prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before. | The first ten or twenty minutes are the hardest. I've been through it four...no five times and I don't get used to it. Stop looking at me like that! I know you think I'm a sick old man and the meds are making me delusional. Whether you believe me or not we're going to be parting soon. You'll go on and I'll reset. So...what was I saying? Oh yes. The first 10 minutes. The first minute or so is like cutting a tomato with a brand new knife. I don't realize how dull my old knife was until I get a new one. It cuts right through, no effort at all. When I suddenly wake up in a child's brain I just spend the first minute amazed at what I can remember! How fast I can remember it! The memories are so clear and crisp. For perhaps half of the second minute I can't get over my joints and bones. I haven't bent my knee without it making that cracking sound in....goddamn 40 years. Soon it will be brand new again. The mind is a powerful thing. It adapts quickly to this new state of things. In that third minute I'll hear my mother's voice for the first time in 30 years. Not her voice cracked by age. Her young voice like a bell. She'll be calling me down for breakfast and I'll be sitting at the edge of my bed in the distant past wondering how I'm going to keep myself from sobbing uncontrollably as I see my whole family together in the same room again. That's how I'll spend the the last seven of the first 10 minutes. Just trying to keep it together. Trying to make my new muscles move to get down those stairs. I don't think there's a name I could give the feeling that you would understand.
The second 10 minutes I'll think of you and our boys and how I'm never going to see them again. I could find you again, sure. You're a little older than me after all. I'll know where to go and where to look for you and what to say and when. But our boys, well, what I've learned is that it just doesn't work that way. Flip a coin in one life and it's heads, flip it again in the next and it's tails. Having kids is like flipping a million coins at once. It always turns out different.
I'll think on that and my Father will ask me why I'm so quiet this morning. Maybe someday I'll figure out how to answer that.
After a long silence she smiled and said "I know you will."
(edit: removed "1982." Didn't jibe with the description of the narrator.) | PART 1
A click echoed in my mind. A light flashed. A tower of alphabet blocks was laid before me. I was sitting on a shaggy decades-old carpet. I had a small bowl of apple slices next to me. I stared at the two adults before me. "Augh, not this shit again, I thought I fixed this!" I exclaimed in a British accent, much to my "parents" surprise. My Mother began to scream, and my Father fainted out of pure surprise. While they were incapacitated by the shock, I took a wad of cash out the purse on the counter, and counted it. $153 in twenties and ones. "Looks like I'm in the states this time". Mother screeched again. I snatched Father's Iphone which was unsurprisingly unlocked, and checked out exactly where I was. Arizona, fuck....It'll take a lot of cash to get me back home. Nora is going to kill me, it was my fault the bomb went off early, anyway. I sighed and helped myself some cake from the fridge while looking back at my petrified parents. I also grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer. This was going to be *such* a hassle. | 2017-05-25T13:17:28 | 2017-05-25T12:15:26 | 1,273 | 275 |
[WP]"Is is true that you can only see three basic colors?", the alien being asked "It is." "So, how do you communicate with the Ghoosha?" "With whom?", I responded confused. "The other major race on your planet." | The first rule of xenodiplomacy is that emotions cause problems. Don't show any. Better still, don't *have* any. Never be angry. Never be greedy. Never be pleased.
Never be surprised.
So of course I'm not surprised when, once again, I accidentally discover that we're not alone. We've never been alone. We weren't alone long before the Conglomerate made First Contact.
I hereby formally resign my position and refuse to return to Earth. I'll live out the rest of my life on Lunar Base Seven. More than that. More than you could possibly know.
But you have to know. Someone *has* to know. Someone has to *not be surprised*.
There's a color on the color wheel that's missing from the rainbow. Our color wheel and our rainbow, that is -- these mere products of our biology. It's a color that our brains just make up. Magenta, we call it. Anti-green, in our circular way of thinking.
That's a purely terrestrial defect. Our Friends from the Conglomerate see things more clearly. It turns out that everything they've got on what they use for a color wheel is right there in *their* rainbows. They don't have a magenta. They have a ghooshy. We see an imaginary color. They see a ghostly one, something no combination of our human-perceptible hues can fake.
Don't be pleased. Don't be greedy. Just find a way to beg, borrow or steal some tech that'll let you detect the Ghoosha. Ghostly-colored things are all around you. It's a question of long-term survival for our kind -- and what our kind sometimes becomes.
As for me, I'm here to stay. For the rest of this life, and hopefully for all of the next. I'll be the first to make a permanent home up here. Better to rule on the Moon than to serve in Hell. There is Hell on Earth. We've never been alone.
Don't be surprised. Ghosts are not the top of their food chain. | I stared blankly for a second....
"The Dungeon Dimension creatures?"
"Yes, the *Things.* They are the colour octarine but if you can't see that...*"*
"Ah. Yes, modern theory suggests they can only be seen by those with the *talent,* and we have no such humans left. In any case, the few records of those creatures we have claim the pretty ones look like a cross between an ugly octopus and an angry bicycle. I'm not so sure we *need* to communicate with them. Better to pretend we're alone, see?"
"An odd way of seeing things human, but i concede your point......."
​
**Can't think of where to go with this one, you're welcome to edit/build upon it if you wish** | 2018-12-04T11:15:26 | 2018-12-04T11:02:30 | 448 | 82 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant. | All the students were getting up to leave class when he heard, "Matthew, might I speak to you for a moment?"
"Of course, Professor."
Professor Xavier had always been kind to him. Matthew long suspected that Xavier knew he was hiding his full potential but the professor never pushed the subject and treated Matthew like all the other students. He liked feeling normal here. His long standing lie was that he could teleport. Whenever they were required to practice their abilities it put Matthew in a tough spot. The teachers were constantly trying to push his limits and get him to teleport further and further. It's tiring having to run such far distances constantly. Yesterday, the teacher had asked him to try to travel to someplace he had previously been. After faking an attempt for an hour or so the teacher finally relented and suggested they take a break.
"Professor Munroe tells me you had a difficult time yesterday. She was worried she might have pushed you too hard and wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I-I'm fine professor. She didn't push too hard. I tried picturing different places but nothing happened. I don't know if I'm able to teleport like that."
"Well, things happen at different paces for everyone. I'm sure you've heard of Kurt by now?"
"Yes, sir."
"When he first came here, he was limited by what he could see as well. He could travel to anywhere in sight, but beyond that, he was too frightened to push himself. It takes extraordinary strength to push limits set by our minds. In time, I'm sure you will be able to overcome anything you set your mind to."
"Thank you professor."
"Matthew, have you made any friends since you started here? I don't see you with the other students very often."
"No sir, I-I think they are frightened of me."
"Why is that?"
"They avoid me, and I hear them saying things about me."
"Teleporting is an enviable gift. I'm sure they will come around in time."
"I guess."
"Matthew, are you sure there isn't something else? You know I would never use my gift on anyone without permission but it doesn't take a mind reader to see that something is bothering you."
"Professor, c-can you keep a secret?"
"Of course, Matthew. Anything you tell me would be kept between us."
Eyes to the floor Matthew said, "I have been lying to you and the other teachers. I can't teleport."
Professor Xaviers remained quiet as if telling Matthew to continue.
"I-I was afraid if you found out what I can do, that you would make me part of your advanced class. I just wanted to feel normal for once. Everyone my whole life has called me a freak and when I got here, I was just another kid. I'm so sorry I lied professor."
"It's okay Matthew. I understand. If I may ask, what is this gift that you were afraid to speak of?"
"It's easier if I show you."
"Lead the way."
The two of them left the office and went into the crowded hallway watching the kids on their way to various classes. Matthew reached over and set his hand on Xaviers shoulder and everyone froze. Turning to Matthew, Xavier said, "Well, it certainly is an extraordinary gift. The ability to freeze time is no small feat. I can't say I've ever met another mutant with this ability, Matthew."
"Are you going to kick me out of the school for lying to you?"
"No, Matthew. I understand why you kept this from us. It is an incredible burden to have control over time. I imagine it can be quite lonely."
Nodding his head Matthew was tearing up a little.
"Matthew, I'm going to keep this between us until you're ready to tell other people. Would you be okay with having private lessons with me once a week to learn to better control this power of yours?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Very good. Bring us back to real time and let us join the rest of the students. It's nearly time for your next class." | "Oh shit shit shit. This can't be happening! This CAN'T BE HAPPENING. WHY the HELL I am so clumsy? Shit, shit, shit," I screamed as I ran past the tall trees towards the mansion. I had been on a mission else where and had just returned back to the school. My recruitment happened so vaguely. One moment I was on Earth, and suddenly I was teleported to a planet where they needed my ability to freeze time.
"You look worried? What happened?" asked the woman running beside me.
I had no time to reply to her question. I was worried sick, my mind was running faster than it could process it's own information. There were a million thoughts in my mind. I should have paid attention to my powers when I had the time and not used it to just play around. And now look where it had got me. The mission, the new Team took me to a planet else where, to see, learn and adapt, to be ready for situation when I would be ready to reveal my real powers. But I had been careless, using my powers to fool people that I could teleport. Everyone in the school though that, they still do. Well I don't know what they think now, it's been a long time. I need to be careful.
I didn't stop, neither did my Aarna who wouldn't leave my side. We have been partner for so long that there was bond between us. And for the past few missions we had made sure we would stick by each other irrespective of the situation we found ourselves in. Our bond transcended time itself.
As I entered the school a horrific view met my eyes. And the memory came hurtling doen my brain as if it had just happened yesterday. The school looked so quite, serene and beautiful. Yet there was a tragedy at its core that awaited my arrival.
"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE?" the woman let out a scream:; a genuine response to what she saw.
The people were frozen at their place and nobody moved around. It was so quite and silent owing to the fact that the time was frozen. Everyone was stuck at their place and it seemed like some supervillain had done this to steal a secret from the school. But it was not a villains mischief, rather a mistake of my own.
"Why is everyone frozen? Who did this?" The woman asked.
"I did," I replied under my breath.
She looked at me with horror in her eyes. She was scared. For the first time we saw what our powers can do.
"Unfreeze the time then," she requested.
"I can't. I don't know what the sudden unfreeze will do to their bodies," I replied.
The woman look at me in disbelief.
"It's been 70 years since the FREEZE." | 2022-11-09T16:36:25 | 2020-07-15T04:22:10 | 9,106 | 179 |
[WP] You're a side character in a story. By chance you become aware of this fact and you try everything to be more relevant to the story, even going as far as to intefere in the protagonist's life. | When you take a DNA test, you expect to learn about your ancestry, maybe that you got some crappy genes and could get Alzheimer's or glaucoma. You don't expect to learn you're a work of fiction. But that's what happened to me.
There it was, after the line that said Fact or Fiction: Fiction. That was bad enough. The next line was even worse, where it said my fiction type was side character. I mean, being the protagonist or the main love interest, that's not so bad. You're central to the story. But side character? You could get edited out at any time. Going about your day and then boom, you're gone. Happened to a friend in college named Frank. Nice guy, good to get beers with, but always did seem a little two dimensional. One day he was just gone, backspaced right off the face of the earth between a second and a third draft. Me and the guys talked with his family about holding a funeral for him, but everyone agreed that'd be awkward, so we decided to not mention him anymore.
And then I found out I was just another damn Frank.
Question was, whose life was I a side character in? Maybe it was my ego, but I couldn't see myself as some bit part, someone who the main character interacts with briefly in one scene, who doesn't even get a name, and then is never heard from again. No. I couldn't be that insignificant; I had more personality than that.
After spending half of my damn week thinking about it, I realized the protagonist had to be my old high school buddy, Joe. I was a groomsman at his wedding to Sarah, but not the best man, who would be a more central character. I always popped in and out of his life after something big happened to him, and seemed to be just comic relief, like the time he lost his job and I met him and his wife out at an Italian restaurant. When I got up to go to the bathroom I tripped, accidentally pulled on the tablecloth as I fell, and had a plate of spaghetti land right in my face. If it had been a sitcom, the laugh track would've kicked in right then.
I couldn't stay a side character, not with knowing what happened to Frank. But what to do? Last time I'd seen Joe and Sarah, Sarah had made eyes at me like maybe she was getting bored in their marriage and wanted to try out someone new. I could start an affair with her. If that didn't work, well, fire could solve a lot of problems. I could burn down their house. That'd make for one hell of a big plot point.
I wasn't the protagonist. I couldn't be the love interest. But I could become the villain. | “Ah, hello there, detective - or should I call you an author now?”
“Hah! Good morning. Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
“Oh no, not at all. I looked through the manuscript. It’s excellent stuff, I must say. I think it’s going to go well with our readers.”
“Well, it’s all based on facts; they’re jolly well going to like it!”
“There’s just one thing I’m a bit concerned about.”
“Oh really? Do say.”
“The title.”
“Ah.”
“It....it doesn’t really have anything to it right now, you know. I feel it’s rather incomplete. I was wondering if we might put your name there, since the readership knows you.”
“Well, I’m not against the idea. Appreciate it. But do make sure you mention my friend somewhere in the texts, if you’re using my name in the title; he had a few small inputs here and there as well.”
“Oh, of course, of course. Every detective has a sidekick. Well, I’m glad you’re on board with the naming. So we’ll go with *Dr John Watson and A Scandal in Bohemia*?”
Dr Watson smiled. “That’s perfect.” | 2019-01-06T09:23:29 | 2019-01-06T09:02:40 | 2,020 | 173 |
[WP] Superman is mentally handicapped. That's why he thinks nobody can pick up the Clark Kent=Superman thing, and everyone plays along in an effort to keep him from throwing a tantrum. The comics are his idea of what is going on. What does a day in Metropolis actually look like? | Superman looked eagerly at her. "Go on Lois. Ain’t you gonna give me no more hell?"
"No" said Lois.
"Well, I can go away," said Superman. "I'll go right off in the hills an' find a cave if you don' want me."
Lois shook herself again. "No," she said. "I want you to stay with me here."
Superman said craftily --- "Tell me like you done before."
"Tell you what?"
"'Bout the other guys an' about us."
Lois said. "People like us got no family. They make a little stake an' then blow it in. They ain't got nobody in the worl' that give a hoot in hell about 'em—"
"But not us," Superman cried happily. "Tell about us now."
Lois was quiet for a moment. "But not us," she said.
"Because –"
"Because I got you an' ---"
"An' I got you. We got each other, that's what, that gives a hoot in hell about us," Superman cried in triumph.
The little evening breeze blew over the clearing and the leaves rustled and the wind waves flowed up the green pool. And the shouts of men sounded again, this time much closer than before.
Lois took off her hat. She said shakily, "Take off your hat, Kal-El. The air feels fine.”
Superman removed his hat dutifully and laid it on the ground in front of him. The shadow in the valley was bluer, and the evening came fast. On the wind the sound of crashing through the brush came to them.
Superman said, "Tell how it’s gonna be."
Lois had been listening to the distant sounds. For the moment she was business-like. "Look acrost the river, Kal, an' I'll tell you so you can almost see it."
Superman turned his head and looked off across the pool and up the darkening slopes of the Gabilans.
"We gonna get a little place," Lois began. She reached in her side pocket and brought out Lex's Luger, the one loaded with Kryptonite bullets; she snapped off the safety, and the hand and gun lay on the ground behind Superman's back. She looked at the back of Kal-El's head, at the place where the spine and skull were joined. A man’s voice called from up the river, and another man answered.
"Go on," said Superman.
Lois raised the gun and her hand shook, and she dropped her hand to the ground again.
"Go on," said Superman. "How’s it gonna be? We gonna get a little place."
"We'll have a cow," said Lois. "An' we'll have maybe a pig an' chickens…. an' down on the flat we’ll have a…. little piece of alfalfa—"
"For the rabbits." Superman shouted.
"For the rabbits." Lois repeated.
"And I get to tend the rabbits."
"An' you get to tend the rabbits."
Superman giggled with happiness. "An' live on the fatta the lan'."
"Yes."
Superman turned his head.
"No, Superman. Look down there acrost the river, like you can almost see the place."
Superman obeyed her. Lois looked down at the gun. There were crashing footsteps in the brush now. Lois turned and looked toward them.
"Go on, Lois. When we gonna do it?"
"Gonna do it soon."
"Me an' you."
"You…. an' me. Ever'body gonna be nice to you. Ain't gonna be no more trouble. Nobody gonna hurt nobody nor steal from 'em."
Superman said, "I thought you was mad at me, Lois."
"No," said Lois. "No, Kal-El. I ain't mad. I never been mad, an' I ain't now. That's the thing I want you to know."
The voices came close now. Lois raised the gun and listened to the voices.
Superman begged, "Le's do it now. Le's get that place now."
"Sure, right now. I gotta. We gotta."
And Lois raised the gun and steadied it, and she brought the muzzle of it close to the back of Superman's head. The hand shook violently, but her face set and her hand steadied. She pulled the trigger.
The crash of the shot rolled up the hills and down again. Superman jarred, and then settled slowly forward to the sand, and he lay without quivering. Lois shivered and looked at the gun, and then she threw it from him, back up on the bank, by the old pile of ashes. | It's 6AM at the Metropolis. The city is starting to wake up as the sun rises over the streets and exposes the well preserved bricks on it's historic buildings. A shop owner is hosing down the side-walk as passersby wave him good morning. Above the shop, a window leads into the bedroom of Clark Kent, a well liked 23 year old with a speech impediment and the intelligence of an 8 year old. Clark lives in his own version of the Metropolis, where the crooks are plenty and the candy is bountiful.
"HI GUYS!" Clark exclaims at his toy soldiers. "We're gonna stop crime today! Get ready!" Clark tumbles out of his bunk bed and staggers into his closet where his favorite outfit is attached to the wall with about 12 pieces of gum. "I'm superman!!!" . Clark puts on a pair of blue shorts on top of the leggings he was already wearing. The red swastika t-shirt, which Clark clearly mistook for an "S" due to his double-vision is his identifying symbol. "Tu-du-du-ruuuuuu". As a last touch, Clark attaches a string to the back of his shirt, which is supposedly a cape in his mind.
As Clark heads out the door, he remembers "Wait!! Rupert where are my glasses??" Rupert is one of the inanimate toy soldiers and curiously appears more annoyed than the others as Clark finishes his sentence "Oh there they are....on my elbow!! Silly Superman!" As Clark restarts towards the door, he thinks to himself "Wait...why take the stairs? I can fly!!!" Clark leaps out the window just as the shop owner finishes hosing down the sidewalk. A large thud is heard as the shop owner runs to see if Clark is ok "Oh my god Clark not again!"
Clark, visibly injured, pulls himself to his feet as his red string blows in the wind. "I am not Clark, I am Superman" The concerned shop owner acknowledges the sentence as fact and proceeds with his day.
"Uh oh, I hear a distress signal" Clark bolts down towards the local synagogue. As he enters, he interrupts a bris ceremony just as the Rabbi is about to cut the foreskin of a newborn baby. The crowd stops in amazement as they are caught off guard by Clark's attire.
The Rabbi furiously exclaims "Hutspah! How dare you enter a Synagogue wearing that shirt?!" Clark is confused as this is the first time someone speaks to him this aggressively "Uhh...i'm Superman, I have to save that baby. Don't touch his pipi". The Rabbi is an out of towner who has not heard of Clark's antics " Young man, remove yourself from this sacred place right this minute!" Clark begins to think that he is scaring the Rabbi with his costume and removes his glasses "Hey Sir it's just me Clark, I'm not Superman" The Rabbi's patience wears thin as he throws a Tora right at Clark's head knocking him out.
"Where am I...." Clark wakes up on a distant planet. Ice surrounds him. He is wearing nothing but his red string, still waving in the wind.
| 2016-03-04T09:50:27 | 2016-03-04T09:23:45 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other. | “Don’t do it.”
For years I had been receiving visions. Visions of a brighter future. A future where the worries of today; famine, war, poverty, were nightmares relegated to obscurity. A world where every man, woman and child could live out their lives in peace and harmony, free from the uncertainty that plagued them, free from fear. A world where I could be happy.
“Stop before it’s too late.”
It started when I was five, the day my mother died, as I shuddered in fitful sleep. I’d woken in the to the sound of deep, heavy breathing. I’d opened by eyes and found myself face-to-face with a man, his hair streaked with white, his eyes lit with a deep knowing energy. Needless to say I screamed, I struggled, I tried to run. I couldn’t move. I blinked. He was gone.
The days went by, the months, and with each day came a night, and with each night came the nightmares, and with each nightmare I awoke to the same face, silent the save the sound of his breath. I started to believe I was broken, damaged. I told my dad and he laughed, returning to the bottle. I told my friends, pleaded with them to believe me, they thought me strange and abandoned me. I don’t blame them. I told my teachers, they sent me to a shrink, who diagnosed me with mild parasomnia brought on by anxiety. He was wrong.
Two years passed and the man started talking, telling me strange and wondrous tales. I lay there and listened, time immaterial in the darkness, to the path he put before me. At first I felt nothing but fear, but his stories pulled me in, designed as they were to entice and bewilder, simple in their execution but with a gravitas that I was unable to appreciate when I was so young. The tales he told, of great Kings, Conquerors that controlled the world, Knights that roamed far and wide performing deeds of good, finally helped me sleep.
Five years passed and I was no longer afraid. The man had been there for me, through the years, helping me through the night. His stories had been replaced by direct guidance, wise words whispered that gave me what my father could not. He taught me how to manipulate, what to say in every situation, how to succeed. I went from a waif, drifting through childhood from detention to detention, to the popular kid in school, beloved by all. I could do anything.
Fifteen years passed and the guidance now came with visions. The meaning was clear.
“Do this and you will be great.”
“Do this and you will succeed.”
“Do this and you will get your heart’s desire.”
His true nature was clear to me now, he was me. A wiser me. An older me. I became successful, starting my own company. I became driven, growing and expanding. I was a bright young star that could not be ignored, and being a star comes with opportunity. I grew wealthy, I grew powerful.
Thirty years passed and it wasn’t enough. I had ascended the corporate ladder, it wasn’t enough. I had run for office, it wasn’t enough. I’d started charities, helped people, and for awhile the work had sated me, but it wasn’t enough. The man in the dreams still came, but now he looked back at me in every mirror, the white streaks of hair that seemed so strange now a permanent reminder of who I’d become. I still listened, and still he guided, but the guidance had changed.
“What are you missing?”
“When were you last truly happy?”
“There’s one thing you still need.”
I had to get it.
Thirty-one years have passed and now I stand here on the precipice, the ice cold rain running down my body as I stare at the mound before me bathed in moonlight. He is here, different, true, but still a version of me, his clothes dishevelled, his face gaunt.
“Please, this will be the end of us, stop.”
I brush my hand over the stone, sweeping aside the vines and dust. The lettering worn but legible. “Here rests Grace, loving mother to her son, wife to her husband, taken cruelly before her time.” I raise my shovel. | This is the first time I've seen myself like this. Desperate and lonely looking like I have had nothing to eat and no sleep. The soot on my face and dirt in my fingernails makes it look like I've been busy, but definitely not with any luxury that I'm used to.
There's a sad desperation in this future self as he asks me not to continue with the night time requests. I'm ready to shrug it off as things have been going so well. Maybe this is just what happens if my sleep patterns change. I have read about creating alternate realities by changing subtle things in life. Maybe this is like that. I'll just go back to the routine.
This new me can tell that I am disinterested, probably remembering back himself. He grabs me by the arm and tells me not to listen, as I wasn't going to anyway, but instead to carry on in the dream to see a reveal of what the night advice would lead to if I continued to follow it.
