worthy of heaven. Most people just assume they're not good enough and live in a hell of their own choosing. The alternative, trying again, is too painful for them. It's easier on the ego to just tell yourself you deserve misery. I mean, look, you were about to turn this lobby into another hell just to feel in control of your fate. If you have the chance to reincarnate, don't you think it'd be a waste to throw it all away?"
"I... I don't think I'll make it, though." My eyes watered. "And it terrifies me."
"I know. It's easier said than done."
I swallowed down my anxiety. "Is this the first time we've met?"
"Nope."
I looked away. "So I keep failing, huh?"
"Sure, if you want to see it that way. You could also see it as a measure of your resolve. With that in mind, I would like to add that in all my years as a servant, I've never seen anyone run out of attempts. They always make it... eventually."
I pursed my lips, hesitating. "Fine. Spin the wheel again. What's the worst that could happen?"
---------
>If you enjoyed this, you can find the rest of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | [Warning] Some adult language
The Red Tape of Heaven
There is a small desk, with one man sitting at it, an empty chair sits across from him, he is flipping through paperwork and seems rather annoyed.
[God] NEXT!... have a seat.
[Morty] Where am i?
[God] You're in purgatory
[Morty] I’m sorry i didn't catch that.
[God] I think you did.
[Morty] ...I... im dead?
[god] Yes you died 3798 years ago.
[morty] What! How is that possible?
[god] The afterlife is littered with miles of red tape. Not to mention the mass amount of deaths in a year, these sort of things take time, and the paperwork stacks up, you understand.
[morty] so...you're god?
[god] precisely.
[morty] But...aren't you all powerful?
[God] What does that have to do with anything?
[morty] Well then...can't you just like snap your fingers and wave everyone on through?
[God] Just because I can do anything, doesn't mean I can do it in a day.
[Morty] But, but youre god! The head hancho!
[god] Ever hear the expression ‘god works in mysterious ways? Well its less of a mystery and more along the lines ‘ god works within his parameters’ I've got rules too bub, just like everyone else… may we continue?
[morty] I mean...I guess.
[god] good… like I was saying… this is purgatory.
[Morty] wait so I’m not going to heaven?
[God] *sigh* This is why we are here, to figure that out.
[morty] I thought you just knew who's good and bad.
[god} what am I? Santa claus? Do you think I have a gang of magical flying reindeer too?
[morty] Well...no but-
[god] Im just a regular guy like you, doing his job okay? it wouldn't take 3000 years if you people didn't have so many questions.
[Morty] Sorry...continue.
[god] Thank you… okay so what’s you’re name?
[Morty] You’re god and you don't know my name?
[God] Jesus christ-
[Morty] Don't use the lords name in vain
[God] I am the lord.
]morty] I’m sorry I’m just having a hard time believing this, is all.
[god] okay I’ll bite, why?
[morty] Well for one, you don't know my name.
[God] I know your name… it says it on your paperwork.
[Morty] okay but you should just know, Shouldn't like angels being doing this part? And why are you asking me my name if you already know it then?
[god] Well, I need to make sure the person is at least sane enough to know their own name before i send them to hell-
[morty] im going to hell!?
[God] listen that's not-
[morty] you're a dick!
[God] Listen I’d be a little nicer to the guy deciding your fate in the afterlife.
[Morty] *scoffs* yeah right. You're just going to send me to hell anyway, why bother.
[God] Listen you don't even know the difference between heaven and hell, the stupid fiery pit you people have fabricated is not what it's like.
[Morty] What's it like?
[god] Well I can't tell you that
Morty] Why not?
[God] God works within his parameters
[Morty] God should be able to decide what his parameters are...
[god] Well he doesn't so shut up and answer my questions.
Morty] Or what? You're just a glorified office worker, youre no better than me.
[god] Well people are made in the image of god after all.
[morty] you know what? I’m out of here.
[god] Look we got off on the wrong foot.
[Morty] Nope, I’m done.
[god] I'm telling you I wouldn't-
[Morty] Well buddy, I have half a mind to shove my foot up your-
Suddenly morty falls through the floor and disappears.
[god] *sighs* NEXT!
| 2020-11-27T16:37:38 | 2020-11-27T16:32:10 | 67 | 29 |
[WP] your cat finds a magic lamp buried in your backyard. The genie inside grants him 3 wishes | "A feline!" The genie boomed. "It has been millennia since I've had the pleasure to serve one of your kind."
The slightly overweight tabby glanced at the enormous being and yawned, showing his teeth.
"As haughty as my long memory reminds me," the demon mused. "Do you know what I am, cat?"
The tabby meowed and pawed at the collar around its neck, where metal letters glinted gold in the afternoon light.
The genie squinted. "Ah, my apologies - I did not mean to insult you, my master. Now, what is your wish, *Mr. Tubbles*?"
The cat meowed again and scurried back into the house through the cat-flap on the back door. The genie made itself invisible and drifted through the walls. They walked through an empty living room, a kitchen, and the bathroom (where the genie waited patiently for Mr. Tubbles to use the litter-box). Finally, they reached the bedroom, whose door had been left slightly ajar.
Mr. Tubbles quietly poked his head in, looked around for a second, and then pointed. The genie looked down at the bed, where a woman still dressed in sleepwear sobbed silently, clutching a broken picture frame to her chest. Every so often, she glanced at her phone through tear-stricken eyes, as if waiting for a message that did not come.
"Heartbreak: a common malady," the genie observed. "You wish for me to end her suffering?"
Mr. Tubbles growled low.
The genie held up his hands in protest. "I did not intend my words that way! Of course, I can help her - if that is your desire."
The cat jumped onto the bed and crawled onto the woman's chest, pushing aside the picture frame. She hugged him, fingers stroking his soft fur. Mr. Tubbles purred like a little engine.
"So be it, then: your wish is my command," the genie intoned. Then, a little amusement snuck into its voice. "I have not had a feline master since the time of Cleopatra, and yet your kind has hardly changed. Still so soft-hearted for these humans..."
​
​
​
*Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out* r/Idreamofdragons! | The genie asks, "What is your first wish?"
"Food in my bowl" replied Whiskers.
"But there is already food in your bowl!"
"I wish for food in my bowl"
Then with a snap of his fingers, Whiskers' bowl was overflowing. He quickly ate half of it and took a nap.
When he awoke, the genie asked "What is your second wish?"
"Food in my bowl" Whiskers replied yet again.
"But I just!.... It's half full already! Are you serious?!?"
"I wish for food in my bowl!"
Poof! His bowl overflowed again.
After another hefty meal and long nap, the genie returned to Whiskers. "What is your final wish? And don't say..."
"I wish for food in my bowl."
The genie sighed. "Whatever. I give up. Here ya go."
The bowl overflowed one last time and Whiskers was happy...for now. | 2019-04-14T10:35:28 | 2019-04-14T09:55:41 | 22 | 16 |
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