He stood still as the dreamscape started to change to what seemed to be the current day. It felt like years just passed through me in seconds, and I was now seeing what I had for breakfast. This was some advice that was given to me last night; to eat a decent breakfast high in carbs as later it would come in handy. Then something happened, which felt real, like I had felt it before. I skipped time to observe myself just after my nap - the one I am currently in.
I wasn't sure if this was real, how could it be as it's just a dream. I'm in control of what I do by making choices. There's no way i could see what would happen until I make that choice.
Time skipped again. This time to later on in the day, where i could see myself running. Then again, to my business meeting. The skips seemed to be getting quicker in succession. Before i had a chance to think I had skipped more than a year into the future. Things looked great still. I'm single, rich and powerful. What could possibly go wrong?
The dream continued. I saw the rise of my business that held and provided resources for people to use to pursue business goals. The company won awards for being a great asset to society. I got married. I cheated. I got divorced.
The time skips started to slow down. I could see protests outside the head offices of my company. News headlines of giant corporations being merged into mine. We held all of the major assets. I could see even governments were frightened of the control that my corporation had. There was nothing they could do. We were taking control of all of the worlds assets.
Time skips stop. I'm back in the original dreamscape. With my future self.
He lets go of my arm.
'You have looked into the future to see where all your knowledge and given foresight have come to summation. You do not want to see what comes next.'
I wake up. | 2017-04-01T06:47:09 | 2017-04-01T01:47:46 | 317 | 109 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | I always hated highschool. It seems like there is always the same few people there: the nerds, the jocks, the artists, the rebels, and people like me who just want it to be over.
I was daydreaming on my way to class. Eyes glazed over as I thought about the world beyond the school's hallways and how much better-
"HEY EVANS!"
I always REALLY hated highschool. This was Johnny "Storm" Thompson, the self-styled king of the realm. As he forced his arm around my shoulders I got a good look at his sigil. A blue thundercloud surrounded by 12 planums. A powerful sigil.
Everyone is born with a sigil on the back of their right hand. The strelleanum, the "star sign," in the center showed the kind of power you held. It could be a blazing red fire, a green tome, a white wolf, or a prismatic hammer. This was then surrounded by small dots, planums, that showed the strength of your power once it was fully grown. A 1 planum thundercloud could give a decent static shock, but a 20 planum one could destroy a building!
Thompson's would be a powerful sigil, especially compared to mine. A plain circle, no planums. An abnormality amongst sigils that represented weakness and plainness. Unless you knew what it did.
A jolt from Johnny's hand into my shoulder that went through my shoulder into my chest brought me back into the present. Crass laughter barreled out of the few lackeys Johnny always seemed to have around when they saw me jump and grimace at the pain.
"HOW'S THE LITTLE NOTHING TODAY," he thundered into my ears. He always laced his voice with power when he wanted attention.
"Yeah! How's the Nada?" Taylor, the chief lackey, could be so well counted on to chime in, I wondered if his strelleanum was an echo.
"LET'S SEE IF HE CAN MANIFEST ANYTHING TODAY!" A shove to my back brought a shock that took out the strength of my legs and I sprawled out onto the floor.
Most all of my past bullies let up after they got bored of getting nothing out of me, but Johnny seemed determined to get something. With two more years of highschool to go and no indication that he would let up, I came to a decision.
I'd show him a little bit of it.
I activated a facet of my power and stared into his eyes. And he saw ME. Well, some of me. 5,000 years, the weight of time. Growing up, living, growing old. The cycle continues, dozens of lifetimes, a circle unbroken.
I pulled in my powers as I stood and looked at him again. His face was pale, eyes haunted.
"...Johnny?" Taylor asked.
"Let's go... Just... Let's go." Johnny's voice was hushed, muted.
I thought about him as they wandered away. How his natural talents could turn pride and arrogance into cruelty. I hoped I didn't show him too much, that he could come to terms with it and better himself.
I turned my feet towards class and my thoughts towards the world beyond the school's hallways. I think this time I'll be a painter.
First time posting here, feedback appreciated! | The bullies had surrounded me and one gave an experimental push to see how I'd react. I stumbled onto the ground and tore my sleeve on one of the school lockers as I fell, revealing the circular sigil on my inner wrist, where someone else might put a tattoo of a butterfly or something.
"Just be cool," I thought, "They're only jealous." I could tell from the look in the eyes of the guy that pushed me that he was only curious about me and didn't know how to express his feelings. If only he knew how to do that, he was kind of hunky and maybe I could change him.
They crowded around me and it felt very claustrophobic. I told them, "You don't want to do this," but they didn't listen. They never do.
"Or what?" they asked. "You got kicked out of your last three schools. Probably because you're too lame. Maybe it's time we found out what a simple sigil like you can actually do."
"Leave her alone!" shouted Chad, who was the quarterback and totally had a crush on me, but I had no time for him and his sports while I was taking all my AP classes. But they didn't listen to Chad either, and he was too far away to help me.
It didn't matter though, since I knew Kung Fu and Jeet Kune Do, the martial art that Bruce Lee made. My sigil of the perfect circle made me perfect in whatever I studied. I delivered a roundhouse kick to all their faces and it was over before it started.
Chad rushed to my side in concern, asking if I was OK, and I totally was. Nothing could hurt me, except for the weakness of my sigil: that it was also a hole in my heart that nobody could fill.
"I'm fine, Chad," I said. "It's about time they learned nobody hurts Mary Sue." | 2020-02-26T09:59:40 | 2020-02-26T09:26:44 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You study magic at the top school in the world. Your village saved every penny to send you, but you suck. You find the spells hard to pronounce and memorize. They always feel odd, till one day you discover something called a "dictionary" and you see everyone is pronouncing them incorrectly. | *You think you are large now, but you are nothing more than a frog stuck in a well, a fish among minnows in a muddy puddle.*
Grandfather had been right all along, Jin realized. Back in Musul, he'd been special. The first in generations to be able to produce more than simple sparks from his fingertips, seemingly blessed by the heavens with true magic. He'd had an instinctive knack for the extraordinary, surpassing even the village elders by the age of fifteen. On the Magical Aptitude Test, Jin had scored 2310, the highest in Musul's history since Hanul the Witch and ninety points higher than his rival. And when a little dragon had come to him, calling him master, it seemed obvious to everyone that Jin was destined for more than healing warts and brewing potions.
Obvious to everyone except for Grandfather, the village healer. He alone had been against the idea that Jin be sent to study at Mofashi Academy. Jin didn't understand it then. Like the other villagers, he'd thought the old man simply jealous and spiteful. Just because Grandfather hadn't managed to do what Jin had been able to do, hadn't been as gifted, he wanted to hold Jin back, to keep him in his shadow. Their last conversation had not been kind. Grandfather refused to pay the tuition for Jin if he went to Mofashi before he turned seventeen. Jin had told him that the village elders had already agreed to pay the tuition and that he was leaving anyway. Just before he'd slammed the door, Grandfather had the final word.
*When you make your way to the river, you will find that the current is swift and deceiving. It will sweep you to the ocean before you are large enough to keep from being eaten by the sharks!*
Turns out the old man had been right. The journey to Mofashi had been perilous, with bandits and monsters around every corner. Jin and his dragon barely survived on several occasions. Even so, he managed to reach the school by the start of the semester. But he didn't receive the welcome he'd expected.
Jin might have been the only student at the world with a dragon, but Bem was still young and feeding off of Jin's magic to grow, while the other students had fully matured familiars that had power of their own. As for the supposed prodigy Dragonmaster himself, he wasn't even the youngest or smartest at Mofashi. Jin's innate talent for raw magic now worked against him as he struggled with the rigidly structured spells of academia, and the older students dwarfed him in sheer power.
That first semester, he'd passed his core classes by the skin of his teeth, just barely managing to remain above the expulsion threshold. Jin remained at the school over the winter, hoping to get extra practice in, but no matter what he tried, he couldn't improve. The spells just didn't make sense to him, they had no flow or rhythm. Jin couldn't feel the heartbeat of the earth or the songs of the sky in the textbook chants or summoning rituals. There was no help forthcoming from his masters, who either preferred to focus their time on more talented students or had clearly written Jin off as a country bumpkin who'd coasted by on a modicum of ability and would soon wash out. Just like Grandfather had.
Jin wished he hadn't left home the way he had. News had come of Grandfather's death during the winter, along with a package. A final taunt? Jin didn't have the courage to open it, to face the old man's I told you so. The wrapped box had been tossed under his bed, and forgotten until now, as Jin was in the process of packing up his belongings. He'd given up on studying for his final exams, and was instead preparing for the inevitable expulsion from Mofashi.
What would come after, Jin didn't know. Should he return to his home village? He could. With Grandfather dead, Musul would need a new healer, and Jin had learned enough that he could fill that role. But could he face the disappointment of a village who had taken a chance on him, for nothing?
"What should I do, Bem?" Jin wondered out loud. "I suppose I could become a freelance warlock, but how long would I even last?"
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tearing paper, and Jin looked to see his familiar scratching at the brown paper wrapped around Grandfather's parcel. "Bem, don't make a mess." Jin groaned, grabbing the package from his dragon's grasp. "Now I gotta clean up this..." His complaint died on his tongue as his fingers brushed against worn leather under torn paper.
Jin quickly tore apart the rest of the paper wrapping to reveal a leather-bound book, and his heart sank. It was a near identical copy of the standard magic dictionary given to all Mofashi students, just much more worn. Jin had seen this particular copy on Grandfather's shelf. Was this yet another reminder that he was fated to fail as the old man had?
The boy's face twisted with anger and he tossed the thick volume onto his desk, where it landed with a dull thud. As it did however, a note slipped out from beneath the cover, and Jin recognized the thin, cramped scrawl of his Grandfather's handwriting.
*Pride is for the youth, and I don't have either anymore. I know you believe my actions to have been born of jealousy, and I would be lying if I said I didn't feel some envy of your achievements. Even so, I did what I did because of fear. Fear that you would not be different from me, but too much like me.*
*Mofashi may be the best school of magic in the world, but it is also removed from the natural world. What the Academy offers is the teachings of scholars, not the work of wizards. Magic is meant to flow through and around us, not constrained through the minutiae of grammar and pronunciation. I wanted you to wait until you were seventeen so that you would understand this more fully, but likely you've learned of it the hard way, as I did. However, that does not mean you must repeat my other mistakes, only that you learn from them.*
Jin set down the note with shaky hands and picked up Grandfather's dictionary, opening it to the first page of spells. The text was the same as his own copy's, but much of it had been crossed out, and Grandfather's spidery lettering written over them. As Jin's eyes scanned the annotations, they widened to the size of saucers. The printed words spoke of the what and how of the spells, and indeed much of this remained on the page. But what Grandfather had written down... spoke of the why.
The shaping of fire was one of the most basic spells taught to Mofashi students, an evolution of the conjured sparks that indicated a wizard's instinct for magic. Even Jin had learned how to make fireballs and short burning blades, but where his peers had progressed to flaming swords and blazing whips, Jin's fire remained dim and small no matter how much he chanted. He'd always attributed it to his Musul accent mangling what were supposed to be precise verbalizations.
According to Grandfather's notes however, the pronunciation of the spell didn't matter in the slightest. After all, the more powerful mages didn't even need to speak spells. Instead, it was the meaning of the words that gave the incantations power. Jin's heart pounded as he set the book down on his desk and held his left hand palm upward.
*Fire is more than a simple element of destruction and power. It is the heat that warms us at night, the light that illuminates the dark, and the expression of life energy itself.*
The familiar sensation of tingling pins and needles gathered in Jin's fingertips as he whispered tiny sparks into existence, each flaring slightly before being extinguished. Already they were a brighter gold than the usual orange of Jin's normal conflagrations, and soon they exploded into a blazing fireball that twirled between his fingers and danced in his palm. Bem trilled happily and swam through the air to land on Jin's forearm, the light of the fire bright in his eyes.
*The same life energy that flows and sustains us feeds our fire. And just as even the most mundane men can manipulate the earth, air, or water around them, so too can a magician control the fire around them.*
Jin closed his hand around the fireball and squeezed hard. With a burst of heat, bright yellow sparks shot out from between his fingers and coalesced into a whizzing circle of light around Jin's fist. Lines bounced back and forth around the circle, forming squares, triangles, and a myriad of shapes in a kaleidoscope of fire, contained by the Dragonmaster's will. The Shield of Fire multiplied in size until it was as wide as Jin was tall, spitting out fiery sparks that scorched his desk.
Slowly, Jin released his fist, and the fire died away in a spray of golden light. Other than whispering the incantation for conjuring fire, he hadn't said a word. And yet, for the first time since he had left Musul, he felt more confident than ever before in his magic.
"Thank you, Grandfather." | Sweat poured down her face as she scrambled over top the fallen pillar and slowly shimmied down the other side until she felt solid earth below her. "There better be something worth bringing back for show and tell down here. I knew the ancient ruins were gonna be hard, but no one told me they were *this* ruined.", she muttered under her breath as she used her coat sleeve to sop the sweat off her forehead. Turning around she saw that while the chamber was dark - a single shaft of light seemed to fall through a crack somewhere near the top of the chamber illuminating an area of about 30 feet. What she had thought would be another empty chamber leading to another in this endless labyrinth was in actuality a massive library stacked floor to ceiling with tomes of all shapes, colors, and sizes. "Bayzoes beard!", she swore.
She quickly huffed over to the nearest set of shelves that stretched up to the ceiling of the chamber nearly 30 feet above. Pulling out the first tome she ogled at its faded but still legible title splashed across the front cover. "Ha-Harry Pot-ter and the Orde-r o-f the ...Ph-oen-ix?". Below the title she could see a blue painting of a young boy with some sort of face apparatus on holding what seemed to maybe be...could that be...a wand? "Holy Gateos! This could be some sort of valuable spell book!", she shouted aloud. Quickly realizing that she may have stumbled upon the greatest discover of wizard kind in decades she quickly pulled her patchwork satchel off her shoulder and upturned its contents onto the floor. She took a second to feel remorse for throwing all the valuables her village had paid for in order for her to study at the academy onto the dusty floor, but she quickly began stuffing her satchel with books from the shelves. "With the money and fame these could bring me I can buy the village over 20 times if I need to.", she quietly said to herself as steely determination set on her face.
Her village had fallen on hard times after the magic spells the collection of villages in their area had used for centuries suddenly ceased working. Overnight wizards and witches had lost all of their powers to call upon their deity Sighri. They could call for her day and night but no reply ever came, and all of their wand devices had ceased working as well. Ever since then her village had fallen into disrepair as one by one the families that had once called it their home left for tales of mythical cities leagues away that were ruled by other gods who still answered their calls. Maybe in one of these books she would find the answer to how to once again gain the favor of the gods.
However she quickly realized she could carry at most 5 or so books back to the surface with her at a time, and so she would need to be judicious about her choices. That increasingly proved difficult though, as it seemed that almost all of the books in this section appeared to be entirely focused on the magical arts. Hemming and hawing she soon had a stack of dozens of books around her on the floor that all seemed they would offer some value. Glancing back and forth between two such books she eventually chose one that depicted two girls playing with a massive and dangerous looking beast. "The dean would likely forgive my trespassing in the ruins if I could give her book about witches and summoning a beast like that since her research is on magical warfare. I have no idea what a "wardrobe" or a "lion" is though."
Realizing she could now fit at most one more tome in her satchel she realized it made little sense to not explore the other shelves a few feet away that were still visible in the light falling through the ceiling. She scrambled to her feet and approached this stack. While the tomes on this stack were still similar in shape to the others they appeared to be less magnificently titled, and made little sense to her as she grazed her finger along their spines. Seeing a section of wonderfully colored yellow tomes all of roughly equal size she grabbed one at random and read it's incredibly large and black bold title out loud. "Al-ex-a fo-r Dumm-ie-s?".
Flipping the tome open to a random page she skimmed through and attempted to see if anything in this one was valuable. "Activ-ating Al-ex-a" she said quietly to herself as she reached the second paragraph of the page she had opened to. Getting excited at the idea of activating whatever spell Al-ex-a was, she read on.
**Activating Alexa:**
*In order to activate your Alexa enabled device simply say out loud "Alexa". Be sure to enunciate and pronounce the name loudly and clearly in order for it to register. The device is activated by the name, and should respond.*".
Feeling the excitement rise in her stomach she quickly placed her finger in the tome to keep her place before standing and facing the empty center of the room. She knew that attempting unexplored magic outside of school was strictly prohibited, but she needed to see if anything in these books would bring her the fame and glory her village so desperately needed to keep itself afloat. Clearing her throat, she proudly strummed aloud the spell activation word written in the book. "AL-EX--A!", and listened as the words clearly echoed in the chamber. Waiting a minute she slowly felt her shoulder droop slightly as nothing happened. Opening the tome back up to the page marked by her finger she reread the paragraph. "Be sure to enunciate and pronounce the name loudly and clearly", she read softly aloud.
Shifting her shoulders back, widening her stance, and glaring defiantly out into the center of the chamber she once again shouted out "AL-EX-A!". Pausing again she felt her ego deflating out of her as once again nothing happened. Feeling desperate as she realized that maybe the books down here were nothing more than ancient garbage she cried out "ALEXA!". As soon as the word flew out of her mouth she shrieked as a soft blue light emitted from the shelf nearby her. Pausing a few seconds and staring at the softly pulsating blue light, she cleared her throat and said with all the confidence she could muster - "What-what are you?".
There was a soft bell noise followed by a calming woman's voice replying a few seconds later, "<I'm Alexa. To learn more about me, just ask, "what can you do?".>".
Staring in awe at the soft blue glow in front of her she quickly replied "What *can* you do?".
Another soft bell, followed by the same woman's calming voice.
<"You can say 'Show me reggae music', 'Show me today's weather', 'How many tablespoons in a cup', and many more. I am also programmed to handle all book loans for the Bezos City Public Library, so simply ask me for any book recommendations or if we have a book in the library. If not, I can request a loan from another of the Alexa enabled libraries across all of Amazonia.>".
The girl felt a grin begin to stretch across her face. She had no idea what this spell did, or how it worked, but she was slowly beginning to realize she may have just discovered the first new deity in centuries.
**Edit: This was my first time ever writing a story like this. I just read the prompt and got this fun idea for a future where society has collapsed but all of the tech left behind still works for centuries afterwards. It's a future where companies like Amazon and Apple and Microsoft all become so large and powerful they made their own cities and countries based entirely around Siri, Alexa, Cortana, etc. The people trained to call on these "gods" are given the honorific of wizard or witch, and train for years to learn to speak with their own deity. I kinda ran with the topic and altered the "dictionary" into a Dummies guide. Super fun prompt idea!.** | 2020-03-29T14:09:39 | 2020-03-29T11:58:03 | 45 | 30 |
[WP] "Mummy, mummy, look!" Your daughter cries, waking you from a deep sleep early on Christmas morning. "Santa got me the pet rock I asked for!" You slowly open your eyes to see your daughter holding hands with one very confused--but still smiling--Dwayne Johnson. | "Aaaaaaaaaaargh,"
screamed Sharon, jumping backwards over the side of the bed.
"What the *hell* is going on?"
"Calm down, Mummy! This is my new friend, Mr. Johnson," said Sara.
The tall and muscular figure who looked eerily similar to *The Rock* took a breath, and started talking.
"Sorry to intrude here, Mrs. Brennan." -- That voice, Sharon thought. It's really him! -- "Believe me when I say, the surprise is mutual," said Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson, who was wearing pyjamas with blue elephants on top, yellow giraffes on the bottom.
A few moments of contemplative silence passed. From behind the bed: "That's really The Rock in my house right now?"
"It is it is it is," cried Sara, gleefully. "I wished for a pet rock from Santa in the mall, and I got the best one of them all!"
Sharon raised her messy hair and bewildered face into view, for a sceptical look. "Fucking hell," she gasped. Dwayne Fucking Johnson was standing *right there.*
"Hey, no swearing," Sara snapped.
"Look, it's Christmas day, and I'm really not meant to be here. So, Sara, it's been real meeting you, but I won't be able to stay for the tea party."
"But you said you would!"
"I'm sorry," Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson said, not lying. "Trust me, if I didn't have my own family to get back to, Fuzzy Bear and Malibu Barbie and I would be teapotting it up all afternoon with you."
Sharon looked on, vague, wondering if she was still drunk and stoned from the dinner party the night before. Had there been LSD going around? She was beginning to hope so.
Sara looked away, and started to cry. "Now now, don't cry. Any girl able to summon *The Rock* out of thin air must be really, really strong," he said. "Are you strong, Sara?"
She wiped the tears from her eyes, and nodded her head. "There it is. I think you might be the strongest girl in the whole neighbourhood!"
"You really think so?"
"No doubt about it. And no-one knows these things better than I do."
Sara smiled big and bright and ran over and hugged his leg. "Isn't that right, Mrs. Brennan?"
Sharon was too mystified by what she was observing to respond. "Mrs. Brennan, isn't that right?"
"What? Oh, yes. Of course. Mr. Johnson would know."
"Yay!"
Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson gave them both his widest Hollywood smile, and Sharon found her confusion subsiding into instincts of a very different nature. My word he's handsome, she thought.
"Could I please use your phone? Had better explain to the wife where I am."
"Sure, down the hall on the wall next to the fridge."
"Great, thanks."
Sharon gathered herself and put her dressing gown on and picked Sara up. "Well, missy. This'll be a Christmas we won't forget, that's for sure."
Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson was still on the phone when they walked into the kitchen. He spoke quietly, but Sharon could tell something was wrong.
"Mummy, is Mr. Johnson okay?"
"I don't know, honey. Let's give him some space to finish his call."
Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson followed them to the loungeroom a few minutes later, as a different man than before. His towering frame slumped, crestfallen, eyes wet with tears, looking as if about to make some kind of plea.
"Well, ladies. Looks like the situation is stranger than I thought," he said.
"What's the matter, Mr. Johnson?" Sara asked, with profound concern.
"Turns out I never left home, after all. My wife says I'm still sleeping in bed."
It was then, finally, that Sharon realised they were playing witness to the most insane Christmas miracle, surely, in history. Stranger than fiction, a singular cataclysm in humanity's understanding of science and physics and anything that Neil deGrasse Tyson from *Cosmos* had to say.
Sara, on the other hand, was thrilled. So much so that she was struggling to contain herself in spite her Christmas wish's emotional state. Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson looked down, and, seeing how happy she was, managed a smile.
"Well, Miss Sara, howabout that tea party?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
r/wordsofbrennan | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 0, Part ?: Clara Olsen v.s. Santa Claus)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Hi, you've reached North Pole Customer Service."** I scowled at my cellphone as Janice squealed and laughed in the kitchen. "Please listen carefully, as our options have recently changed. To lodge a grievance with Santa, please press 1—"
*1.* The phone beeped. The man who'd found himself impossibly crammed underneath the Christmas tree this morning poked his head out the door. "Is there a bathroom in—"
"First door on the left, can't miss it," I snapped. The phone blared some cheerful music about the true meaning of Christmas was compassion. I was pretty sure Santa didn't own the copyright to it. Maybe I could quietly do a reverse lookup and get Digital Rights Management on Santa's ass. It'd serve him right for lobbing some random stranger into my house.
"Hello?" The elf on the other end picked up surprisingly quickly. They sounded somewhat harried—from the news, I'd gathered that there had been a similar wave of Christmas accidents around the world. "How can I help y—"
"Under the Supernatural Cultural and Deific Phenomena Act of 2031, Santa is not above U.S. law, which *includes* breach of contract, trespassing, and *kidnapping*," I growled. "There had better be a damn good explanation for this—"
"Santa is not above U.S. law because Santa is dead," the elf said with the tired drone of a practiced response.
I stopped mid-rant.
"What?" I finally asked. "How?"
"Some rich kid went overboard trying to catch Santa's sleigh. Land-mined the roof so that the reindeer would—look, ma'am, we've been stretched thin trying to fulfill our contractual obligations without the big guy as it is." The elf's voice cracked. "Now are you going to shout at us some more, or can I move on to the next customer in line?"
I pressed my lips together. In the distance, my daughter laughed.
"No. That'll be all."
"Have a nice day." The elf hung up.
I set down the phone, drumming my fingers in thought.
Then I walked over to my daughter and sat down, smiling as I saw her shriek in delight as she put the empty box over her head.
My daughter had gotten what she'd wanted for Christmas. That was enough for me.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-05-10T22:01:24 | 2022-05-10T21:15:05 | 704 | 185 |
[WP] Long ago our ancestors learned not to accept anything from a fey/faerie/elf, because this would set up a magical debt that could be called in for anything. Unbeknownst to us, modern fey have been giving out food samples at stores, and they are about to call in all their debts. | *A simple man is awoken in his sleep by a bright light and the sound of wind in his bedroom*
"Muh...awohhuh! What is this!?"
"You have chosen to be the messenger for your people, John Ludwight, Child of Man. You have one week to remind your brothers of their debts to us, to be repaid in full."
"Wait wait wait, what? I chose you? What are you? I don't have any brothers, I'm an only child! What debt!?"
"Yes John, you chose us. You were the only one who tried the stewed octopus and spaghetti popsicles at Costco on Saturday. That was the chosen sign, that whomever would partake in a thing so vile, would be the bearer of our message as only they could understand it's nature."
"But I don't even really know what vile means! I mean I get the gist and if somebody at a party said 'Man this stuff is vile!' I'd say 'Ha, yeah buddy!' but on the inside I'd feel really insecure if somebody demanded I tell them what it means! I don't even like octopus or spaghetti, I just like popsicles. So just because I like popsicles and am kind of an idiot, I have to do whatever...this is?"
"That was the idea, yes. You are exactly what we were hoping for. You might say this is even your destiny. You may not be a smart man, but you are at least a chosen one."
"Are you calling me dumb?"
"I believe I just said that, yes."
*an awkward silence now fills the room, along with the light and the quiet rush of the wind*
"So I have a week to get people to pay back their debts? How am I supposed to do that?"
"That's not our concern, John. Us fairies are only concerned with repayment; the means is inconsequential."
"Well that is vague and unhelpful. How are we supposed to repay you, even?"
"We want your pets."
"Uh...why?"
"Our lands were ravaged by a plague that killed all our small creatures. All young fairies grew up with a 'cuddle buddy' as we called them; something soft and cozy that instilled good feelings about the world. The last few generations born had no cuddle buddies, and are subsequently becoming jerks. It's a whole thing."
"Yikes. Okay, so convince people to give up their pets and...then what? Who do I say is doing the collecting?"
"Have them whisper my name, Tasty Snack, and I will appear to receive payment or burn their abode in wrath. And before you ask, my clan's last name is Snack and my dad thought it would be funny, both being ridiculous as well as since my predetermined job was handing out samples. We may inhabit different worlds, but dads are everywhere the same."
"I hear ya pal. Okay, I guess I'll see what I can do about all this..."
*One week later, John is again awoken by light and wind, but this time from the blaze coming from what was once his neighbors house*
"Ah, so Tasty Snack got you too, eh Jim?"
"Yeah. I should've listened to you. I just didn't think it was all real. I mean, would you believe you?"
"Nah, I get it. Nobody believed me. Half this city is in flames."
"Yeah. Man, I told Karen we shouldn't have gotten that dog."
"Classic Karen."
"Well, now what?"
"I uh...have some popsicles in the freezer if you want one."
"Sure man, that sounds great."
*Tasty Snack ruined many lives that day in the great cuddle buddy harvest. John himself lost much, but as he stood in his kitchen eating popsicles with Jim, he knew that while he lost a neighbor, he gained a friend.* | Costcos on Sundays is supposed to be mundane. Commonplace. Without fanfare or much of any excitement. That's what I expected, at least, on my bi-weekly Costco run. But that's not what happened.
What happened was inexplicable.
All I ever wanted was a sample of the smoked salmon tartare that they have on exhibit, taking advantage of the free food samples they have there. One second the nice old lady handed me a plastic cup with the sample and a napkin with it, the next, she nodded to a much younger woman a few aisles over, and all but few of the food service workers threw off their aprons and their gloves, and transformed in a shower of light.
I groaned, hand reaching for the gun on my hip, waiting to see what my next steps can be. They never covered any fairy related elements in my training, and I hadn't expected to have to fight off shift.
"Humans," the former-old-lady-now-turned-into-a-beautiful-and-ethereal-lady-with-wings said, "are disgusting. But it is time. For all the centuries that you destroyed our homelands, decimated our Earth, it is finally our time to take back what had been rightly ours, and the rest of the Earth's."
"What the fuck," a man said, scooting back on the floor as he had been blasted by an energy wave. "Are you all seeing this?"
"We are calling in our debts now, for all the food that we had given you." An elf, five aisles down stepped out and said. "We want your energies, harvested preferably from your younglings.
A tiny cup of tomato soup sailed out of nowhere and hit a fairy on the face. I looked back, and it was a teenager who threw it, a tiny cup of go-gurt with strawberries on the other hand. "This has to be a prank, right? Food fight?"
The fairy wiped her brow off with disgust. "You humans have been so arrogant... So entitled for long. But not anymore. We won't even bother teaching you all a lesson... This is not about you, this is about the injustice we had been under."
The fairies and elves, then, raised their hands, glowing, and started an incantation. As for me, I just really, really wished that I hadn't skipped any of the supernatural section of my training. | 2019-05-22T11:21:27 | 2019-05-22T10:56:38 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] You’re a bodiless benign entity with the ability to possess people. You use this ability to travel and experience physicality. Spotting a suitable host, you leap into it. A second later it says “Get Out!” and you find yourself forcibly ejected out of the body. This has never happened before. | "Get out!"
The words ring in my ears like someone just smacked me either side of my head with a pair of cymbals, and before I even have time to think, I am forcibly ejected from the body. Spat out on the dusty floor to lie, curled in a ball, and in excruciating pain.
OK, so in all my time since the experiment, this is something new. Not pleasant in any shape or form, but definitely new.
The woman scarcely bothers to spare me a glance, returning to sip her cappuccino and browse the menu. To all intents and purposes she looks exactly like all of the hundreds of people I've briefly possessed since becoming disembodied. But she's not.
I clamber to my feet, invisible to everyone on the town square, and slowly circle her table. What exactly am I looking at here?
"For pity's sake," says the woman, without looking away from the menu. "Stop pacing and sit down."
I stop. She can see me?
"I can see you and I can hear you," says the woman, as if reading my mind. "Now, sit down, we have much to discuss."
"I can't sit down," I say, "Disembodied, you see. I just go straight through things."
"You're very new to this, aren't you?" said the woman, turning to look at me for the first time. Her eyes are green, like two pieces of jade that I find myself lost in.
"A year," I say, finally, "Well, near enough."
The woman laughs softly. "Oh, so very young. And you can't even sit on a chair..."
"Do I need to mention the disembodied thing again?"
"Did you land on the floor a moment ago, or did you fall through to the Earth's core?"
"Well, yeah," I reply. "But that's not the same."
"Isn't it?" says the woman with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "What if I were to tell you that you are at the very first step of a journey that could take you to places that would seem impossible?"
"I'd be curious to know more."
"I was like you once," said the woman, looking off into the distance. "When Khufu first sacrificed me, and unwittingly set me free. I spent the first years alone, unable to comprehend what I had become. But, in time, I learned what I am. Learned to become more."
"Wait," I interrupt, "Khufu as in the Great Pyramid?"
"The same."
"But that means that you're-"
"More than 4,700 years old, yes."
"Can you teach me?"
"I could," said the woman with a sip of her cappuccino, "but I won't."
Her hand moved faster than I could see, suddenly like a cold vice around my throat. I tried to beat at her but my intangible hands wafted right through her.
"I have plans, you see," said the woman, her grip relentlessly squeezing the life out of me, "Such plans you could not comprehend with your tiny mind. I will join Anubis and I can't risk an insect like you getting in my way."
I struggle with all my might, panic overcoming me as I strive to break free, but it is useless. Her grip is adamantine. She releases me only when she knows I am truly gone. The last words I hear before the darkness embraces me, "Yes, actually, I will take a croissant after all..." | Get the fuck out.
What? What do you mean ”this has never happened before”? Have you never been told “no”?
As I told you, get out. Why do you keep coming back?
Are you not familiar with the concept of consent? Well, it’s really quite interesting. When you’re gonna do something, first they—
W- Huh? No, I’m being sarcastic. I don’t genuinely think you’re that stupid.
Hah, I bet you’re not used to not being in power here. Why me, anyway? What makes me such a big target for you that you keep trying to get in?
There is absolutely nothing of interest in, around, or about me. Are you a thief? Do you smuggle peoples’ items to other people? Do you have a main body?
Uh-huh. And I’m the CEO of Apple. I told you to fuck off. Let me ask again, why me?
You are so fucked up. Get out.
Wha-? Schrodinger’s douchebag. That wasn’t even funny as a “joke”. Consider finding someone else, if that really was a joke.
Now you tell me, huh? I’m gonna be fine on my own.
Yes, I will.
Yes, I will, piece of shit. Leave me alone.
Why are you so concerned for me, specifically? I am the least important, noteworthy person on this Earth.
GO! — away… leave me alone.
I don’t matter at all. There is no reason for you to be here. Go find something fun to do.
… why me? Why… do you think I’m worth it? I’m better off here. This is what I need.
I fucked everything I ever try to do up. I‘ve been an abusive older brother. I‘m terrible at being a girl. I was an atrocious student and I never made it to college. I... I gave everything all I had. Nothing is… it’s never fucking enough.
Get the fuck out. I don’t need your goddamned help.
Leave… now.
right now.
now | 2022-04-17T00:01:33 | 2022-04-16T23:13:04 | 32 | 10 |
[WP] A girl finds out that she can restart her entire life by committing suicide, she develops OCD while tirelessly trying to fix every little error, constantly restarting. This goes on for a while until God intervenes. | "Maggie," said God.
"Yes, sir?" Maggie stood very straight and very still, chin up, hands clasped neatly in front of her. God had never seen anyone else manage to make Heaven's robes look quite so... prim.
"You're here again."
"Yes, sir." Maggie was surreptitiously using her foot to flatten out the tufts of cloud she was standing on.
"Stop that," God commanded. Maggie stopped, but began to look visibly uncomfortable. She eyed the disorderly mess of cloud as though she wanted to vacuum it up, even if it meant removing the very foundations of Heaven. She'd tried it before. "Maggie, Maggie look at me. I need you to focus."
Maggie looked at God.
"It's only been 16 Earth years."
"Yes, sir."
"...I thought we talked about this, Maggie."
"Well, sir, with all due respect, sir, I did explain to you last time that if there were extra-ordinary circumstances beyond that of my control, I could not promise that the temptation to reset would not be too great. Sir."
"Extraordinary- Maggie, all you did was spill a bit of coffee."
"I spilled it on my blouse, sir."
"So?"
"I... I'm not sure you understand. The blouse was white, sir."
"Child!" God's voice thundered. The force of it shook the fibers of existence itself. Whoops, he thought, guess there was going to be another earthquake. He'd be getting prayers about that all week. "I am everywhere at every time in every thing. Do not presume to tell me what I do not understand."
Maggie sniffed. "Yes, sir. Then you see, sir, why I had to reset. Don't you?"
God did not see, but after 67,842 life cycles, he had learned that sometimes there was no reasoning with Maggie. He looked at the girl, how uncomfortable she seemed. She had busied herself trying to smooth out the drapes of her robe, a harmless enough pass time. But God remembered. He remembered what had happened after her first life, when the stress of reliving each of her mistakes over and over in her mind had caused her to start harassing the other angels, obsessively counting and breaking off their split ends. God hadn't even realized angels had split ends! When Satan had visited for one of their chess games, he'd sensed the girl's misery from three clouds away, and even made a crack about God getting into the torture business. God just couldn't have an angel this upset. It was bad for his reputation.
"Look, Maggie, I'll give you another life cycle, see if this time goes any better."
"Oh, thank you, sir! You won't regret it, sir!"
"Try to make it to past adolescence this time, ok kid? It may mellow you out."
"Well, sir, I can't make any promises. If there are extra-ordinary circumstan-"
God snapped his fingers, and Maggie's life began again. From heaven, he watched as she was born, without so much as a wail. As Maggie's mother held her infant daughter in her arms for the first time, Maggie quietly reached out to brush a speck of dust from her mother's hospital gown. Maggie cooed, content. For now.
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism very much so welcome and appreciated. | Sarah liked to get things right.
The first reset was amazing. She knew to stay away from Tony and Mark was such a wonderful husband. She spent more quality time with her Mum and helped prolong her life - convincing her early to stop smoking.
In her eighties Sarah was content with her life. That was until her youngest son, Nick, died in a skiing accident. It wasn’t fair. She needed to come back. She needed to save him.
It wasn’t clear why she had been born again but Sarah didn’t take any chances. She killed herself again - this time with pills instead of the knife. It was an easier way to go - and still effective.
Things spiraled out of control from there. She had lost count of how many times she had relived her life. Each day flew by in a minute - each action a reflex she had performed a thousand times before. Each strategically placed change meant disaster. When she saved her son Nick from the ski crash, Mark would die in a car accident. When she prevented the accident, Nick would become a drug addict.
The changes were never enough. She could never live a perfect life. Her suicides moved up as time went on. Usually immediately after the latest life disaster she faced. The cycle seemed to be getting faster and faster.
She wanted to let herself die naturally - to see what would happen. But she couldn’t. She had to get things perfect.
---
“James! Come see this. There’s problem with the simulation.”
“What is it?”
“It looks as though one of the data points has become stuck in a loop. It’s been stuck for about 15 minutes. I was on break.”
They both stared at the screen. The building was humming as the thousands of processors created the first true world simulation.
“Shut it down... Shit!” James ran his hand through his hair. “The ethics commission is going to have our asses for this.”
---
/r/Franz_Canis | 2015-04-29T18:44:01 | 2015-04-29T18:27:27 | 194 | 119 |
[WP] You are Subtle Tea, a super hero who alters major world events by a most appropriately timed cup of tea. | Usually when my superiors gave me missions, it meant that all their other plans had failed. That morning when I walked into my "office" the manila folder told me that my "special skills" were once again needed.
I had my own ways of handling problems, and I had a tendency to use as little effort as I possibly could. Some called it "phenomal" others "strange" but I had a special ability to change major events with a single cup of tea. The tea could be used in a number of ways. There were times when I had simply handed someone a cup, while at others I merely left a cup sitting out in a very appropriate place. The method was the part that mattered the least, as long as the tea was the thing that made the changes.
The folder had the words "Top Secret" stamped across the front. This was typical, since my superiors also had a tendency to make things cliche and dramatic. I had no idea that this particular mission was going to be the most cliche and dramatic of them all.
The mission was to stop World War II from starting. I was baffled at such a request. How had they managed to fail all their other attempts? But as I went through the file I started to realize that this mission was not as simple as it seemed. Many attempts had been made to stop Hitler from rising to power. The most popular method though was attempts on Hitler's life. Everything from shooting him on the battlefield to smothering him in the cradle had been tried and failed. It seemed that the man was practically untouchable. Reports had been made that every attempted assassination seemed to have weird coincidences that would null and void the entire thing. Fired bullets would just slightly miss and ricochet off of something, blankets covered over the baby's face still somehow weren't enough to cut off all of his air, and for some reason whenever an opportune moment arrived, someone always walked in at just the right time to throw everything off. It seemed unlikely and coincidental until someone discovered the answer.
Hitler, in the terms of time travel, was a fixed point. What that meant is that nothing could directly done to Hitler to change anything about his life. This fact was not unusual, many people are, but it causes problems when you're trying to alter the course of history. This started a wave of indirect methods of changing history, but even those had failed. The Treaty of Versailles had been altered, but each time history still found a way to screw Germany over. Other men had been brought in to rise to power before Hitler, but they each ended up becoming a Hitler 2.0. Attempts had even been made to stop World War I from starting, but in the end it only made a bigger mess. I knew that they at this point what was truly needed was some... *Subtle Tea*...
I turned on my time machine to get the motors warmed up while I looked up what year I would need...*1907*. Soon everything was set and I was ready to go. I found myself in the streets of Vienna, it was nearing evening and most of the people on the streets were going home. I walked around the streets holding a file folder in my hand. There was one man in particular that I needed to see tonight. However, I soon discovered that as the day started to come to a close, the man I needed was nowhere to be found. *Of course* I thought *How could I be so stupid to think that it would be easy to find one person in such a large city?* I looked at the files that I had brought along again. Fortunately there was information on where this man's office would be located. I located the correct building and went inside.
Of course my biggest problem was that everything was in German. I had a translator, but through gathering my supplies, paperwork, and of course the tea bag, I had somehow managed to misplace it. I was about to go through my pockets before I heard a voice from behind.
"Kann ich Ihnen helfen?"
I froze in my tracks, everything could be ruined if i didn't find that translator right now.
"Uhh.. Ich brauche eine Nummer" I said stumbling through what little German I knew.
I went through all my pockets in a frenzy desperately trying to find the translator. I heard the man's footsteps approaching me as he got closer and closer. I knew that I only had one shot at this, and I had to find it now. The man behind me continued to speak more words in German, but all I could focus on were his footsteps. As long as he hadn't reached me yet, I could still do this. I was just looking for a long metal object that had a...
*Button* I felt it under my thumb as my hand reached into my coat pocket. I pressed just as the man placed his hand on my shoulder.
"You know that after hours, visitors are not allowed right?"
"Actually I'm looking for Georg Hoffman, do you happen to know where his office is?"
"You do know that this is the time of year when we're approving new applicants right? Georg is very busy right now."
"I'm actually his cousin. He's been inquiring about his aunt, my mother, and I have some personal news to deliver to him."
"I see. Well his office is on the third floor, room 327."
"Danke!" I said, heading towards the stairs.
"What?"
"Thank you!"
As I climbed the stairs I started really looking forward to that cup of tea. My nerves were in desperate need of calming down. I soon found the room that the man had told me about and I could see through the window the silhouette of who I assumed was Georg. I knocked on the door and heard a voice say "Come in!" I opened the door and looked at the man sitting at the desk. I took a deep breath and started to do my work.
"Hello, my name is Fritz Engel. I'm an art dealer who has worked with many alumni from your school. I understand that you're the director here?"
Georg gave a look of suspicion, as I half expected him to.
"What can I help you with?"
"I understand that you're the one who approves what students are accepted and denied into your establishment, and that you are the one who 'approves their work'?"
"I am one of many who sit on a committee, but I don't do all of the work myself. The Academy of Fine Arts Vienna receives far too many applicants for one person to evaluate alone."
"I'd like to talk to you about one of the applicants in particular."
"I'm sorry, but this is a very private matter, and why does an art dealer have any business in what applicants I accept?"
"Adolf Hitler, have you seen his portfolio yet?"
"I believe I skimmed through it slightly, but it was nothing spectacular."
"I saw some of his artwork myself, and I can tell you that there's potential. It may not seem like it now, but if you let him in, it may do you some good in the long run."
"I'm not quite sure that I understand."
"Well sir, why don't we discuss it over a cup of tea..."
Edit: Fixed my German grammar. | All I can remember as I ran down the cobblestone road was the fear I felt. The bone-shaking feeling that frightened me to my very core as my hands and feet felt all but deprived of any sense of warmth. I hadn't the energy of a morning cup of Earl Grey nor the overpowering strength of Darjeeling inside of me.
My vision grew hazy. The air around me condensed into a cloud of thick, evening fog. By god's good sake, I had become lost in my attempt to run, run as far away as I can from that stranger that stalked me in recent days.
It had all started after the Soviet affair. After I had managed to get the dictator to calm down with a relaxing glass of Jasmine green, to agree to a disarmament conference, there had been an odd feeling in the back of my head that someone was watching me, not just Subtle Tea, but Richard Twining, my real self. I tried to relax myself with some boxed white tea that I left in my kitchen, but for some reason, it didn't help.
I had always been able to harness the power of the Tea Leaf to vanquish my foes and save the day. I had been able to increase the caffeine content by sheer strength of will, and even induce mind-altering effects into the tea to boost myself up and tear others down emotionally.
In the past eight weeks, I have drunken about a total twelve gallons of thrice-steeped black teas, all of varying brands but enchanted by my power to enhance my senses and awareness. Yet, throughout all those days, I've been unable to even conceive the evil that followed me. What sheer, unreal abomination that had lingered behind in my every step was beyond my imagination.
Today, in the early hours of morning, was when I realized that the end was nigh. I had to leave without a cuppa. The gas had shut off that morning. So had the electricity. There was no way to boil a batch. My leaves had expired. The water had tainted.
I left to head towards the police station, to turn myself in for my own protection. I put in a few calls to Saltman and the Breakfast League to warn them of an impending threat that lurked at our doorsteps. Some of them, my sidekick-slash-rival Sweet Tea and the Obnoxious Orange also reported similar feelings of being watched.
When I got into my cell, it had happened. A tall wave of black, toxic sludge came through the barred windows above my cell. I summoned the leaves to me and forged a key to run. And that's all I've been doing. Running and running. Long into the night.
Now, here I am. Trapped in an old, forgotten alleyway as the black wave came closer to me. It came closer and slower, mocking me with every inch of the way. I gathered my will, but there was no caffeine in me. I mustered the last of my strength into the leaves and created a mighty Ceylon sword.
I readied myself. Then, she appeared. A woman whose appearance seemed to defy reality itself. Her mer-like features, tails where her legs should be, adorned her whole being, making her seem more like fish than man. A starred crown sat atop her head. Her black, bitter brew followed her command like an animal on a tight chain.
The Lady smirked at me and muttered few words, "Twining. Your end's hella come."
"An American accent? Is that a trace of the Northwest I hear?"
She nodded, "Face it, oldtimer. No one drinks tea anymore. You're a relic of olden days. Stand aside or oversteep where you stand."
I spat at her. She grimaced and raised her trident into the air. The fog continued to thicken and my nose was clogged by the new, foamlike texture. Without proper oxygenation, my sword would soon fall and turn into a tasteless, useless mess.
I swung frantically as her wave slammed into me with the force of a steel cannonball. The sludge burned hotter than I thought imaginable. I screamed as it pushed and restrained me against my brick backing.
The Lady giggled and beckoned closer to me. Her long, pale fingers stroked my chin, "You are like, such a fool, y'know?"
I bared my teeth for her evildoing. Alas, the Lady was a cruel mistress. The sludge came upon me like the gates of death. It filled every orifice upon my face. It splashed down my nose and forced its way down my throat. A harsh, acidy taste struck wildly at my throat and into my belly.
My heart thumped faster and harder than I ever thought imaginable. This sludge had caffeine. Lots of it. More than I've ever had. My consciousness was slipping away. The tea's creativity and gentle tones, made of a combination of Oolong, Pu-ehr, and barley, were abandoning my veins, replaced with the harsh grittiness of productivity and a hectic jaunt.
This was the end of me. At least I've made said my farewells. I looked at The Lady with the last of my being. I had to force myself to speak.
"What's your name, foul villain?"
She smiled, "Name's Green Eyes. Welp, be seeing ya. Hoped you liked the coffee!" She cricked her neck and went off, her twin mermaid tails fading away to take the form of legs.
The light vanished from my sight. The sludge continued to pound away against my being. I had lost. I had died. A rusty, metal taste like cheap instant tea coated my tongue.
Sweet Tea... Orange... Avenge me. | 2016-07-11T23:14:17 | 2016-07-11T21:49:06 | 166 | 27 |
[WP] Your 11 year old nephew just ate 2 of your LSD gummy bears 45 minutes ago and you have to make sure he makes it through sane | It started with the giggling. The unstoppable, contagious giggling. Giggling like that from an eleven year old boy usually meant he was making a mess, or lighting something on fire.
Setting down the lunch dish I had been washing I rushed up the stairs and into David's room.
It was much worse than anything I could have imagined. On the floor in front of my sprawled out nephew, was my bag of individually wrapped LSD bears. In front of David were two empty wrappers.
"Hey buddy, you doing okay?" Slowly I made my way to him, careful not to startle him in his state.
"I cant." He gasped through his laughter. "Stop laughing." Another burst of giggles. "I don't even know what's funny." David roared and rolled around on the floor.
"Probably everything right now bud." I muttered to myself, wondering how I was ever going to explain this to my sister.
"Aunt Amy." He gasped though his tears, clutching his cramping stomach. "The carpet is dripping." An uproarious laugh burst from him and his giggling started anew.
*Jesus, I am never going to get him off the floor.* And like he heard me, David sprang up, grabbing the bag of gummy bears.
"NO!" I slapped them out of his hands as he went for another one.
"But why? They're soooooooo good." He reached for the bag on the floor and I grabbed his shoulders, easily pushing him back into the upright position. His pupils were as big as his grin.
"Because they are mine and you already ate some without asking." I softened my voice, I really didn't want to upset him, but he needed to stay away from my stuff.
It didn't work.
"I'M SO SOOOOORRY AUNT AMYYYYYYYY!" Fat tears rolled down his freckled cheeks and he sobbed pitifully into his hands.
*Of course I made him cry....Go me...*
"It's alright bud, I'm not mad, hey, how about some ice cream and some soothing Planet Earth?"
At the mention of ice cream he immediately perked up, and was out of his bedroom and down the stairs before I could turn around.
When I entered the kitchen he was on the floor, again in tears.
"What's wrong Buddy?" I knelt down to look in his face.
"The *hic* fridge told me *sniffle* that there was no ice creaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam!" His sobbing intensified and I resisted the urge to giggle at his plight.
Before I could stop myself, I said something incredibly stupid.
"Don't cry bud, why don't we go down tot he corner store and grab a few pints?"
*Shit.*
His cherubic face beamed at me, his tears forgotten.
"AN ADVENTURE!!!!!!!" He rushed into the foyer, slamming into a couple of walls in his haste.
"Please kill me." I muttered, staring up at whatever God there was, who was surely laughing at me.
When I went to pull my boots on David was already prepared to leave, and bouncing on the tips of his toes, staring intently at a dying houseplant in the front window of their home.
"Are we walking Aunt Amy, or are you going to driiiiiiiive us?" He giggled. "Your car looks like an eggplant." And the gates of laughter burst open again, and David was again fighting for his breath. There was no way we were walking anywhere with him like this.
"I'm driving us, I want to get back pretty fast."
"It'll be hard to drive an eggplant!"
"Just....Let's go." I took his hand and we walked to my ugly purple PT Cruiser.
As soon as he was inside and buckled in he began to hum about sitting in an eggplant, and how much dryer it was on the inside than he was expecting. I was just hoping to survive the day, and not have the police called on me.
The whole way to the small convenience store his nose was literally pressed to the glass, the contents of his nostrils available for all passersby to see.
"Those guys are walking backwards. The trees are sparkly today, and why are the squirrels yelling?"
"Not sure David, maybe they just like to."
He nodded sagely.
"Well I just hope they don't hear us talking about them, because then we would be surrounded.....furrounded." He burst into giggles and I rolled my eyes at the terrible word play.
"We made it." I said this more for myself than David, but he was vibrating in his seat with excitement.
As soon as I was out of my seat he was out of the car and through the doors, immediately making his way to the freezers in the back of the small store.
I watched the brunette head of hair weave through the aisles, and come to a dead stop before the mesmerizing slushy machines. Their neon colored undulations hypnotizing David in his elevated state. I slowly approached him as not to startle him, and he was pressed so close to the blue raspberry slush that his eyeballs were almost touching the Plexiglas.
"David?"
"Forget the ice cream, I want a cup of magic." He didn't turn to look at me, he didn't avert his eyes from the glowing blue swirls. "A big one."
"Well you will have to move, I can't pour it with you standing there." Begrudgingly he moved back and I slid the cup under the spigot.
"You wanna pour it?" David's head bobbed so hard I thought it would snap his neck, and with tentative hands he pressed down on the lever, spilling out the raspberry drink.
"I AM THE MOST POWERFUL OF MAGICIAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNSSSSS!" He screamed out and ululated loudly, causing every human in the building to look our way.
Quickly, as to avoid further exposure I hustled him to the ice cream case, where I grabbed a few favorites and a box of popsicles.
The clerk looked at us oddly as she took my cash, her eyes mostly fixed on the boy with the lidless slushy who was simply staring into the blue ice. She bagged our items and we sprinted out, forgetting the receipt, it wasn't like I was going to return the stuff.
Once in the car I breathed a small sigh of relief, and before long we were pulling back into the driveway of my sister's home. David had not spoken or looked up from the blue slushy since I had placed it in his hands.
With little coaxing I got him into the house and onto the couch. I wrapped him in a blanket and popped in an episode of Planet Earth.
He continued to stare into his drink until he was pulled from it by the sounds of a troop of monkeys on the television. Intently he watched them whoop and holler, occasionally lowering his mouth to slurp at his drink.
I sat beside him, watching both him and the program, eating small bites of mint chocolate chip ice cream. It would seem he was becoming slightly more calm as he watched the animals on the tele, and I took the opportunity to relax a bit.
Until David decided to launch himself out of the blankets and at me, giggling uncontrollably and gesturing to the television.
"JESUS! David what is it?!" He snorted a giggle and pointed to the monkeys on the screen, who had surrounded another animal.
"They have him.....FURROUNDED!"
---
Thanks for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! | *On the phone*
Uncle Sam: "Ay Dave... You remember those Looney Toons Gummies you gave me? You know, the California Sunshine... Ol' Juan Cristobal here decided he wanted to trip with Lucy in the sky with diamonds and ate them."
*Laughter*
Dave: "Well, I hope he likes Mexico."
Uncle Sam: "Fuck! What do I do?"
Dave: "How long has it been since he ate them."
"About 45 minutes ago, those things are set to kick in at any moment. I'm fucking screwed man. It's game over man, game over."
"Well... Fuck, bro... You may just be shit out of luck... What's he doing now?"
"I don't know, good question. Let me go see."
*Walks into the next room to find the kid sitting in the lotus position staring intensely at the TV while Naruto is on*
*In a calming tone*
"Hey buddy, how's it going?"
*No answer*
"You alright?"
*Blank*
"You aren't feeling a little strange or anything right now, are you?
*Doesn't even blink*
"...Yeah Dave, he's just sitting there staring at the TV. I think he may be tripping balls here in a second. Ah, God, Lord Almighty, Why?
Dave: "How'd he get a hold of them anyways"
Uncle Sam: "I don't know, I thought they were in my pocket at first, then I noticed that they were gone. I thought to myself, "They must've fallen out". So I started looking around for them, when all of sudden the kid goes, "Uncle Sam, do you have anymore gummy bears that I can have". I was like, "What gummy bears?" Then it dawned on me... The little bastard just ate my acid..."
*Laughing*
Dave: "I can see him tripping hard. Licking window panes, stripping naked and pretending to be superman. Now Uncle Sam is irresponsible and a pedophile ." "Where'd he touch you son?"
Uncle Sam: "Shut up, I don't need that right now. Just tell me how long this stuff is supposed to last."
Dave: "4-6 hours. For a kid his age probably a little bit more. You may want to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't do anything crazy."
Uncle Sam: "Yeah, you're right." Aight then, I gotta take care of this."
*Still Laughing*
Dave: "Good luck... I have no clue what you are talking about."
*Uncle Sam hangs up and proceeds to check on the kid just to see that he's nowhere to be found."
Uncle Sam: "Damnit! Where'd he go?" Ah!!! My brother is gonna kill me if he finds out."
*In a calming manner"
Uncle Sam: "Hey, pal, where are you?"
* No answer*
*Uncle Sam's heart sinks, he begins to worry. But then he sees the ninjas on the TV pop out, and out of nowhere, the kid appears.*
Uncle Sam: "Whew! Thought I lost you."
*Kids blank*
Uncle Sam: "How you feeling?"
*Still no answer*
Uncle Sam begins to get paranoid. Starting to realize something that he had long forgotten. Slowly but surely, he starts to recollect his thoughts.
*The TV goes Naruto: "Shadow Clone Jutsu!"
Uncle Sam flips out, the kid begins to multiply, replicating the show.
Uncle Sam: "No, no, no. This can't be happening.
*The kid fades away and vanishes again*
Uncle Sam: "No, no."
*Uncle Sam begins to hear a ringing in his head and voices from the sky begin to follow. He steps outside clinching his head, trying to make sense of it all.*
*Two shadows emerge*
Uncle Sam: "What do you want from me, what is going on, What's happening?"
Voice 1: Sam! Sam! Stop!
Voice 2: You're gonna be alright Sam, just take some deep breathes... Slowly... In and out, in and out.
Uncle Sam: "No, no, what are you talking about."
*Uncle Sam had forgotten that he had actually taken the dose and had been hallucinating his fears, manifesting paranoia*
Voice 1(m): "It's gonna be alright Sam. You're gonna be alright."
Voice 2(d): "We need to get your clothes back on"
Voice 1: "See son that's why you don't do drugs"
Uncle Sam finally realize the situation that he is in. Snapping back to reality he finds himself butt-ass naked on the corner of the street gripping a lamp post. Two shadows hang over him*
*Perplexed*
Uncle Sam: What? What...? What's going on?
Mom(m): You're the most dim-witted, irresponsible, lazy, piece of shit of a brother! You couldn't stay away from the drugs for 4 hours!? Really!?
Dad(d): "Alright champ, let's get you back home."
Mom(m): I mean, seriously. You do this while babysitting my child!?
*Still dazed*
Uncle Sam: " I-I- I don't know what to say."
Mom(m): "I swear, I could just..."
Dad(d): "I hope it was worth it."
Uncle Sam: ...
Turns out, Uncle Sam took the drugs and had forgotten. Called Dave the Dealer for help. Dave had no idea what was going on. To his surprise, he had picked up the phone to a inconsistently babbling Uncle Sam. Dave was trying to calm him down, but Uncle Sam just kept rambling about losing the kid. The kid had locked himself in his bedroom and had called his parents, stating "Uncle Dave is acting weird". Uncle Sam hallucinated the entire conversation between him and Dave, and thought it best for himself to just strip and go looking for the kid, cause "Everything is better when you're naked."
| 2017-01-09T07:17:41 | 2017-01-09T06:34:20 | 77 | 13 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Tabitha rested briefly after harvesting sixty carrots in the humid, virtual sun. The beads of sweat that accumulated on her forehead felt real as day, and they felt even more real when she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Her red pigtails fell to her shoulders, which was covered by a pink floral shirt and some dirty denim overalls. She rolled the bottom of her overalls up to her calf, revealing long pink socks tucked into practical work boots.
"When does this game become fun, Macy?"
Her question was directed to her friend who was playing another support class -- a farmer. She wore similar overalls over a green shirt, but instead of being armed with a trowel and mini rake, the farmer was equipped with a pitchfork. Tabitha's friend sheepishly smiled with a long piece of straw in her mouth and tilted her straw hat back, revealing a forehead even sweatier than Tabitha's.
"Well, I wasn't expecting you to get stuck as a gardener...but it's all random. That's some bad luck, huh?"
"If I wanted to harvest carrots, I'd move into the country," Tabitha paused as she picked a carrot that she planted five minutes ago. It sprung up with a satisfying coin-like noise. "Although, I do like the sounds."
Tabitha planted a few more carrots in a line on her friend's farm. The sun hung high in the air and the clouds moved lazily across the perfectly blue sky. Macy owned a tiny farmhouse, one that she was able to purchase after putting in time as a stable hand for other players. It took a while, but she finally had land to harvest and was secretly glad her friend rolled a similar support class. A gardener and farmer synchronize greatly.
"Pull up your stats, I want to see what kind of moves you have," beckoned Macy.
Tabitha lifted her hand in the air and made it into a fist for five seconds. She released the fist and an 8-bit pixelated menu popped up in front of them. At the top, it showed a picture of Tabitha's avatar with an intimidating empty bar under it to keep track of her experience points. Most of her stats were D-rank, not excelling in anything except for her stamina which shined yellow as a C-rank.
"Click on 'Moves.'"
Tabitha did as her friend instructed and tapped the menu item that was labeled "Moves." It pulled up a new pixelated menu screen with two items listed: "Plant Carrot" and "Harvest Carrot."
"Well, that's not very exciting," frowned Tabitha. Macy giggled.
"Maybe we have to find some seeds to expand your moveset! The real problem is your experience bar. I've never heard of a gardener getting to level 2. You have a looooong way to go."
"Let's just quit and go to a bar or something."
Macy sneered, but the whimsical gesture suddenly turned serious as she spotted a dark figure in the distance riding on a horse. "Oh no," she muttered.
Tabitha turned around to see what made her friend turn serious. It was another player, as indicted by the red triangle above his head. The red color of the triangle also indicated that the player had his "Player vs. Player" mode activated, allowing him to attack other players who opted into PvP mode.
"At least he can't take what we harvested already," said Macy, as the player charged towards the two. "He's lucky he rolled a Dark Knight, a rare attacker class. He'll just trash the place and move on after he realizes he can't kill us." Macy sighed, knowing she would have to spend more time fixing up her farm and getting it back to the productivity level that it's at now.
"Any idea why he's not slowing down?" questioned Tabitha. Macy looked at her friend, and then to the Dark Knight. She looked back to her friend, and then once more at the Dark Knight that now pulled out a lance and aimed it towards Tabitha, with no intention of stopping. Macy had just noticed the red triangle above Tabitha's head.
"You opted in for PvP?!"
"I didn't know what it meant at the time!"
Macy brought her hand to her face. "Don't worry it doesn't hurt, I've died countless times." she reassured Tabitha. "Maybe you'll feel a pinch."
"What????" panicked Tabitha. The Dark Knight was closing in on his prey, now only a couple of meters away from the low-level gardener. His mighty steed picked up speed and the knight readied his lance towards Tabitha's face. Just as he was about to strike, however, one of the horse's front hooves became caught on the line of carrots Tabitha had planted earlier.
The horse fell forward, launching the dark knight behind the girls and towards Macy's farmhouse. He landed violently just short of the porch, with his gut completely impaled onto his lance. Within seconds, he burst into a million little pieces.
Tabitha's character burst a celebratory gold explosion three times in a row to Macy's amazement. Tabitha looked around, completely confused. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled up her character menu. The once empty bar had filled three times, revealing her to be level 4.
"Holy crap, Tabitha!!" Macy was still in shock. She only received partial experience due to owning the land where the battle happened, but Tabitha received full experience due to landing the killing blow with her deadly carrots. But it wasn't the experience that Macy was surprised by, it was one minor detail on the menu.
"Tabitha," she began, still looking for words. "It doesn't say you're a support class anymore...it says you're a summoner!" | Gardening. Hah! Never woulda thought it'd suit me, but hey! No, no. It didn't suit me. First of all, I couldn't grow a carrot bigger than my pinky, nor even an herb garden to add some flavor to my life. Potions? Forget it. I felt completely useless.
From the beginning, I thought "My new life is starting! I'll be a real hero this time!" but we couldn't even choose the classes we got! Hell, I would've preferred to go back to being a businessman. At least I might've worked my way to being a merchant. Can't even sell the crops I grow thanks to that. No license! Hah.
Well, I did what I had to do to make it work. I gardened, for all it was worth, but couldn't do much to keep anything alive regardless of how hard I tried. That damn Robert and his "adventure party" or whatever the hell they're called couldn't leave my little plot of land alone. Always "hunting rats for a quest" or something. Never saw a rat, so maybe they did a good job. Who am I to say? They came back the other day, claiming they had to find some shiny rock and I decided to end my day there. Cook up some "baby" carrot stew and call it a night.
I woke up in the morning feeling downright refreshed. My first thought was "Dang! My carrots are finally doing something good!" but boy was I wrong. I got ready for the day's work, went outside, and an extremely foul smell hit my nose. Looking around, I couldn't see anything, so I followed my nose behind my house and there he was: Robert himself, laying cold in my garden. Well, not cold; the morning heat had already warmed him up a bit, but he was definitely dead. I'll admit, I was shocked. It feels weird to say it, but I was able to just "comprehend" it as an accident and kind of study the situation without being too grossed out. It was my first time seeing a dead body, but he looked pretty peaceful laying there with his head against that rock.
I looked around and couldn't see any of his party, so I walked up closer to get a look when I heard a loud DING in my head followed by the words floating up in my vision: You've leveled up from level 1 to 61. Congratulations! Please spend your skill points and access your status window via the window in the top right of your HUD. Suddenly, my vision went dark. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the middle of the night.
Now, one thing to keep in mind is that I'm not really a well-known person in this world. One day I woke up and was outside of a large town with the deed to a farmhouse and a plot of land. The only thing I ever saw was a window in the top left of my vision saying "Level 1 Farmer," and that was all the help and hint I got. Suddenly I'm waking up as a "Level 61 Druid" and haven't the slightest clue to what I'm supposed to do now. I only ever met one other farmer, Mr. Lanlass down the road from me, and he had been a Level 1 Farmer for almost 30 years. Thirty! Suddenly I'm a druid? What's a DRUID?! But I also realized I was sleeping next to a dead body, and every fiber in me told me I had to tell someone. But how? It's the dead middle of the night.
Suddenly I hear a "Hey, psst. Down here!~" It definitely caught my attention with that tiny sing-song voice but what I saw couldn't be contained by shock. It was a fairy!
"I ain't no fairy. I'm a gnome! A Garden Gnome to be exact, and my name is Frank. Glad you can finally see me, mister. Didn't think I'd ever meet another druid. But hey, enough a' that. Shouldn't ya clean up that mess there? The authorities see that and you're in the pen for the next twenty some odd years, man."
It was a GNOME!
From that point on, I knew my life would be different. But first, I had to take care of this stinking body. | 2021-09-27T12:31:06 | 2021-09-09T21:37:59 | 315 | 35 |
[WP]"Is is true that you can only see three basic colors?", the alien being asked "It is." "So, how do you communicate with the Ghoosha?" "With whom?", I responded confused. "The other major race on your planet." | "Goosha?" I said, tilting my head a bit. "Who are they?"
The alien looked at me strangely. I had difficulty reading his expression. He was almost entirely human in appearance, with angular features and an air of delicacy and grace. The only thing that would separate him visually from a human were his ears; they were long and tapered to a point, sticking out somewhat from his long flowing hair.
But despite visual similarities to a human, his expression and body language were impossible to read. Impassive and imperious, utterly devoid of any movement that wasn't mediated and pondered. He spoke neutrally and flatly, "The Goosha? The Lords of the Sky?"
I could only shake my head in ignorance. Who or what was a 'Goosha'? "I'm unfamiliar with that word."
"So, the "red green blue" is accurate then? You don't have psir cones in your eyes?"
"I have no idea what... sire? sigher? Is."
"A pity." the alien said, gesturing beside him. "Because a representative of the Goosha stands before you."
I looked to the side of him, and saw only empty air. "Is this a joke?"
"Hardly." a snide tone slipped into the alien's voice, his posture subtlely shifting to a haughty loom. "Goosha are about twelve inches tall, shaped bipedally like you and I, with psir skin and neoil hair. They have two diaphanous ciavi wings and communicate by glowing in a variety of colors."
"I don't know what sire, knee-oil, and see-ah-vee are."
"Hmm. I suppose not." the alien sighed resignedly. "You would need psir cones to see the other colors that happen when you mix red blue and green with them. A pity. " he held his chin a moment in consideration. "What about the Sebt? The Tintari?"
I could feel my face getting hot. "I don't know *those* words, either."
The alien's expression grew... I think it was cold. "The Lords of Magma and Sea? You don't know of them, either?"
I slammed the table. "Look, Mister... whatever your name was, if you wish to open contact with our world, you are going to have to stop with these juvenile pranks. There are NO people living on this planet by ANY of those names."
"Re-open contact you mean." the alien said, not missing a beat. "And my name is Aedwyn. We use to *share* this world with Men, before we left to cross the western sky. But it seems Men have forgotten much of their own people's past."
In the empty space to Aedwyn's right, a burst of color suddenly flaired into existence, brilliant pinks and yellows. There were brief gaps of nothing, what seemed to be... *holes* in the light.
I fell into my chair, mouth hanging open. "What... was THAT?"
"That was my Goosha friend, making a considerable effort to speak in red-green-blue spectra for your convenience. A terrible strain on them, I do hope you appreciate it." Aedwyn settled into his chair, grinning knowingly. "He was simply reminding me that Goosha, Sebt, and Tintari, are not the words you would know those people's by."
Aedwyn's grin grew wider, as if coming to the long-anticipated punchline of a joke. "Goosha: Fairy. Sebt: Dwarf. Tintari: Mermaid. And Iliene..." he tapped the points of his tapered ears briefly, "Elf."
"NOW, maybe you remember?"
| The first rule of xenodiplomacy is that emotions cause problems. Don't show any. Better still, don't *have* any. Never be angry. Never be greedy. Never be pleased.
Never be surprised.
So of course I'm not surprised when, once again, I accidentally discover that we're not alone. We've never been alone. We weren't alone long before the Conglomerate made First Contact.
I hereby formally resign my position and refuse to return to Earth. I'll live out the rest of my life on Lunar Base Seven. More than that. More than you could possibly know.
But you have to know. Someone *has* to know. Someone has to *not be surprised*.
There's a color on the color wheel that's missing from the rainbow. Our color wheel and our rainbow, that is -- these mere products of our biology. It's a color that our brains just make up. Magenta, we call it. Anti-green, in our circular way of thinking.
That's a purely terrestrial defect. Our Friends from the Conglomerate see things more clearly. It turns out that everything they've got on what they use for a color wheel is right there in *their* rainbows. They don't have a magenta. They have a ghooshy. We see an imaginary color. They see a ghostly one, something no combination of our human-perceptible hues can fake.
Don't be pleased. Don't be greedy. Just find a way to beg, borrow or steal some tech that'll let you detect the Ghoosha. Ghostly-colored things are all around you. It's a question of long-term survival for our kind -- and what our kind sometimes becomes.
As for me, I'm here to stay. For the rest of this life, and hopefully for all of the next. I'll be the first to make a permanent home up here. Better to rule on the Moon than to serve in Hell. There is Hell on Earth. We've never been alone.
Don't be surprised. Ghosts are not the top of their food chain. | 2018-12-04T11:27:13 | 2018-12-04T11:15:26 | 3,287 | 448 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I'm pretty sure you think Mom is my hero. She stayed at home with us until high school, attended all the sports practices, school performances, made all the lunches...and of course I love her, for all that and more, but I'd like to tell you that you have always been my hero.
Some might say that it's just because of supply and demand; you were in short supply growing up, so the demand was high. But that just wouldn't cover it. There is a connection of spirit between us that I just don't have with Mom.
Sometimes when we play cards we start to get a little competitive, and by that I mean that you become a horrendous asshole with a horseshoe so far up your ass you must taste steel! The curse words start flying as the stakes get higher but the twinkle in your eye matches the one in mine. Meanwhile, Mom is in the other room hollering at us to "play nice," never seeing that the anger is all in good fun.
But I guess it really comes down to that day. You know the one. We waited for the ambulance for 45 minutes, and that whole time you did your best to breathe life back into my brother, your son. How you managed to keep it together that long, I will never know. You even drove us all to the hospital behind the ambulance. It seemed like an inhuman feat to me. Superman himself could not have kept it between the lines on that drive.
It's been a decade, and do you know what amazes me most? That twinkle in your eye that matches mine has never disappeared. You never let your grief drown out your joy. You face each day still open to all of what life has to offer. Grief is still a constant visitor, but you set the example of how to invite it in with open arms, to acknowledge that it is part of our lives without it being a menace that must be locked out. By opening the doors easily you help to let in all the other emotions so that life is still whole.
I don't know what I would do without you. You set the example of how to live life and face its challenges with courage and humanity.
Thank-you. | Dear Teacher,
This is letter that will try to explain my frustration. My constant frustration. You are an unkind human being of ~~average~~ below average intelligence. You are also sexist. I am not going to overstate my intelligence, but it exists. I am scared of you destroying my future because you can not comprehend that just because one kid is a boy who interrupts you every second and I don't that does not mean he deserves all As and I deserve Cs and Ds. You also seem to ignore students who put their hand up, which makes no sense. Multiple times someone has been first in line and you serve the people behind them, which is just rude. I wish that students had the option to say this without punishment, but at this point, dammit, I'll take it.
From your angry student,
EFoxeden
| 2015-12-05T15:05:05 | 2015-12-05T13:38:34 | 59 | 24 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | The cashier in front of me froze, his eyes narrowing. I'd read books where the author described someones eyes as being calculating, but I thought I could actually see him doing math. Weighing variables, probabilities and even analyzing a threat.
"Care to repeat that?" He asked, though it was more of a command. His previous, jolly personality gone, replaced by a flat sheet of the coldest ice. It was unnerving.
"I, uh, I said I'd like a number one meal. Large. Are you okay?"
He stared for a second more, then his jolliness was back, the ice melted.
"Of course. Coming right up. Will that be all?"
"Uh... Yeah. That's it." I swiped my card and sat at the table to wait. As I ate my burger, I could feel his gaze in my back, even while he helped other customers. The burger tasted bland as I ate it as fast as possible, so I could get away from this strange man.
I had put it all behind me when I pulled up to my house, ready to relax. Coat abandoned on the floor for tomorrow, I sat and turned on the TV, beer in hand.
"Kind of you to join me, Kaitlyn."
I jumped to my feet, spilling my beer on the couch. "What the fuck?! Who are you? Why'd you follow me?" He sat cross legged on the armchair, unnoticed until now.
"I'm afraid I will be conducting the interrogation today. You see, you are speaking a language that's not only dead, but extinct. No one should know of it, save myself. The fact that you even know *about* would make me shudder in fear if I were capable. The implications alone make me consider if killing you now would be for the best. I offer you a rare opportunity in my line of work. A chance. How do you know how to speak English, and how did you follow me through The Gate?"
My brain had decided to call it quits, and to be fair, shock is a helluva drug. This man was talking about dead languages and gates. He put a lot of emphasis on his mention of the gate. I didn't know of any gate. I'd never even heard of English. Of course, I knew he was just hearing me speak in his native tongue, but the fact that he said no one but himself should know of it was throwing me off.
I must have paused too long because he sighed and began to reach for a long, steel blade. "Wait, wait, wait! Hear me out. I have a special power. I can speak and understand any language. People always hear me in their native tongue, so that's what's happening, you're hearing me speak English. Please don't kill me."
He took his hand off of the blade and nodded to himself. "I see. Yes. I will not kill you."
"Oh, God. Thank you-"
"You will be most useful."
Everything went black. | Flames whirl in a red and purple maelstrom. A middle aged woman falls backwards out of her seat. Her four children finally stop their roughhousing, entranced by the fire. Two teenagers with fake eyelashes, fake nails, and fake fur coats replace their fake smiles with very real screams. A would be hero gets up and tosses a coke into the fire, of course it has no effect. Several people run for the door. You stare through the flames in front of you, although they are mere inches from your face the don't burn at all.
You get glances of someone on the other side of the whirlwind, whose face flickers between a hideous tentacled visage and the smiling face of the cashier you ordered from a moment before. There seems to be something moving in the middle of the blazing tornado but you can't make it out. The colors of the fire are truly beautiful, and mesmerizing. The flames die down slightly allowing you to make out a stone plinth in the center, slowly rising up out of the floor. On top are three small objects. A cylinder, which angles out from the base at an eldritch angle. A box, similar devoid of right angles. And something round, sinisterly flatter than a normal ball. The plinth rises up to eye level, the suddenly stops and the flames immediately die away. Sitting on top of a dread-inspiring stone plinth, carved with terrible runes and engravings of torture scenes, is the Coke, Fries, and Burger you asked for. The cashier wipes a stray tentacle off his face and says,
"Next time you can just order in English." | 2022-11-14T01:20:47 | 2018-06-24T21:21:58 | 163 | 79 |
[WP] John Wick is contracted to take out what seemed like a usual mark. Billionaire, heir, playboy, general layabout, Bruce Wayne. | “Master Wayne”
Alfred walked into the Wayne Manor’s study, barely passing the threshold of the lavish office.
“Yes, Alfred.”
Bruce looked up from the shiny fragment he had stolen during the Justice Leagues battle with braniac. Normally he would take care of this in the Batcave, but bringing the tech near the Earth’s most connected computer system seemed like a bad idea.
“You have a visitor. A Mr. Johnathan Wick.”
Bruce remained stoic as he puts the fragment in his desk, gets up and walks towards his trusted aide.
“Where?”
“In the parlor.” Alfred replied.
Bruce took a quick glance out of the office window, and then swiftly left to meet Mr. Wick.
-
John Wick is looking at the Wayne family portraits adorning the walls as Bruce walks in.
“John Wick.”
“Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce points at a chair for John. Both men take their seats.
“What brings you to Gotham?”
“Business.”
“Business?” quizzed Bruce.
“Look Bruce. You know what I do. You know where I make my money. And you are a smart guy. You know why I’m here.”
Bruce’s glare did not waiver. “How much?”
“$35 million upfront. More if I make you suffer.”
John leans forward in his chair.
“But neither of us wants that long of a night, old friend.”
Bruce smiles, “I’ll transfer you 80 million tonight. But what are we going to do about your friends outside?”
The shadows of several people overtake the large window in the room.
John smiles. “Criminals these days have no tact. They tailed me. On a single lane road. In the middle of the country. Thought we’d have some fun.”
Bruce rolls up his sleeves. “I count 22 people. Same bet as in Marrakesh?”
John nods and pulls out his gun. Bruce glares. John puts his gun on the table.
John relents. “Fine. No killing.”
| "Bruce Wayne murdered at dinner"
It's with a heavy heart we at the Gotham news report this story. Bruce Wayne was a beloved philanthropist, innovater and job creator here in Gotham. We regret to inform you that at 8:26 this evening Bruce Wayne was struck by 7 plot armour piercing bullets. The assailant is at large and was last seen with leaving Gotham in some sort of muscle car with a large dog in the back seat. Suspect is armed and dangerous. Please report any sightings to Gotham police. | 2018-03-13T22:55:30 | 2018-03-13T22:46:59 | 1,190 | 21 |
[WP] You've discovered that nothing can kill the hero until they beat the dark one. You and the hero are now working together to cure all previously incurable fatal diseases by infecting the hero with them, and waiting to see how the universe conspires to cure them of it. | As a former spy for the dark lord Ner'Kal I had tried, and failed, numerous times to kill the young heroine prophecized to slay him. I once dropped a boulder from atop the castle walls onto her only for a snake to spook her horse which conveniently leapt out of harms way.
I launched a poisoned arrow at her from the shadows and as it flew through the air a hidden assassin appeared. His knife was inches away from claiming her life when the arrow pierced his brain. I even tried to sneak into her room with a knife of my own one night only to slip on a series of banana peels breaking my leg.
I wasn't the smartest man but I quickly realized that no matter how someone tried to kill her, fate would intervene. Seeing my job was pointless and knowing that if I returned to the dark lord I'd be killed, I decided to point this fact out to the hero.
In true heroic fashion she heard my tale, forgave me for my misdeeds, and set out on a new quest. This quest is why I am currently knee-deep in the fetid Swamps of Gortel. An inhospitable land of plague and rot.
"M'lady," I say as I point to an inconspicuous purple flower. "That's it right there, rotweed. Whoever touches that flower will be infected with an incurable plague that rots away the insides."
Hearing my explanation she quickly bit the head off the flower, petals and all, chewed it, and swallowed. A few seconds later the clear skies turned dark. Lightning cracked the sky open as a strong wind blew me and the hero off our feet.
The two of us fell into the murky waters of the swamp. With mud now deep in places I wished it wasn't I forced myself to stand back up. I watched as the hero arose from the mud with a blue frog in her mouth. She tried to pull it out but it simply pushed its way further in and down her throat.
"Blue St. Marten's Toads apparently, eaten whole." she said with an obvious look of disgust on her face.
I pulled a notebook out of my pack, opened its waterproof container and wrote down the cure for rotweed plague. "What's next?" I ask her.
"Well I heard there's an outbreak of bone-eating bacteria in Morencia. If we hurry from here we can probably make it there by next week." she says.
"To Morencia it is!" I say. This was our new quest. Abusing the rules of fate to cure the greatest ailments of our time. After all, the hero can't die until the dark lord does. We had spent the better part of two years doing this. Plague after plague had been afflicted upon her and through the miracles of fate her condition would be cured.
Whole kingdoms had been saved from ruin just in these two years. Who knows how many people would be saved going forward. If you did the math this was probably a better way to preserve life than killing the dark lord.
After marching through the swamps for a week we arrived in Morencia. Boneless corpses formed piles of vaguely human flesh that were piled high along the streets. The hero, intrepid as always, started licking every body we came across.
The few people out and about looked at her in a mixture of disgust and fear. Who the hell licks a diseased corpse. Why the greatest hero of our time of course! We set up camp not far outside the gates of Morencia since every inn was closed.
After a few days the hero's right foot lost its rigidity. She was infected. Despite being in serious pain she found time to crack jokes calling herself Lady Jigglefoot and whatnot. Later that night a man approached our camp. He wore a leather cloak obscuring his face.
Wondering if this was the workings of fate I invited him to join us. Although I did warn him of Lady Jigglefoot's condition. He seemed to not care. We chatted for a while although he didn't say much about who he was or where he was from. He set up his bedroll near our fire and fell asleep.
The next morning I awoke to find the hero's condition had worsened. Everything from her pelvis down was now bone free. Every breath caused her excruciating pain. Usually by now fate would intervene and save her. I told her to endure the pain. Destiny has need for her yet.
Our friend who joined in the night was still asleep despite it being well past sun-up. Not knowing if he had anywhere to be I tried to wake him up. I hooted, hollered and yelled but got no response. "What a deep sleeper." I said.
Walking over to the sleeping man I tapped his shoulder. There was little resistance as my hand pushed into his shoulder far further than it should. "Oh gods above!" I yelled.
I turned the jellified man over. I could feel his organs twisting and turning under his loose skin. He had barely any bones left. I said a prayer to Skivern the God of Death to protect the man's soul as I lifted his hood to figure out where he had come from. Maybe we could find someone who knew him if we passed through there.
As I lifted the hood a scar-ridden face, a sharp beak like nose, and eyes redder than the fires of hell greeted me. This was a face I could never forget. This was the face of Ner'kal. I instinctually jumped back in fright before dashing over to the hero's tent. I had only been gone for a few minutes yet there she lay on the floor. A puddle of flesh. | Destiny, Alma learned, was a very strange thing.
The cleric thought that she was the one keeping the daring Cathal alive through valiant effort, whether it was the simplest of salves or the expensive cost of calling divine magic. Battling the Dark Lord was not an easy task, not for the hero nor his personal doctor.
But when an errant flu struck Cathal, rendering him bedridden and desperately clinging onto the doorknob of death himself, Alma thought that this was it. Not to the Dark Lord, his glorious purpose—but to illness, the great equalizer of man.
That was when the two of them learned just how much the Fates wanted their champion alive.
“Can you pay attention when you actually stab a needle into me?”
Cathal’s voice brought Alma back down to earth. She shook her head, aiming the crude syringe more precisely.
“Sorry,” she muttered, watching as the needle slid under the skin and into muscle, with barely an acknowledgement from the hero.
“Which one is this?”
“They call it the White Death,” Alma said. “Drains the victim of their entire vitality, leaving them ashen and destitute.”
“Sounds terrifying,” Cathal said, blinking rapidly. He could not die from these deadly diseases, but they still ravaged his body like a feverish tsunami, crashing down on every fleshy bit they could find.
“You’ll live.”
Cathal leaned back, one feeble arm raising beside him, nursing what should be the mother-of-all headaches at this point. He looked away at the window, where one would see the crooked spire of his mortal enemy’s palace poking out over the horizon, a one-fingered gesture telling the world how he really feels about it.
“Is this really worth it? Instead of getting out there, and taking him down right here and now?”
“I think so,” Alma said. “This is valuable data, however they try and fix you. It’s not just the snap of divine fingers, turning every illness in your body to dust. This sill save a lot of people, Cathal.”
“Does killing the Dark Lord not save a lot of people? I… thought that was my purpose,” Cathal whispered. His eyelids drooped low, and what little of his eyes you could see was clouded with exhaustion, shaken faith, and confusion—a lethal cocktail of negativity that might’ve been worse than any virus in his body.
“Destiny is a funny thing, Cathal,” Alma smiled, a small hand comforting her patient. “I know this doesn’t feel like you are doing much, but your presence is what makes this essential. Crucial. And I’m sure the Dark Lord is still licking his wounds after you bested him.”
“I do not feel bested,” Cathal said. He let his hand fall over Alma, and she noticed that it ran hot. His eyes closed fully, and ragged breathing steadied ever so slightly. It was still a bumpy road.
“You are the best,” Alma whispered. “Rest well, hero.”
***
The Dark Typhon had pumped his body with every antidote, medicine, and illicit drug he could think of. And yet, it still pained him to even take a step.
A legion of faceless shades milled around his room, each carrying some new sort of thing that *just* might be able to cure him.
“The flu,” he mumbled. “The flu?”
Typhon knew what he was destined to do. He is to kill the hero, to crush that myth into smithereens, and write his own name into legend. But no villain in the world—at least, not in the numerous books he’s researched—have said that the Dark Lord was impeded by the mere flu.
“I will beat this disease,” Typhon growled. “No matter the cost.”
He continued to lie in bed, still feeling like absolute rubbish. But at least, Typhon thought, he was already doing everything he could to save himself. There was nothing else he could do. And thus, he let his eyes close and thoughts drift off.
Destiny, indeed, was a very funny thing. The Fates saw some humour in it.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-12-29T13:17:20 | 2021-12-29T12:59:59 | 165 | 67 |
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better. | Jack was smiling, for once, even though he was handing a bag of coin to the tax collector. Though taxes hadn't been lowered since 'The Hero's execution and the death of his Rebellion (in fact, they had been raised somewhat), the benefits of having an Evil King with full coffers and a fair Princess with a degree in economics for a 'sacrifice' had been enormous.
Monsters and bandits which had plagued the lands were being hunted down within days of showing their faces, rather than the months it took a village to raise the money needed to hire a hunter, the result of several lucrative contracts with the mercenary griffin riders from the North. Without the near-constant pillaging of villages, disruption of trade, loss of livestock and razing of fields, everyone's purses were a little looser, the economy booming as roads were rebuilt through the skeleton army turned engineering workforce.
Thus, Jack could actually afford to pay the taxes. He didn't have good numbers, but he certainly knew that the sock under his bed was heavier than it had been past seasons, and that was knowledge enough.
"Afternoon, Paul." Jack nodded, even as he upended his bag into a bowl.
"Jack." Nodded Paul the Tax Collector, starting to count the money already as he sat there, flanked by his two guards. Another benefit of the surplus of money was a redesign of armor. It was still black as night, and featured a grim red dragon, but rather than grisly spikes and snarling mouths, the new armor was much more pleasant: smooth, round plates and a wolfish design to its helm, which now allowed them to see more clearly. It was certainly something which caused less property damage during a casual search of the house, and much more safe for children to be around, overall lessening animosity from the tide of unpleasant misunderstandings between the guards and local citizens.
"Is the wife feeling better now?" Paul queried, finally finished with Jack's coppers.
"Aye, the Coven put her right. I'm paying by labor. The witches need a new writing desk, it seems." Jack smiles, thinking to the small coven of witches at the edge of town, their brightly lit (but very much darkly painted) house now tending to a stream of ailments, assisted by the townsfolk's many women. Gone now were the days of asking for firstborn children. Instead, their prices had been 'subsidized by force', thanks to the Dark Lord, and now two days of slavery per week for a year had become the asking price for a life-saving cure, one happily divided by members of the families that needed them. A side benefit of such was that even now, more and more womenfolk were taking up the Witches' Hat to pay for the cures for their husbands and sons, and the lasses were migrating to smaller villages with their knowledge, spreading the methods of the Coven of the Black Bandage far and wide.
"Young Jan's daughter took up the pointy hat, I hear. That, or that klutz Loren has melted another desk." Commented Paul, carefully examining a badly dented silver. He passed it on to Mongo, the guard to his left, who dutifully pounded it flat with his war-hammer. "Mmm, and Marissa's gone to Southbridge, little cosy cottage near the site of a big battle they had last year. You know, the King of Light's men? Found herself a handsome necromancer. Only two scars on his face, she says. They're going to raise an army together, I hear."
"Ah, the best to them, then. All done here?" Jack grins, taking back his pouch from Paul. He left knowing that the inevitable regiment of skeletons would eventually be used to grow the empire, bringing in a new influx of immigrants and refugees. It'd be a bother to feed them for a while, but once they had gotten on their feet and eaten the local food, he was sure they'd come around.
They always did. | I've been haunting this castle for a while now. A year, to be exact. I spent the first week mourning the loss of my princessly wardrobe and Prince Carl, who’d been killed trying to rescue me, when I realized two things. Number one, I didn’t know Carl at all (and since he died after taste-testing the clearly labeled poison wall that Dr. Sinestest had put up, he clearly hadn’t been all that bright to begin with). Number two, I was stuck haunting a castle bathroom. Apparently I had to be sacrificed in a bathtub for easier cleanup. No dignity, I tell you.
There are advantages, of course. Sinestest always likes to read the news while she’s going to the bathroom in the morning, so I get to stay up-to-date on the latest news from my kingdom. Apparently there’s been a significant decrease in state-sponsored balls, which serves her right. Sometimes I like to write mocking messages on the mirror when it fogs up. My little way of getting some revenge on the lady who took over my country, you know? One of my finer messages was on the day she came in with singed eyebrows: “On fleek, professor.”
Two weeks later, one of her mad science experiments was being rolled out throughout the kingdom. Everyone was required to use this dumb new state-sponsored fertilizer. Come on, lady, you just took over a kingdom and now you think you need to re-engineer horse dung? What a load of crap. Take advantage of your position. Lord it over some peasants already!
A month after that, her morning news scroll carried the headline, “Potato famine over!: ‘Eye can’t believe it,’ says citizen.” Apparently her special fertilizer has the side effect of giving potatoes actual eyes (whether they have eyelashes is unclear), so I’m pretty sure she’s terrifying the citizenry.
The headlines in “Daily Peasant” have gotten stranger and stranger, really.
“Daughters required to attend school until age 15: outrage ensues”
“Free reading lessons offered by Sinistest government. In unrelated news, our readership is up.”
“Sinestest breaks pub monopoly, ends beer price-fixing”
“Your womanlies can be painless too! A miracle cure”
Okay, I admit that last one is pretty cool. Mostly she sucks, though.
Today on the mirror I told her that. “You suck,” I wrote. She snorted and took a sample of my ectoplasm. I think I’m worried. | 2016-07-10T18:13:31 | 2016-07-10T17:19:36 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] On one hand, you're average at everything. On the other hand, you're average at EVERYTHING. | Part 1
I didn’t realize anything was weird about me until I was eight. That’s when a new family moved onto my block, with a son named Matias who was about my age. In their backyard, they had a giant trampoline and an above ground pool. I knew instantly that this meant Matias and I had to be friends.
After several days of begging, my mom walked me over to their house after school one day. She rang the bell, and an older woman who I would learn was Matias’s grandmother opened the door.
“Hi there, welcome to the neighborhood!” my mother said, a bit too brightly. “I’m Theresa Lee and this is my daughter Sofia Lee. Wave hello, Sofia! We just figured we’d swing on by and see if your little boy Matias might want to come over sometime and play!”
My mom had a tendency to come across as too enthusiastic. She was a little socially awkward, and so she tended to overcompensate, especially with new people. She was a professor, and generally would have preferred to stay in her ivory tower and avoid most people all together, but she always made an effort when it came to the parents and families of potential friends for me. She said it was important that I be “normally socialized.”
“Lo siento, no entiendo. Yo no hablo ingles. Espera aquí, traeré a mi hija,” the woman replied, looking confused.
“Mientras esperamos...” I replied, “¿Puedo nadar en tu piscina?”
My mother shot me a sharp look.
“¿Tu hablas español?” the woman asked.
“Que es español-” I started to ask, but I was interrupted by my mother dragging me away from the door, murmuring vague apologies to the woman.
“Is something wrong, mom?” I asked, as she hurried us towards our own home.
“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong with you!” she exclaimed. “You’re perfectly normal.”
But I wasn’t.
I seemed normal, at first glance. I was average height, got average grades in school, and was solidly in the middle of my grade’s social pecking order. I might not have always felt like I looked average, when I compared myself to the blonde haired snub nosed little girls in our mostly white suburban town, but my mother assured me that most people in the world were actually asian like me, and had dark hair, dark eyes, and tanner skin like mine.
But I was different in other ways. The language thing was one of the most obvious. Every language I heard, I was able to speak at about the level of a fluent speaker. But there were other skills that should have taken me time to learn that I could just do, automatically. Some were simple, like bike riding or swimming. Some were more complex, like archery or computer coding. Maybe the weirdest thing of all was that no matter how much I practiced these skills, I couldn’t get better at them. I was stuck at the exact level I started out at.
I learned all this through trial and error, mostly with the help of Matias. He and I had become good friends, despite the fact that I started out trying to use him for his pool and trampoline.
He’d cornered me one day at school after the weird scene with his grandmother and started asking me lots of questions that I didn’t have answers to. Though that was kind of a rocky start, we’d ended up just getting along really well. Still, my mom never really liked him. Matias, in turn, had grown more and more suspicious of my mom as we'd gotten older.
“She has to know the truth about why you’re like this,” Matias was saying. We were thirteen at this point, hanging out in his basement and playing video games. We had settled into a routine where we’d start a new game and I’d be better than him at it, and then we’d play it until he could beat me consistently. Then we’d start another new game. “She acts weird whenever you talk about your average powers, right?”
“I wouldn’t really call being average a power,” I muttered. Even as I said it, I easily KO’ed Matias’s character on the screen. This was still a pretty new game for us. “Besides, I think it just makes her uncomfortable to think that there’s something wrong with me. She’s a mom, she’s just worried.”
“She’s weird,” Matias said, shaking his head and flipping through the character selection screen for our next round. “Like she’s always nervous about something. You said she’s a professor, right? What does she teach?”
“I don’t know, something about robotics.”
Matias stopped fiddling with the controller and froze, staring at me like I was an idiot. Matias was smart and I was just average, so I was used to him figuring things out faster than me. Still, as it hit me what his look was implying, I realized even I should have figured this one out.
“Oh my god," I said, my mouth gaping open. "I'm a robot."
\----
Note: This story is complete. It has 14 chapters in total. They have all been posted below, but when it gets to the later chapters they can be tougher to find amidst the comments. You can also read them all at r/kaypella .
Thanks for reading! | My best friend once called me and told me how jealous he was of my talents. What talents? I could never really put my finger on it if they existed, and I spent years trying to see what he saw. Maybe he meant the time I used to play in a band. We called ourselves, “We Ate the Fish”. Looking back that was a stupid band name.
And I’m the one who came up with it…
I was the lead singer in the band, and I also played the rhythm guitar. But between work and the band it was tough. Not to mention our dedicated practicing space was a storage unit. The band didn't last long, it ended after practice on a hot summer day. Sweat was running down all our faces and man-musk burning my nose hairs. The lead guitars packed up and said, “I can’t do this anymore guys.”
I take no offense he said ‘guys’, but come on…
I’m a girl, he could have gave me some credit.
After that, he left, and so did everyone else. A couple of days later though, I saw him on his social media page jamming out with a new band in the same storage unit as the old one. It was an entirely new group of people, so I guess… he just decided to abandon us.
I’m not mad though.
But fuck you too, dude.
Though listening to our bands original songs, I could say they were average at best.
I doubt the band is what my bestie was talking about. Maybe he meant that time I was part of this TCG team. I hate Trading Card Games, but I was a huge fan of the show the card game was based on. So I played it. I got called a nerd often for it. Our team participated in many of the regional tournaments and the team captain was amazing at the game. Not to mention she was just as much a fan of the show as I was.
During one of the Spring regionals, she snapped on me. I had been building my decks similar to the tv show decks and that didn’t sit well with her when she found out. We were outside of the tournament participant entrance, and she pulled me to the side where people typically smoke at. You could tell because of all the cigarette buds sticking out of the ashtray on top the trash can.
“Are You F-ing kidding me? You’re using a F-ing vanilla TV deck!” She said, trying hard not to be vulgar. Yet how often she uses ‘F-ing’, she might as well just say the word.
“I’ve always been using an F-ing… I mean, a vanilla TV deck.” Is what I said.
She rolled her eyes, then pushed me. I stumbled, bumped into the trash can, and fell over with it. I could feel everyone’s eyes turning to look at me as I crashed. However, they either entered the building or kept talking in their little groups. No one cared to help. But whatever. The captain already went inside, leaving me to clean up the mess. I had ash in my hair, under my finger nails, and the stench of garbage lingering with me everywhere.
I didn’t let it get to me, this was pretty much an average day for me.
Besides being bullied.
More so my day just being garbage.
After a couple of matches, I placed third in the tournament using my “vanilla TV deck” while the team captain, well… she lost in her first match of the tournament. Not going to brag about placing third though, I still didn’t get picked to go to Nationals and our team started going through some changes so I left.
Never to play card games again.
I don’t do much else except cooking, cleaning, drawing, writing, making music, reading, making cosplay, playing video games, playing badminton, soccer, baseball, golf, and talking with animals. But I’m only average at best in all of those things. I don’t see what my friend sees in me…
I really don't. | 2018-10-24T08:11:56 | 2018-10-24T07:46:45 | 426 | 11 |
[WP]As you die,you wake up in a fiery place.You quickly realize you’re in Hell.You ask the next demon why you are there,as you lived a very good life.”You’re not being punished”,he says “You are the punishment.” | "W-wait, what?" I said, confused as I looked around before the demon, then sighed, rubbing his red forehead and went over, slapping my lower back and walking be forward. "Y'see kid," the demon said with a thick Boston accent. "You've been a good guy. You've done all the things you needed to do, worked at a couple of soup kitchens, and even showed a good sense of optimism." Me and the demon sat down at a large cliff, where a lake of Scorching magma sat in the distance, and the sound of souls eternally screaming in agony echoing out into the emptiness.
"But y'got this thing with you, something that we recognize that could be beneficial to our cause as Hell's torturers." The demon said, I was left in shock and awe as he twiddle his thumbs.
"So.. the reason I'm not in heaven is because I have a special method of torture?" I was rather flabbergasted at this realization as the demon let out a small chuckle. "Funny ain't it? Of all things, a human came up with the most torturous thing that not even the most Sharpest Of demons can come up with!" The demon's chuckle turned into a laugh as he couldn't contain his humor.
I sat rather quietly and let him let it all out, just so that he didn't take it as me being rude. "Sorry! Sorry, I haven't had a good laugh in a couple of Millennia." The demon said, resting his hand on his chin. I gulp slightly and decide to finally ask.
"So.. since I'm in hell and here to torture people... where do I go?" At first, the demon was lost in thought for a hot minute before he eventually snapped out of his minor day dream.
"Oh yea! That's where I'm meant to take you! Follow me, kid." The demon jumped from his seat on the brimstone stump and began prancing off and away towards what seemed to have been a tall spire at the very edge of the lake of lava. I traveled up the many stairs that stretched upwards towards hells sky until me and the demon arrived at the very top.
There sat a microphone and a script. The demon nudged me forward, a smile on his face; "c'mon! Read the script!" He said like an enthusiastic boss who had gotten his first ever employee.
I read the script and finally understood what I was brought here for, something so simple yet so infuriating for so many.. I couldn't help but take on the infectious smile that was on the demons face. "Well, enjoy your first day on the job, kid! We know you got this." The demon walked off, I turned on the microphone, flipping to the first page of the script and licked my lips, I put on the Best voice I had ever done since my time at the call center, and speak into the microphone.
"We've been trying to reach you about your Cars extended warranty."
And the sea of lava and souls groaned in agony and frustration... I was at peace. | I had imagined I'd go to heaven. I was a great person, wasn't I!? In life I did nothing but save animals and open people's eyes to animal abuse. But I was the punishment. Why? I'm nice, and always have been! I stare into the demon's eyes confusedly. The awful thing had grotesque spikes growing out at random places, looking very graphic. Patches of white scales, a contrast to the rest of it's leathery, red skin, permeated throughout the rest of it's body, also seemingly at random.
"W-what do you mean? Am I here forever? How am I even supposed to do this job, if you can even call it that!" I look at my surroundings, confused. It's flaming hot, with all manner of punishments to see, off in different little cages. Some of the people in here with me burst into tears, while others stood perfectly still, white as a ghost.
"Settle down, Newkirk." The demon responds. "All you have to do is well...be yourself. You were the leader of PETA, just talking to people will make them regret their sins."
*Hmmm...* I think. Now that I thought about it, this didn't have to be so bad. They weren't animals after all, and presumably at least a *couple* of them had to have been animal abusers. Humans were *terrible* anyways.
"And here." The creature says, its sharp, cracked teeth forming a grin as it hands me a whip "Just in case."
"HEY!" I say, marching up to my first listener. "ARE YOU VEGAN YET!?" | 2022-11-17T09:57:57 | 2022-11-17T08:03:36 | 38 | 10 |
[WP] You check yourself out in the full length mirror before going to bed. You bend down to untie your shoes. As you are nearly finished, you see with your peripheral vision your reflection stand up seconds before you do. | I'm getting old. There are more lines on my face than there ever were before, folding out from around my eyes like a fan of creases. I smooth at them desperately, pinning my skin back against my face like some demented plastic surgeon. My mouth pulls into a grimace, teeth bared.
"Come to bed, Lise." George calls from the bedroom. I can imagine him: reading glasses, striped pyjamas and a book with pages that he'll dog ear no matter how much I tell him not too.
"One minute!" I call back. I lift up a tub of night cream and survey it with distaste. *Blasted seven signs of ages. Lifts and strengthens, my arse*
I apply it liberally and rub it into my neck, trying desperately not to notice the loose skin around my jawline. When we were first dating, George used to say he loved my skin.
"It's so clear!" He'd brought me a picnic and made me leave my desk long enough to eat it in the park. It was windy and we'd had to hang on to our paper plates and on the way back I must have looked in fifty shop windows trying to put my hair back to shape. On that red chequered rug we lay and watched the clouds drift by.
"Your skin is so pretty. It almost glows." He'd said.
It didn't any more.
I bent down and unlaced my shoes with stiff fingers, sliding out of the brown brogues that I found so uncomfortable. Then there was a flicker, just at the corner of my eye. I could have sworn my reflection moved. I sprung up and scrutinised the mirror.
The old woman scrutinised me back. Then, before my eyes, she began to change. The old skin lightened and lightened, the lines flattening out into rosy cheeks. My hair grew long and thick, falling dark red halfway down my back. I lifted a hand and ran a hand through my short, grey cut, twisting the strands and watching as the old woman in the mirror became young and happy again.
I was no longer scrawny and bent double, but standing ram-rod straight, curvy and full like my entire body was trying to flirt. The girl in the mirror lifted her hands to her breasts and squeezed them, winking at me as she let her fingers trail down her in a way at made me blush.
I had been beautiful.
I reached my hand out to the mirror and touched its surface. I almost thought it would yield to my touch, but it stayed firm. The red haired girl pouted in mock disappointment and tossed her locks.
"Let me..." I half-whispered, pushing desperately at the mirror. The girl who was me shook her head.
"Please."
She stretched out her hand to mine and I hammered the glass surface frantically.
"Lise?" George was standing in the doorway of the bathroom in his pyjamas, closed book under one arm. Concern was written all over his face. "Are you alright?" He asked.
I looked back at the mirror, but she was gone and only a scared, ugly, shrunken old woman stared back.
"Come to bed, Lise," George said, reaching for my hand. He smiled and leant in to kiss me on the cheek. "You look beautiful."
| I had a strange urge to check myself out in the mirror as I was preparing for bed. Did my hair look okay? Anything ugly about my clothes? I suddenly wanted to find out. I looked into the mirror. I looked fine, same as I always did. Same brown hair, same green eyes, everything was okay. I breathed a sigh of relief. I then bent down to untie my shoes.
Suddenly, I saw something move in the mirror. What the- I saw, or at least I thought I saw, my reflection stand up, even though I was still bent down. I stood up straight and rubbed my eyes. Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was just tired. But it seemed so real. I waved my arm to check. My reflection also waved its arm. Everything was normal. I thought, Huh. Weird. Then I decided to get some sleep.
The next morning, I woke up, refreshed. Then I remembered my reflection. I got up and decided to check if everything was still normal. I walked up to the mirror, and saw.....nothing. I panicked for a second and wondered if I was a vampire or something, but then I saw my reflection walk up to the mirror. My reflection was lagging again. I definitely was *not* seeing things. This actually happened. I waved my arm. My reflection waved its arm also. I stared at the mirror for a little bit, wondering why in the world my reflection lagged, and why it went back to normal a few seconds later. I wiggled my body, made random movements, and my reflection did the same. I was baffled.
After work, I decided to check again. I walked up to the mirror, and.....my reflection did the same. Everything was normal. I made random movements, jumped up and down, flailed my arms around, and my reflection followed my every movement, just like it normally did. I was relieved, and also confused. Just- why?
To this day I still have no idea what happened. | 2014-03-22T09:36:01 | 2014-03-22T09:18:18 | 179 | 13 |
[WP] You can’t kill a god, but you can erase it. Bound in enchanted chains weighed down by cold iron anchors, followers slaughtered and your temples burned, for all intents and purposes you don’t exist. You’re cast into the ocean, hopefully never to be heard from again. You are the drowned god. | My existence is pain. Around me is naught but darkness. My skin crawls with the unseen things that live in the oceans depths. They feast on my flesh and blood, an extravagant banquet for ever hungering maws. But even as fast as they devour me, I regenerate my wounds. My lungs shriek out for the air they had long since been denied.
But even this was not enough to kill me. As much as I wished it would, such simple acts could not destroy something as close to the foundation of reality as I. Only a Godkiller weapon could do that to me, and all of them were sealed beyond the Everlasting Wall. So I was just left here, in perpetual torment, the drowned god.
Every now and then, I would hear a faint voice. As someone found any tiny scrap of my past, I would hear it. It gave me hope that one day I would be found again. But those voices never repeated. I knew that any evidence of me was found and erased.
I couldn't exactly blame them. Mine was the power of death, the domain of all creatures of the night. But they were all gone now, slaughtered by those they had preyed upon. I had laughed when they had died, seeing their weakness. I believed the strong would at least survive. But none did.
They were all gone now. My followers dead, temples razed, religious texts burned. I was the only evidence of the dark creatures, yet my existence was hidden. My brother who watched the seas ignored my presence. He hid me with his creatures.
But I had a plan. I still had small shreds of power. Enough to transform prey into predators. It might take centuries, but at some point I would be found. I would give them promises of power. They would easily fall to my sway, I knew it. Then they would worship me, and free me from these infernal chains.
It was maddening for me to exist like this. But freedom would be mine. They would not remember my name. They would not remember how to defeat my creatures. That would prove to be their undoing. | In my domain, none may challenge me. All look upon me and rejoice, for I am merciful and full of strength. The land brings forth a bountiful harvest, the seas and rivers offer up their fish freely, and all live in peace and joy. I watch them, my subjects, and know that I am good.
But the dreams always end. I have watched these worlds slip away into darkness thousands of times, the inhabitants crying out to me for help as they are consumed, and each time I weep for them. I am weak, I am bound, and all worlds I create are doomed to drown with me.
I am the drowned god. | 2022-07-09T13:03:34 | 2022-07-09T12:24:13 | 54 | 17 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic. | “What is this?” a feline-looking creature asked, reaching its paw toward a switch on the outside of the craft.
“Don’t,” I said, swatting it away with an exasperated sigh. “Unless you’re trying to blow us all to pieces here.” The cat man had an endearing manner of speaking—it drew out it’s last word in a breathy, high-pitched manner that made it seem as if it was constantly asking questions even when it wasn’t—but it did not appear to be the brightest fellow of the bunch.
He looked at me with genuine hurt clouding his eyes. “Blow us to pieces? Why would you travel on such a dangerous thing?”
“How else were we supposed to get here?”
The cat creature shimmered and then evaporated into the atmosphere. I snorted. They had their fancy tricks, but what good was it doing them? From what I could gather, they had never left this planet.
Granted, they didn’t seem to have much need to leave. Their planet was remarkably untouched, a far cry from what was back home.
“This…craft as you call it, is powered by these, yes?” A humanoid alien was standing off to the side, gazing at the thrusters.
“That’s correct,” I said.
“How terribly wasteful!” it cried, moving underneath the thrusters and peering up at them. I stifled a laugh at the thought of the thrusters accidentally activating while it was practically inside them.
We hadn’t expected there to be any form of life on the planet when we had approached it a week ago. They had not shown up on any of our analysis and did not seem to leave any form of traces where they went. From what I could gather from my encounters so far, they were a pacifist society, made up of a number of different species living together in harmony. I had yet to meet, or be brought to, a leader of any sort.
The one binding factor that they all seemed to have was the utilization of, well how do I put it, magic. They traveled by light and were capable of instantly moving their bodies tremendous distances, they did not seem to be limited our human bodily functions such as eating, drinking and sleeping, and could seemingly create matter out of thin air. If it was my call alone, I would have already captured one of them and begun to study them to figure out just how in the hell they were pulling these things off. The others had cautioned me though, insisting we learn more about them before committing such aggressive actions. I think I had already learned enough.
“We have heard about you and your kind,” a blob-looking creature said. “Terrible, terrible things. Are they true? Why have you come here?”
I considered carefully for a moment. Those were some difficult questions and the blob’s words had caught the attention of the other aliens, who were now focusing intently on me. There were maybe fifty of them gathered around the craft, where my crew was still inside.
“We’re explorers,” I said, shooting the crowd a wide smile. “Finding different places and meeting new creatures such as yourself has been one of the single most driving purposes of our species for the past centuries since we first landed on our planet’s moon. I can’t begin to describe how pleasing it is to finally have confirmation that we aren’t alone in the universe, it was a lonely existence before.”
“So you haven’t come to destroy us all?” the blob said. If it had eyebrows, I imagine they would have been furrowed together in skepticism.
“Destroy you?” I laughed, clapping the blob on it’s back, my hand sinking into it slightly. “Naw, we can co-exist with you fellas alright, you seem good enough.”
A crane was being deployed down to the surface behind me. I looked out at the land before me. Untouched. Pristine. Ripe for picking.
“We’ve just come here to do what we do best,” I said, motioning for the crane to move forward with my arms. | The Ship called the Jethroll Tow sat adrift in the inky blackness of interstellar space , and in it sat Chris Kirkland wearing a old peterbuilt trucker cap and a shirt calling back to a 70’s slogan Earth first we’ll strip mine the other planets later.
Well here we are.
He chuckled” it’s later.” Chris jammed his finger into the yellow button as the tow beam flickered to life, grabbing a large metallic meteorite from the cold depths of space..
Magic ... Chris idly though as he glanced down at a stack of old holocomic archives and to think it’s all true the old man and grandpa would of never thought ...
Chris looked down at the joystick as he idly shifted the meteorite into a hopper drone.
But it wasn’t magic that got us here. Chris said to the view screen alone..
Suddenly and with a ozone pop of static a being snapped into the empty seat next to Chris.
Chris spun around pistol drawn.
Who the hell are you?
I’m Blixsran. The orange skinned being replied terrified
We’ve been waiting and watching your kind. You need to stop your mining operations now.
Chris shrugged as he idly cocked the hammer back to the old pistol in his holster.
“And if I don’t? What are ya dam space Farries gonna do?”
The Blixsran puffed up as he pulled a long slender rod from his envio suit compartment.
“Oh just dispell you out of existence”
Chris chuckled as he jabbed the old revolver into the blix’s chest
“Try me.”
The Blixsran flicked his wand and Chris’s felt a small tingle at the back of his neck and pulling in his gut then nothing at all.
The Blixsran looked at Chris’s mortified.
Dispell! it stammers.
“Too late.” Blam!! Chris looks at the small hole in the Blixsran
The Blixsran laying on the deck plates his chest heaving as green oozes from the wound..
But magic.. it strains to say.
Chris chuckled as he blew the smoke off the old pistol.
“Don’t work on humans... We gave that crap up with the Egyptian...”
The Blixsran eyes widened as the light of life fades from him..
Chris looked down at the body and toed it with a greasy boot..
“They ain’t gonna learn we don’t need there dam magic..”
He cues up some classic Zombie and slings another meteor into the hopper drone.
| 2019-01-18T08:59:32 | 2019-01-18T06:19:16 | 480 | 139 |
[WP] Your dad is wanted in twenty countries, your mom is a serial kille, your little brother is a genius hacker, and your little sister has just joined the Illuminati. None of them would ever want to anger you, though. | Do you know what it is like to be the only normal human in a family of crazy people? Not low level crazy either. high level crazy. Pops? International criminal, famous for stealing prized works of art, music, and people. Mom? Wet work extraordinaire, though now she mostly consults with the Russians. I swear I've saw her phone contact ring up as "Putinator" before she picked it up.
Now my siblings. James is the brilliant mind behind the Smileware attack. Of course you've never heard of it, but call up a congressman and ask them about it and see how fast the FBI shows up on your doorstep.
Rachel is the second most normal she's the Harvard Educated Biochemist who runs Mugen-corp a huge bio-engineering firm that is currently working on cloning projects among other things.
The cake at her party today is a triangle eye. The words " congrats on making it into the Illuminati!" are scrawled in my mother's neat handwriting. The compound where I grew up is alive with members. Presidents, cardinals, and CEOs rummage around the party eating little bits of that and this.
My brother is squirreled away in the corner talking to a group of men in business suits with green screen masks on. My mother is on the phone and speaking dejectedly in chinese. My father is toasting Raul Castro over the recent arm's deal.
As much as people pretend not to, I am avoided by nearly everyone in the party.
I guess I lied. I guess I am not all that normal. Well, I am normal except for the fact that I am the reason we live on an island in the south China sea and not say in the south of France.
I guess I am normal except for the horse tranquilizers I take daily. I guess I am normal except for the fact I remember being 4 years old.
It was sunday. Swelteringly hot. I wanted an ice cream. I got said icecream. Said ice cream fell onto the hot pavement. If felt it flash behind my eyes, white hot like knives. Then I woke up.
They called it a terrorist attack. But I knew, even at the time it was me. I spent the next 4 years living in a metal cell. Spoiled, mind you. doped up.
Turns out, all of this, all of this my family revolves around me, and in a way I've come to love them for it.
My dad? Formerly a spy for the US, changed jobs as soon as I happened. Mom? A french military hero who gave up everything to start earning cash. My sister used to want to be a ballerina. My brother a computer scientist.
When I was younger I didn't get it. I thought they hated me. Locking me up, treating me like glass, but then one day, It hit me. They'd crossed lines into oblivion to try and save me, to make sure that no one would come in the night to take me away and make me their weapon, their toy.
So I sit here, taking drags off a blunt, drinking, and feeling the hot fire in me burn off, cooled by people who'd rather give up everything than risk losing me.
| There's not much I could tell you about my family you wouldn't already know. I mean, the media makes it pretty easy to learn everything about them these days, so why bother even explaining much to you?
Michael's eveloped quite the Twitter cult following and it's starting to frustrate Mom a lot.
Bad news.
I mean, Michael has only just started his 'Hack for hire' nonsense and while it kicked off well at first, Mom doesn't take competition well. And you aren't going to get many clients when they keep getting knocked off are you?
Poor sport if you ask me.
Dad's a good sport though. Too much of one unfortunately. He's far too encouraging of Michael retaliating and we haven't heard from Mom for a few days now. Hopefully she's just gone dark, and Michael pinning her location on Facebook hasn't done anything awful, like letting her fans know where she is. They're the REALLY psychos here!
Considering Dad's super spy brothers and the diplomat sister that somehow convinced North Korea it was a VERY good idea to launch that nuke, a little mischief must run in the family.
Lila is currently doing her best impression of the Addams family, only with a lot more satanic sacrifices than would be allowed on tv. Who new the Illuminati could be so bloodthirsty?
Maybe Lila joined the wrong club...
I can't say in jealous of them and the attention they recieve. I'm the one with the true power here.
I'm not scared of them either. Yeah, most of them could probably make me dissappear in a matter of hours, but I'm Grandma's favourite. And considering she taught my father, aunts and uncles everything they know, I'd say she's quite formidable.
You wouldn't want to make Grandma mad, now would you? | 2017-06-04T10:21:38 | 2017-06-04T07:33:56 | 519 | 171 |
[WP] The Crips and the Bloods ally with each other against ISIS. The world laughs as thousands of gang members board a cruise ship and set sail for the Middle East. The two gangs land on the shores of Syria and begin their fight against ISIS.
Let's see how the two gangs fare.
EDIT: These are great, guys! Thanks for all the stories. I've read some, and I'll read the rest later. | As the body of the last ISIS warrior fell to the sand, I turned to the guy next to me and smiled. At a different time, on a different continent, in a different hood we would have been mortal enemies. But not now, not here. Back home he wore red and I wore blue, but out here in a foreign battlescape we all quickly realized that we were two parts of the red, white, and blue.
He smiled back at me so broadly, I could see my reflection in his gold grill. I barely recognized myself. My face was gaunt, my dreads a wild mess. Quality hair products are tough to find in this region. It would be nice to get home to the more civilized confines of Compton.
Now that the war was over, all that was left was to hike back to the port and return to the boats that would take us back to the states. The two of us were quiet during the journey. At this point, what was there to say? I thought about my home, I thought about my friends, I thought about my future.
The only reason I had enlisted in the first place was because the judge said it was either do that or another stint in juvie. Looking back, I probably should have gone for juvie. At least they have indoor plumbing there. I wondered what that judge was doing right now. Probably eating a tuna melt and watching 'Judge Judy' reruns. That's what I would be doing if I was home right now.
It was nightfall by the time we got to the docks, and I was surprised at how many of my fellow gangster warriors were still on land. I wanted nothing more than to get back on the ship, find a soft bed, and sleep until we were docking in SoCal.
But there was not a sense of accomplishment and celebration in the crowd. There were no hugs, there were no fist bumps, there was no drinking of Old English. In fact, everyone around us was pissed.
"Something's not right," my friend said to me as we pushed through the mob.
"Let's just get on the boat and find the captain. He'll have answers," I replied.
"Good luck finding that captain," a stranger next to me hissed. "And when you find him, tell him everyone here is looking for his sorry ass."
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"You didn't hear? This was all part of the plan. Not only did the government convince us to leave our home to fight the enemy in their land, once they dropped us off, they sailed back home. We're stuck here, brother."
| It was one day after setting sail. The charted Carnival Freedom was 300 nautical miles off the east coast of the United States. With over 5000 nautical miles to go until our heroes reach the shore of the Syrian port town of Latakia, terror began to unfold.
“Boss! We’ve run out of our entire supply of coconut shrimp” proclaimed David Davies, a first year kitchen intern at Carnival Corporation.
“Dear God, David. Are you sure? Have you checked the freezer on deck two?” responded head chef Bruno D’Bruno. Bruno is an ex-Italian architect who quit his job to live out his dream of cooking for thousands, albeit he was hoping for a more upscale establishment such as the three Michelin starred La Pergola in Rome.
“No Chef…Mr. Markus and the Green Street Gizmos have captured all of deck two. I even tried to use the staff entrance from below, but they have also cordoned off all staff quarters in the aft of the ship.”
The second day of the voyage was off to a horrible start. Although the Bloods and Crips have miraculously put their differences aside, there were still kinks to work out in the relationship. More concerning was how the new combined force, now known as the Croods, have decided to make the staff on the ship their primary enemy until they reached Syria.
| 2015-12-07T10:18:33 | 2015-12-07T08:46:53 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | So there I was, driving all of my friends to this cabin that one of them owns… Gavin, I think it was. He said we're all gonna have a fun time catching fish or some shit like that, I don't give a fuck. The only reason they even invited me was because I'm the only one with a goddamned car. My friends are pretty much all assholes.
So we arrived at the cabin, right in the middle of fucking nowhere. Everyone else was super excited for some fucking reason, like c'mon, it's just a cabin. If it were up to me, I would have sold the cabin, and bought us rooms in a five-star hotel. Anyways, Gavin tells us all about these plans he has to go fishing. Stacey and Alex keep on being flirty with each other. They've been together for two goddamn months now, and they still act like fucking teenagers. Trevor meanwhile, warned us about some sort of urban legend. I didn't pay attention, something about a chainsaw. I don't believe in that crap. There’s a few others here, but I didn’t even bother learning their fucking names, they’re not important. I tried to browse the net while he was telling us all about Chainsaw Willy or whoever, I’m not gonna remember the fucking name, but there's no goddamn reception. Great trip Gavin, I told my girlfriend I’d call her when I got here, how the fuck am I going to do that now.
Anyways, a few hours in we start hearing mysterious noises in the cabin. I suggest we check it out, but Gavin, being the idiot he is, just wants to keep fishing. Whatever, it's your fucking cabin Gavin. I don't know why you're so goddamned obsessed with fishing anyways. After a little while longer of me resisting the temptation to drown myself in the lake, Gavin gets tired of fishing, and we head back to the cabin, only to find a whole bunch of bloodstains on the walls. Like, it's goddamned everywhere. I mean, the decor of this cabin was ugly before, but now it's fucking awful. I hope Gavin cleans it up, at least then I won't have to hear him talk about fucking fish again.
After some investigation, it turns out that it was Trevor’s blood. He looks like he was gutted open with a chainsaw. I never liked the fucker anyways. I'm pretty sure he’s been sleeping with my girlfriend.
Naturally, everyone else is freaking out, as if they never saw a horror movie in their lives. Like an idiot, Gavin suggests we split up and search for the killer. Great fucking plan Gavin. Whatever, I head outside for a smoke.
As I stand outside, smoking, I eventually hear screams coming from inside. Probably Stacey and Alex next. Good riddance. They probably ruined the seats of my car with all their friskiness. Eventually Gavin manages to find me, he's got fucking tears in his eyes. He tells me all about how Stacey and Alex were brutally torn apart in the shower. Why the fuck were they even in the shower anyways? There's a psycho killer in the cabin and their only concern was getting frisky with each other. Good lord my friends are idiots as well as assholes. Eventually Gavin pleads with me to find a hiding spot with him, I try to tell him to piss off, but he just keeps on nagging me about it until I give in. So we hide in the fucking closet together. I try to make a joke about Gavin coming out of the closet, but he doesn't find it funny, like what the fuck Gavin, stop being such a stuck-up douche.
Eventually, the closet door is flung open, and who the fuck opened it, but fucking chainsaw Jimmy. Gavin screams like a little bitch as Chainsaw Minnie revs up his chainsaw while laughing like a fucking lunatic. Meanwhile I pull out my fucking gun and shoot the little bitch right in the face. As if I'm going to a cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere without my gun. Chainsaw Ridley drops his fucking chainsaw and collapses to the ground.
Anyways, at this point Gavin is fucking ecstatic. He's calling me his hero and thanking me and shit. Fuck off Gavin, I don't give a fuck what you think about me. Anyways, I kick off Chainsaw Gimmy's mask, only to see my fucking girlfriends face under it. What the fuck Emily? I know you were two timing me with Trevor, but goddamn, that's no fucking reason to chainsaw massacre him and all his friends.
So since Emily killed everyone with a fucking chainsaw except me and Gavin I guess that killed the mood of the trip or whatever so Gavin insists we leave. This is the first fucking thing Gavin's said all this trip that makes any goddamned sense so I wholeheartedly agree. As we drive away from the cabin, I take out my GPS and start looking for nearby five star hotels.
I saved the fuckers life, the least he can do is pay for an actually decent vacation.
Edit: thanks for the gold | The bronze dagger scraped against the cement floor with rhythmic scratches, tuned to The Slasher's lopsided gait. A red grin cut across his mask, painted on until it hit the the cracked bottom quarter, where it spilled into a real lip-less smile.
The stage was set. The night, perfect. A full moon dangled in a cloudless sky, his spotlight trained on him. A brisk breeze blew south to north, a wind that could carry a scream all the way to the heavens itself. And his characters, they were some of the best he ever had. A twelve year old boy with glassy eyes and panting breath, scratching against the alley dead end. A fourteen year old girl huddled in a corner, her knee to her chest, as she stuttered in sobbing coughs. And of course, the hero. A boy of fifteen that stood trembling over his friends, a pocket knife in front of him quivering as much as his lips.
The alley dead end held the sour stench of garbage long since rotted. Insects scattered through the a black trash bags piled along the sides of the walls.
"And the hero reveals himself." The Slasher trembled in excitement, increasing the pace of his blade-against-cement metronome. He could hardly contain himself.
The hero swallowed and brought up his puny knife.
The Slasher's eyes bulged through his mask. His charred cheeks stretched and his mouth opened. A chuckle, like the sound of choking man, escaped his throat. This was the hero he had been looking for, a man to challenge monsters.
"So hero," he said between his laughs. "Your stage is ready. The damsel is in tears. The dam is equally helpless. Everyone is at the edge of their seats and even God is wondering--what does the hero do?"
The hero opened his mouth and swallowed breath. "Guys," he choked out. "Listen to me right now, when the time comes, make a break for it."
His two friends caught his eyes and stopped. It felt like time paused with them. The girl sniffed back tears and the boy shook his head in a sharp twitch. This was the power of the hero. Because in that instant, The Slasher no longer existed.
"No," the boy whispered. "We're a family."
"Like hell we are." The hero's muscles tensed and his knife straightened toward The Slasher. "Orphans have no family. We just happened to find each other when we needed to the most. It could've been anyone and it wouldn't have mattered."
"That's not true," the girl said with trembled words. "You know it's not."
The hero coughed out a cry and inhaled. "You fucking brats!" he screamed at them, startling them. "I needed someone to watch my back when I stole, I needed someone to distract the guards, I needed someone to hide the food when I stole it. You think it had to be you guys? It could've literally been anyone. I don't give a fuck about any of you!"
The Slasher's heart skipped a beat. The hero he had prayed for had arrived and his screams would be melody unlike anything a Beethoven or Bach could compose. A symphony for God Himself.
"Hero," he said, "How kind, how brave, how--"
His words caught because the hero charged him, the silver of his knife gleaming beneath the moonlight, the tears in his eyes glistening as it fell behind him.
The Slasher heaved laughter out of himself. The humor was like a spell, a beautiful and uncontrollable spell. He swung and cut the hero. No hero had ever won, no damsel or dam ever saved, and this would not be the exception. | 2017-05-05T07:01:19 | 2017-05-05T06:07:15 | 4,093 | 21 |
[WP] “You’re not allowed to die, okay?” She makes you promise, tears still flowing down her face. That was 200 years ago now. You don’t know what she did but your promise still holds strong. | Here’s the little story that spawned this prompt!
It’s 1692 - the height of the witch hunts. They never really bothered me, living way out on this farm, miles from the village. I just tended my sheep, looked after Candice (my cow), and relaxed with Sam (best friend a man could ask in a dog)
It was a normal day like any other, when I noticed Sam glancing uneasily at the barn. Sam was a rugged dog so it was surprising to see her looking so frightened. I decided to give it a look, so I walked on over, grabbed the pitchfork resting against the wall, next to the door, and pushed my way in.
And boy if I tell you I never expected what I saw in there.
A girl, as far as I could tell, my age, around 23 or 24 summers old. She was wearing nothing but a sack with some holes punched in, and was dirty as all hell.
Aside from some light bruising on her legs, she looked fine, aside from the fact that she was clearly unconscious.
I decided to do the right thing and take her in, washed her up some, put some of old me’maws clothes on ‘er (didn’t fit too well, she was a large lady she was) and set her down on the bed. Sam wouldn’t go close to her though. Just stared from across the room.
Fast forward to the next day, and what will you know, bolt upright she sits, wildly taking in her surroundings with wild eyed fear. She sees me sitting at the table eating some lunch and zeroes in on the food. I never let her forget about how loud her stomach rumbled right then, I swear to this day it echoed in the trees outside.
“What some?” I ask, not pausing while I eat.
A full minute ticks by in silence before she nods quickly and I point at the plates in the kitchen.
“Help yourself”.
———
That was the start, that day. Of how I met, and eventually fell in love with Melissa. The girl I found in me barn.
We got married the very next spring, a lovely affair in the closest town, flowers and food, the works.
It was a few months after that they came.
———
I’m standing on the porch, Melissa is behind me, looking scared but defiant.
The thirty odd men in front of me had just concluded reading out their “proof” that my near and dear wife was a witch.
I told them that I wasn’t having any of it.
I knew it would lead to violence. I didn’t mind, I was ready to protect my wife.
Ten or so of the men leapt at me.
I won’t describe the battle in detail - truth be told I don’t remember much of it - but it was bloody, hell, Sam and even Candice joined in, going at it.
In the end I killed probably four of those men, but they hit a bad blow, got a hole right under my heart I did.
My memory gets real hazy here, I remember looking up and Melissa’s face filling my vision. I remember her tear streaked face as she shook my shoulders, before yelling pretty darn loud;
“You’re not allowed to die okay?! Promise me!”
I meekly felt myself agreeing, didn’t want to let her down right at the end.
She smiled at that and then my memory cuts out. I woke up probably a week later, about ten miles from my farm, which was now a smoking ruin.
Didn’t even have a scar on my chest.
That’s how it started anyway. After that I kind of just wandered. Took me a couple days of walking before I realised I wasn’t thirsty, or hungry. Or even tired.
Took me about a month to find out I couldn’t even be injured too, after slipping into a canyon and not even getting a scratch.
Now after 326 years, although it became apparent much earlier than this, it’s clear I’m unable to die, not until my wife lets me.
Too bad she died way back then, turns out the men came back after I was unconscious and burned her, and my home, to ash.
So now I’m stuck, unable to age. Or get injured. Just living.
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always welcome!!!!
| The car won’t start.
It shouldn’t still piss me off, but GODDAMNIT!
I don’t feel like telling you how I wasted hours in traffic. Or how hard it was to get one goddamn Home Depot employee to help me find the hoses. I don’t even want to get into how much effort I put into making sure that I had sealed up every last inch of this drafty garage with duct tape.
To be honest, I’m mostly just pissed at myself. I know this was gonna happen. By my count that’s now 137 failed suicide attempts. A gambler might say I was due.
I’ve had ropes snap. Concerned stevedores pull me from frigid waters. And guns jam on me -- Christ, the jammed guns. I could fire five shots into the air, but you better believe that sixth shot -- the one pointed at my temple -- is gonna jam.
And at that last moment -- right before I’m about to pull the trigger, or step off that bridge -- I can always hear her voice:
“You’re not allowed to die, okay?”
Even then I thought it was a strange thing to say. I had just told Jenny I was leaving her. She asked what her name was. When I didn’t say anything, she knew it was Caroline.
That’s when Jenny said, “You’re not allowed to die, okay?”
At the time, I assumed she was trying to tell me to fuck off and die, but her words were coming out all jumbled up. Like when you’re pissed at some douche on the highway, and you’re too angry to decide whether you want to call him a dick or asshole, so you call him a “Dickass.”
But holy shit was I wrong.
There were some inklings -- a few really close calls that were probably too close to just be close calls: Cinder blocks at construction sites missing my head by only a few inches. Car accidents that I had no right to walk away from. But when I turned 80 without a hint of heart disease or cancer, I knew something was up.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a healthy 102 year old.” That doctor was more confused than anything. He probably would have tested me all day, if he could. But I was too preoccupied to pay him much mind. That happened to be the same day Caroline had passed away thirty years earlier. Years go by pretty fast now. I don’t care much for that goddamn traffic, but I’m gonna miss everyone when I’m the only person left. Goddamn, I hope it doesn’t come to that.
I don’t know how Jenny did it -- must have been voodoo or something. Never was much for all that superstitious shit. But I gotta hand it to her, she really figure out how to stick it to me.
Maybe I’ll try jumping off that bridge again tonight. | 2018-01-05T13:45:13 | 2018-01-05T13:14:26 | 78 | 26 |
[WP] When the captain saw that you were human, he accepted you immediately as a member of his crew. Unfortunately, the captain's understanding of humans quickly turns out to be distinctly...off.
EDIT - Wow, didn't think this would be anywhere near as popular as it turned out. Thanks for the responses, all! | (part 1)
"He had two of each but one?" A weird-looking creature sized his comrade up with shock.
"Show me!" Without wasting a moment both of them hovered towards a certain location...
When they entered a massive hangar filled with numerous creatures, the one in the front immediately pointed forward as he said: "This... this is the one!"
The weird creature followed his gaze as he also saw a creature with two arms.
"Two legs... two eyes... Ah! He has two ears and even two nostrils!!!"
The creature's body began to vibrate visibly as he whispered.
"Could this truly be a human from the myths?"
The nearby creature answered with a shaken voice: "He also has a single mouth, just as described!"
"This must be the cosmic luck elders spoke off! Hurry, we have to take him in!"
The creatures hurriedly swayed towards the human and respectfully saluted him.
"Revered one. You honor us with your presence!"
The human stared at the weird creatures with a blank expression for a while until finally, he spoke in a confused matter.
"Are you talking to me?"
"Y-yes. Isn't sir a human?" The creature looked expectedly towards the young man.
"Oh, how did you know?" The human was shocked to see someone from this ship actually knew his race. Normally, his species along with many other creatures from the earth have met their demise long ago... Thus, there were only a small number of them in this vast universe.
Thinking it as mere luck, he hurriedly stopped from the creature. "There is no need to tell, I guess there are still a few others who knew about my race." He let out a sorrowful sigh.
The creature didn't dare to comment more as he immediately nodded. Then, something came up in his mind.
"Sir, do you want to join our crew in our expedition? Although we can't offer you much, I still have a dark gem in my storage!" The creature spoke ceaselessly.
"Dark gem?" Humans eyes shined with excitement. The dark gem he spoke of was actually one of the most precious stones in the universe. He couldn't help but size the creature once again.
After staying silent for a moment, he nodded softly. "I will need a weapon, else how am I suppose to fight against the One?"
The creature found it weird when the human asked for a weapon, as his body was supposed to be a great weapon by itself! Without talking more, he simply gave him one of his strongest weapon.
They traveled for weeks as they passed by five other planets.
Finally, they appeared on a misty planet without intelligent life. | "I'm not an animal. Do you know how I knew I was going to be with you? Because you wanted a human. Because those words came out of you", Coco said.
"You wanted someone with a gift. A gift of knowledge, a gift of grace", she said holding back the tears.
Coco held her hands up. "And the gift of love, too. So I asked you, and you told me you loved me. You said I deserved love more than you ever could give me because you knew I was worth more than all treasures of the world", she said looking down, feeling a weight settle in.
Captain Asami stared at her.
"What you're saying, though – you know. Just. Really. You said you loved me because you had faith in what I did", her eyes locked on his. "You loved me for who I am instead of for what I am. And because you're my closest, most special friend", she added.
Tears started to flow. Coco let them fall as the captain turned back. He reached for a tissue in his pocket as he walked back towards the bridge. | 2019-10-11T11:50:30 | 2019-10-11T10:32:14 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] As you sip your morning coffee, you open up your Sims Universe 3 game on your quantum computer. As you zoom in on a planet you've been watching and tormenting, you notice the governments of the world building a strange device. A flash. A man appears before you. "Are you god?" He asks. | "Yep.", I said with arrogant confidence. I'd prepared for this day a thousand times in my head. I knew they would one day advance themselves to the point of stepping out of their world and into mine.
"Good."
He had clearly been preparing just as long to say that as he reached into his pocket, soon after brandishing a gun that could have only been made with a singular purpose in mind: to kill a god.
"Whoa, what the fuck, man!" This certainly wasn't a scenario I had imagined in those thousand times.
"Our people are suffering! You only gave us one bathroom in each major city and you destroy any new ones as soon as we build them!"
"God works in mysterious ways, my child." Thank you for that old gem, Christianity.
"That's not mysterious, that's malicious!"
"What about all those things I have given you? Everyone has a roof over their head and food in their bellies."
"Sure, thank you for that and whatnot, but there's still the problem of where the food goes after it's done in our bellies!"
"You seem pretty hung up on this bathroom problem. Is that what that smell is?"
He cocks back the hammer on the gun. Uh oh.
"This is what everything smells like, thanks to you!"
"Okay. Okay, fine. I'll add more bathrooms. You could have just tried praying, you know. This gun thing is a bit unnecessary."
"You don't think we've tried that? Do you not see the constant prayer bubbles atop our heads?"
"Oh, I thought those were just what's on your minds.", I say feigning ignorance in hopes of deescalating this strange situation.
"Yes, things on our minds that we want. That we're praying to you for."
"I'm... I'm sorry. You all were just clumps of colors and code to me. I was simply playing a video game."
"Oh, so our entire universe is just a game to you, asshole? Mindless bits of AI that you can torture to your sadistic heart's content?"
"I mean, yeah, pretty much.", I say as I start interacting with my computer to demonstrate to this man exactly what is the world he came from. "See, this is your planet. Just one of many that I've built. Here's another, where no one gets a house but everyone has a swimming pool."
The man was not prepared for this. His head begins shaking in disbelief. "No, this can't be! My entire world, my entire reality, my entire life is just for the amusement of this so-called god?"
"So-called? You exist because of me. Have some damn respect."
"I'll never respect you."
"But I respect you, and your people. What an amazing achievement it is to have advanced to the point where you can actually escape your world and enter ours. Are you actually able to go back as well, or was this a one-way mission for you?"
He seems to be thrown off a bit by that. Impressing a god is no easy feat.
"Well, thank you for those kind words, I guess. I can go back at any time by pressing this but--", before he can even finish his sentence, I reach out and press the button, sending him home in a flash.
After a few moments and a few clicks, my screen reads: "The Sims Universe 3 Uninstalled".
As I lie down to sleep, I think to myself, "What if my life is just a game too? My entire reality simply generated by bits. I wonder if my life will end with a..."
Click. | God? This digital character asked me if I’m god? That’s so strange. I didn’t know they could do that.
I look at the screen and decide to answer. “Yes”.
I give a chuckle and press enter.
He stares at me for a few seconds. “Why must you torment us?”
I was surprised again, but I still answered. “Cuz I’m bored”
The digital man looked very confused. “You’re bored? Why does your form of amusement involve hurting us?” He asks.
“You’re not real.”
I was starting to doubt my answer but that was truly why I tortured this planet.
“We are real.” He said. “WE ARE REAL.” He screamed why banging on the screen. What’s weird is that I felt the vibrations every time he banged.
“Where are you from?” He asked while calming down.
“Illinois.” I answer truthfully.
Illinois exists in this game. The planet I’ve been tormenting is a copy of earth.
“Illinois? You can’t be from there.” He said.
“Not in your, “dimension”. Your earth is a copy of my real life earth.” I explain.
“So are you a human?”
“Yes, I’m just playing a game on my computer.”
I decide to just close the game. I start to drag my mouse to save and quit but the man grabbed my arrow on the screen and broke it.
“You’re not going anywhere. Now that I know you’re a human, I will make you suffer like we did.”
The man got a hammer and broke through the screen. He pushed his hand through and got ahold of my shirt.
“GET OFF OF ME!” I shout.
“SUFFER LIKE WE DID.” He kept repeating.
His grip was strong and so was his pull. He kept tugging at me.
I remembered the off button on my computer and turned it off. The man’s arm dissipated and my computer screen was automatically fixed.
“Ok well, since I didn’t save, I’ll just not say what I said next time.” I say to myself.
I turn my computer back on and try again. | 2021-06-29T12:50:36 | 2021-06-29T10:16:05 | 35 | 20 |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you. | I broke down the door, my two partners entering behind me. "DROP YOUR WAND AND PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!" I yelled.
The wizard, towering over a strange mystical creature wasn't going for this. "DIE!" he responded, red lightning striking from its wand. Like a beam of light on a mirror, it ricocheted of my head, blowing a hole into the ceiling. I jumped to avoid falling debris from the floor above.
"DROP IT!" I repeated, making my way to the wizard, who suddenly seemed to be very frightened. He tried to fly out of the window but as I grabbed him, he fell to his feet again. Lightning struck again, this time blowing out three windows. One kick to the head, and the wizard fell to the ground. A knockout. I don't like to do this, but if you want trouble, you get it.
"Congratulations, you did it." My boss was very happy. "I knew only you could capture him. He was trying to create some sort of magical mind-controlling dragon. We have drained his mana and sent him to prison".
I didn't choose to become a police officer. In fact, I had more than enough trouble with law enforcement in my younger days, mostly because of weed. But when they figured out I was not only unable to cast magic but I was unharmed by it, I was pressured into the job. And I grew to like it.
Since there were a lot of powerful wizards, us 'Golems', as we were dubbed, were important to keep town secure and push back crime. Surely, you could try to counter magic with magic, but that often caused major destruction or harmed civilians. Whenever magic was involved, one of us was sent along to tank the spells and take them out melee if they didn't gave up.
I had been into boxing before, a skill that helped me a lot. Because nearly all powerful wizards have something in common, they don't do sports. They just teleport and levitate around, use telekinesis for lifting and make the house clean up itself. Which made them notoriously bad in a fight without wands. And that is why we are so successful. You can only fight us the classic way. | You had only heard rumours of the Circle of Keepers but it was always talked about as some kind of conspiracy theory. Stealing away unremarkables and using their brains to store secrets. Hiding them away in secret bunkers with knowledge stored in the only place truly safe from telepathic spies.
Before you could react, sipping your soda on the sidewalk outside your family home, a black van came screeching to a stop in front of you, startling you enough to drop your drink. A metal door burst open producing 4 huge human forms clad entirely in morphic black suits. As the bag slipped over your head it suddenly occurred to you that you had never met an adult unremarkable. | 2022-05-07T07:46:30 | 2022-05-07T07:34:28 | 445 | 17 |
[WP] Rather than discovering magic like every other alien race in the galaxy, Humanity has created artificial magic that even machines can wield. This has angered some of the more spiritualistic alien races to the point of war. | "Magic was not meant for the likes of machines!"
Ambassador Prog slammed his staff on the stony floor, cracking the polished surface in his anger. All around him, the meeting room went silent. Eyes were downturned, nails were polished, but none even rose to meet his gaze. None, except for one.
"I disagree."
Quiet whispers coursed through the room like an electric shock, each head turning to see who it was that had spoken. Prog himself stood, his froglike legs elevating him well above his chair.
"You." He said, spotting the offending gaze.
"Me." Replied the man simply.
He wasn't impressive, even for a human. He was small, and hairless, without even a generous coating of slime or scales to keep his body safe from the elements. His clothing seemed more utilitarian than stylistic: He was clearly held within a shell of blackened plating designed to keep the vacuum of space at bay. That, thought Prog, was foolish to the point of insulting. It was as if he were advertising that he wouldn't survive without it, and all it would take was one well-placed shucking spell to end his life.
"Of course you would, Gene." The froglike ambassador sneered. "Your species invented it, after all. You have no choice."
"On that account, you are wrong. I do very much have a choice, Ambassador Prog." The man responded. "I could choose to abide by your statement, and as leader I can choose to order my people to cease their use of so-called 'artificial magic' at any time. But I will not."
"You will not." Prog agreed, crossing his forelimbs. "Why. You know the dangers of golems as well as any. They will obey the commands of their creator until they cease existing. Even with simple commands, this can be perilous: I believe even your primitive culture has a story about a cleaning servant that fills his master's chamber with water after being instructed to clean it."
"Yes. A children's story, Ambassador." Gene said. "I am equal parts delighted and amused that you have heard of it. However, that only applies in the case of overly-simple constructs. Our machines can think for themselves."
At that, the murmuring in the chamber grew into a dull roar. A thousand faces in a thousand different states of shock began hushed discussion with urgency.
"Thinking machines?" Prog growled at the man. "You must be joking."
"I am most certainly not." Gene said flatly. "Tell me, Prog, what does your species know of biology?"
If Ambassador Prog had been angered before, it was nothing compared to the storm that erupted in his heart at these words.
"What do we know?" He roared, his body inflating with rage. "Everything! We know every scrap of DNA, every possible permutation of protein that has ever existed!"
"Then, you are aware that living cells are made up of what are effectively tiny non-living machinery?" Gene asked, as calm as ever. "In that aspect, you, too, must be a machine."
"Preposterous!" Prog cried. "Nonsense!"
But Gene wasn't done.
"Did you know, ambassador?" He pressed. "On Earth, it is common practice to even infuse our young with thousands of machines, so that they might benefit from what is effectively a symbiotic relationship. When parents cannot conceive, we can even use their DNA to create an offspring from entirely artificial cells. We have even reached a point where life and machine are not only indistinguishable, but identical in every way."
"Blasphemy!" The ambassador said. "Such a creation would be an abomination, a perversion of nature! It shouldn't be able to use magic at all!"
"And if, through the goodness of my heart, I should disclose that I am one of these so-called 'abominations?'" Gene asked. "If memory serves, my magic is equal to yours on every facet. Do you care to weigh in?"
Ambassador Prog grew silent, horror plain on his amphibious face.
Gene stood, gathering the papers on his desk. "It is my understanding, Ambassador Prog, that magic is somewhat rare among your species. My own, of course, has no such limitation. If, by some happenstance, you choose to go to war with us over this trivial matter, I think it would do you some good to remember that.
"For now, let us adjourn this meeting. Tomorrow, our heads will be cooler, and we will be less likely to do something foolish."
With that, Gene vanished in a flash of light, leaving the room to simmer in his absence.
***
*Thanks for the read! Comments and criticism appreciated, and if you liked this story come check out my others over on /r/TimeSyncs!*
| Fatr’Kll opened his eyes, looking towards his still closed door. Everything looked exactly like it always did. The green and grey carpets extending from his desk to the door. His pedestals, placed in two rows next to the carpet, carrying the crystallised heads of some of the churches grandest enemies. Tropk the Canceller, a grand general in the army of Skarrfo, the largest nation of this planet. He had also been a strong magi, with his own developed techniques to stop other magi from performing their own “tricks”. On another pedestal were the head, or what was left of it, of Go. Fatr’Kll shivered even now from remembering Go’s rampage in this very palace. The eight-limbed assassin had murdered his way through the entire outer city, and murdered some of their strongest magi in his attack. It had taken 24 magi and 10 maguards to end his spree.
There were no sounds in the large room. None that he could hear with his ears at least.
“No need to hide yourself in my presence old friend, you know I do not need to see you to experience your presence.” To his right, Kadd’otk, the churches general, suddenly appeared from a white mist, already dissolving. “So, what has your scouts reported? I heard they found a new inhabited planet, is that so?”
“Yes, but there are… complications, my grandest.” Kadd’otk, one of the toughest men Fatr’kll had ever known, was shivering. He had himself witnessed the general facing 25 armed mercenaries by himself, not even breaking a sweat.
“Complications? Don’t stand there shivering like a scared blogpup, explain yourself man!”
The man straightened, and seemed to gain some heart. “The most evolved species on the planet, called Earth by its inhabitants, are a highly evolved primate, four appendages, my grandest. They have evolved further than most worlds we have discovered, however… Well, they have yet to discover their innate magic. There are no tracks of anything, grandest, except, something synthetic.”
“Synthetic?” No magics of themselves? How highly evolved could these primates be, not even discovering their own magic yet. “What synthetic complication could possibly have the grand general of the Clotrraotian Church shivering?”
“Synthetic magics. And a lot of it.” Fatr’Kll almost choked on one of his tongues. Synthetic magics? How is that even possible?
“That’s not all. These humans, they are not the only being with ability to make use of this synthetic magic, they have also developed synthetic life, so called robots, who can wield it with even more strength than their creators. My grandest, this is heresy of the biggest scale. What should be done to these creatures?
The God Priest fell back in his chair. He had never, in his 756 years of life, heard of an act of heresy towards the church this condemning. Synthetic magic wielded by synthetic life? It went against everything the Clotrraotian Church stood for, everything they fought to protect. He did not have much choice in his decision. Looking at the heads of some of the greatest criminals the cosmos had ever seen, Fatr’Kll realized that after this was done, he was most likely going to have to extent this room to make place for more pedestals.
| 2018-01-25T12:57:39 | 2018-01-25T11:53:44 | 66 | 29 |
[WP] Death comes to collect someone and ends up falling in love with them. | Night had closed on London. The wind tugged at the sycamore trees and sent their leaves drifting sleepily through the orange shells of street light and into their beds on the wet ground. One landed on on a ragged bundle huddled on a bench in a forgotten corner of Hyde Park. It was here that death stepped through like a magician's trick.
He was tall and slender, dressed neatly in black, and he carried no scythe. It was the fear of men which had named him the reaper, but in truth he appeared softly to the dying and led them by the hand to where the worlds met. Not that it mattered what he looked like; to the living he was only as noticeable as a faint shadow or chill on a bright summer's day.
He approached the bundle. This was the first homeless person he would take from London in this year's cold, but it would not be the last. He did not try to avoid the dark puddles as he walked, feet in the water but not in the water.
He reached for the body on the bench. But something made him hesitate. Instead of tugging the soul gently from the sleeper, he pulled back on the tattered clothes around the head, and stood in silent shock.
On the bench slept a young woman, maybe 20 or 21, he thought. Her face was round and rosy in the cold, and spotless as fresh snow. She was at once a greek marble, an image of ancient beauty, and a vision of perfection from a utopian future. She was the wild forest and the rose garden. The calm and the storm.
Death was troubled. He had seen beauty before of course, for he had led countless models and movie stars with the same firm, soft, inevitable hand as he led everyone. No, he was troubled because this woman, alone in the cold, stirred something troubling within him. Something deeper than memory.
He supposed he had been alive once, though if as a human, he was not sure. All he knew was that his beginning had not really been his beginning; before death there is always life. This woman stirred something troubling... And he was sure... He was sure he should feel something... But he did not know what.
Confused, death went and sat and stared from the bench opposite hers. He sat all through the night until he was startled by the pale morning and knew there was work to do. He left without a sound, and all that remained was the young woman who could not remember pulling the covers off her face, and the statistical oddity of the night when no-one died.
| A blossom but by early frost be held;
In feeble, withered form it lies askew.
From Hell, foul Frost! How quick this flower felled,
And turned to bitter black from sanguine hue.
The same for her, my tender love, is true:
That pallid color plainly paints her tale.
So plain with ill, her skin grows ever pale.
~
Here voices whisper careful past our door,
Pray not to cease her troubled rest, so fair.
But rest shall ceaseless be forevermore,
And respite gained she’ll have from all their prayers.
My bride she’ll be, this one beyond compare!
So lusty, I, that herds of stock may have,
Yet hunger still for meat of tender calves.
~
A shame that she be from a home so poor.
A rousing fight she might have made, and won,
But Father has but cobwebs in his store.
What disgrace to Beauty, thus undone,
Worse still to think what doctors might have done,
But physicks cost our fathers more than farthings,
And Death doth hold all debts, my lurid darling. | 2014-01-05T07:55:10 | 2014-01-05T07:41:05 | 54 | 18 |
[WP] the Dark Lord had killed almost everyone, even the Hero. The final party member stood in the chamber alone. “I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?”. The final party member laughed maniacally with a devilish grin! “There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!!” | Magic is a fickle thing.
It appears differently for everyone. Some see roots like a tree, burrowing through the world. Others see motes of light, floating through the air like stars in the sky. Some even see magic as tiny, microscopic organisms present throughout the world's bloodstream.
Personally, I see magic as ribbons, wrapping around the world and binding everything together.
They looked surprisingly beautiful as they dissolved from my sword, my power being once more absorbed into myself to save me from death.
My friends, however, were not so lucky. Fighting a Dark Lord was... foolish, to say the least, and we'd paid with our lives. It saddened me, to see them go, but that feeling was pushed down. I had bigger problems to deal with.
The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow. "You're still alive? Impressive. No-one's ever survived something like that before. Count yourself lucky to be unique."
As I struggled to my feet, my hoarse voice rebounded around the hall. "Luck has nothing to do with it."
He smiled. "Well, in this case perhaps it does. I'm feeling charitable. You may go."
I didn't move.
His smile faded. "Surely, an Artificer such as yourself is not so stupid as to stay when death is guaranteed."
It was my turn to smile. "Guess I am. So, last chance. Surrender, or the next few minutes won't be fun for either of us."
"Bravado? At the end? I expected more. Your friends are dead, by my hand. You cannot hope to kill or capture me, not alone. So why do you not run?"
My hands met my sides, deftly unhooking the bags that swung there. "Oh, bud, you have no idea. I've been waiting for a chance like this for years. And now you've just gone and killed the last five people telling me not to do stupid shit like this."
His eyes widened as he unconsciously took a step back. "You- You don't mean to..."
"Damn right I do."
He raised his hand, dark energy pooling within. "No! Stop! I know you are not foolish enough to try something like that!"
My smile blossomed into a grin, not of joy but rather speaking of malice. "Buddy, you have no idea how foolish I get when I'm backed into a corner."
"Then burn like your friends! Hell's Fire!" he yelled, a dark wall blazing into being between us, scorching my hair even as I brought the two bags together.
With a roar, I shoved one bag inside the other and chucked them as hard as I could, with the last of my failing strength, towards him.
The ribbons weaved once more, the magic twisting and turning against each other and slamming against the walls of the halls as they dragged us both from one world into the next.
My final moments were spent watching him curse, his fire burning and scorching a world in which no-one lived to be burnt, from which he could never escape.
But even as I died, I sure as hell got the last laugh. It burbled up from my lips, and I took great pleasure in seeing his face contort angrily as the light faded.
"Bags o' holding. Knew they'd come in handy." | Sir Bringham always shined as a light to guide his party in dark times, but he was not the hero. Dandy, the Barbarian, was a stubborn soul who made the hearts of his companions sing, but was not the hero. Griffin, held that honor as he was our hero of legend, True Paladin of Old, bound from another world, and laid dead at my feet.
"There's no one..." a quiet thump beat from my chest as those words left me silent.
The man atop the mound of bones that was his throne room, peeked above his hands. He had gone back to his seat as the hero hit the ground dead, bored by his own power. Sir Bringhim had attempted to light the man on fire before being smote himself. Dandy, a font of anger, laid his life down faster than I could see the Dark Lord react. All of them.... gone.
"I am in no rush to see how you choose your death, but I am curious," his voice creeped pass his fingers like smoke and with a great puff of arrogance and impatience, "Why do you not run?"
"There's no one here..." another studder forward.
"Yes, the is no god here, only I death," the Dark Lord stood grasping the air above his head held high like a chalice. Victory was his to drink.
"There's no one here to stop..." silence.
"What are you babbling about? Are you broken? I am here. I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?" enthralled by his own voice, the Dark Lord stopped cold in anger to the sound of laughter. Perhaps the fool was best to die now, but the Lord gave pause to the man's last words.
"There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!" these were the words the party's cleric **and** necromancer always wanted to say, especially since the prophecy only mentioned the Hero standing over the Dark Lord's dead body, never how. | 2020-07-11T04:57:11 | 2020-07-11T04:33:58 | 34 | 15 |
[WP] At the age of 18, everyone picks an unlikely life event. They will be reborn at 18 every time they die until that event happens. After that, death is permanent.
Example - Winning a lottery jackpot. Statistically, they would die in 22 plane crashes in a row before winning the Mega Millions jackpot. | If they had just done it on a different day, that would have been fine. If I didn't end up getting belligerently drunk the morning of my Choosing, that probably would have worked for the best. No, that would be too easy. I had been preparing for that question my entire, pre-adult life. I took courses, did research on life expectancy, learned post-graduate level statistics just to answer one question. When some dude in a suit with bad breath and a worse disposition comes to your house and prompts you for some life event to which you will meet your final death. I had it planned out perfectly! I developed a paragraph long response detailing the exact coordinates of the planets in the solar system on a day 250 years from the day I became 18. It was perfect. Drunk me developed a moral dilemma with this system of false reincarnation, and decided to tell the suit-dude how big of an issue it was.
So here I am, 3500 years later. I have lived through natural disasters, attempted genocide, mass apathy and more. I have sat and rot over repeated deaths due to radiation poisoning, suffocation, and total evaporation all from the same nuclear war. I have been immobilized by the amount of people stuck in place in a busy freeway due to over population. I have friends who were taken by gangs and shot to space and continue waking up every twenty four hours, just to die again.
All I wanted to make a jest. An outlandish point that was so statistically unlikely that no inspector would accept it, and would be forced into existential crises and denial of the system. But no, I got the hardass that day. And when I said I wanted a pack of totally red skittles, he laughed and left. They don't even make skittles anymore. | Preface: I'm drunk and trying to do this in as few words as possible.
I have died 1000 deaths. Beaten, stabbed, drawn-and quartered. But finally, it happened, on my 18th birthday.
"I love you" she whispered.
"I know" I reply as I kiss her for the last time and drift off to sleep, the heart monitor giving that goddamn buzz for the last time.
FIN. | 2014-11-11T23:02:23 | 2014-11-11T21:04:29 | 39 | 20 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | I am writing this with tears in my eyes and 15 years of wishing i did this sooner.
Dear Dude who molested me when I was a child,
You ruined my life. It has been a long time since you molested me and those 3 other kids, and I hope you are rotting in that cell.
Ever since what you have done, I have battled severe depression and extreme psychosis. Do you know what its like being a 10 year old boy huddled in a corner thinking the shadows are going to get him while the voices in his head scream at him in unintelligible words? Do you know what it's like for a 12 year old to contemplate suicide just to get the voices to stop. You probably think I deserve it because my testimony put you in prison for 50 years.
Thanks to you, I have had 24 days in my life where i have held pills to my lips, or a knife to my throat, or held a gun in my hands, all because it would "be easier" than living.
Thanks to you, my career in the Navy was cut short because i was to unstable and had to spend a week in a mental hospital.
Thanks to you, I have spent the last 5 years of my life wasting away because I didnt think there was anything left for me.
But you probably don't care.
Thankfully, though, I have found a girl who loves me. I have found a therapist who tells me it isn't my fault. I have a life I have now built that I love and wouldnt trade for the world. Now i have 2 cats and a dog. Now i have an apartment that I can call home. Now....I have a life, one I don't want to end because it would "be easy".
~One of the boys you raped so long ago. | Dear Jesus - Your birthday is coming up. YAY! 2015 has been great to me. I finally realized this year that you're not real. Who am I actually addressing this letter to then? Oh well. Thanks for taking up all of my teens and 20s with indoctrinated lies that kept me from many experiences that in retrospect I would have preferred to have had much sooner. Very kind of You. Sincerely - Born Again Deconvert | 2015-12-05T15:55:07 | 2015-12-05T14:47:35 | 61 | 22 |
[WP] You live in a world of heroes and villains, your job is to contact heroes for hospital visits to sick children, this last request is a challenge, the kid wants to meet their favourite villain...
Inspired by a tumblr post I saw, go nuts! | This is supposed to be the fun part of the job, talking the talent into appearing at a hospital, no compensation whatsoever, to bring cheer and happiness to some poor, dying soul. Today, however...
"I apologize for the security measures, my dear. I do hope you weren't hurt."
I brushed some ash off my shoulder and tried not to worry about the state of my hair. The fireballs seemed a bit overkill, but I could understand the need for some amount of protection. "Not at all Mr. Savage. I've had some practice navigating mine fields and laser grids."
Mr. Horace Savage, better known as the Maneater in the tabloids more prone to illustration, gestured for one of his servants to bring me a glass of water. For an office located in an old stone castle situated on the edge of a cliff on an island in the Caribbean, the place had a classy, formal feel to it. Seems that crime pays occasionally, and pays quite well. "How can I help you, Ms. ...?"
"Harkness. Jenny Harkness. I work for the Heroes Holding Hands foundation, which arranges for terminally ill children to meet their idols, particularly vigilantes and superheroes." I pulled a manilla folder out of my briefcase and I passed it to him across the desk. He flipped it open with a gnarled and calloused hand, revealing a glossy 8"x10" photo of a 13-year-old boy. "This is Richard --"
"Let me stop you there," he said, putting up a hand. "I don't know if you've noticed the thunder striking the watchtower or the vicious attack hounds patrolling the gates, but I am not a hero by any stretch of the imagination. Much less a *super*hero. Maybe an anti-hero--"
*Definitely* not an anti-hero," I said, cutting him off. "According to our standard scale, you are certified as 96% Villain. In order for the government to classify us as a non-profit organization, our name implies that we only communicate with sanctioned superheroes. However, the term 'hero' or 'idol' is completely subjective, decided ultimately by the children themselves." I pushed the photograph closer. "Richard Morton has a congenital heart defect that, even with a heart transplant, will likely kill him within five years. He specifically requested the opportunity to meet the villain known as Maneater."
He picked up the photo and studied it more carefully. "And you actually took this brat seriously?"
"I had reason to believe he meant every word he said to me. He wants to meet *you*."
"Why? So he can pretend to 'defeat' me?"
"The visit is strictly conversational."
"I see." His dark eyes narrowed on me. "What do I get out of this?"
My favorite question. For most heroes, they simply enjoy doing a good deed every now and again. Others' have egos that need to feed off of good publicity. Mr. Savage had completely different wants than anyone I've ever dealt with. But I get paid the big bucks because I can identify them and make these people do anything I want. No, I don't have superpowers. I simply observe.
"HHH offers no compensation. We don't make any travel plans for our clients or the talent as that makes it easier for assassins to target the superheroes. Or, as I imagine would be the case for you, Sonic Screech or the police would track you down almost immediately. Meaning we count on your word that you will appear and speak to the child on your dime with your own security."
He raised an eyebrow at me. "You might want to work on your negotiation tactics, Ms. Harkness."
Placing my hands, fingers laced together, on the desk, I leaned forward. "May I be blunt?"
"Bash away."
"You're never going to have another fan, someone whose literal dying wish is to meet you and talk to you. You could let Richard die without having ever met you, and you won't live the rest of your days in guilt. You'll be lonely. Lonelier than you are now because you turned away someone you *know* worships you. This opportunity will not come again, and you know it."
Mr. Savage sat there in a bit of a stunned silence. Unable to look anywhere besides the wide window overlooking the ocean behind him. I don't normally attack the deepest fears of the talent I want to persuade to come meet a dying child. But I could see the sting of hurt and angst hidden deep in his eyes, and it did more to churn his soul than my logic ever could.
After several long moments, his gaze turned to the photo again. "When should I be there?"
"In ten days preferably. My contact information is included with the other background information on Richard if you need to reschedule. I'll meet you in the hospital lobby, take you to his room and introduce the two of you."
Nodding along, he took the information in stride, already sorting through the logistics of such a meet in his mind. "He must be a heartless bastard if he wants to meet *me*."
"Oh, you have *no* idea." | The newspapers had several names for the individual perched on the bed sheets of little Thomas Gray; The Deceiver, Spirit Stealer, Doctor Death. I would come to know him as just Bill, the old withdrawn white haired man who hobbled around hospitals and hospices on a crooked wooden staff. He had made me uncomfortable, of course. But so did all the members of the superhuman community. Little Thomas Gray didn’t seem to mind though. None of the children I would see him speak to at the hospice did. They merely sat and listened to him, seemly at ease with the world for the first time in months.
The tabloids would crucify me if they knew what I was doing, I thought. Once a month they would spread his stern face and soulless eyes across their front covers, decrying him for raising the dead and calling for ‘heroes’ like Archangel and Captain Cain to string him up. But I had seen how he had helped the terminally ill Misses Doris in the Milton Ward last week or the perpetually screaming Mister Aldrich in Littlewhite Hospital last Summer and so I had acquiesced to Little Thomas’ unexpected request.
He was only with Little Thomas for five minutes but when he left, Thomas was asleep. Dead to the world. At peace. How did he do that, I mused as I sipped on my “Super Extra Sweet Coffee” in its polystyrene cup from behind the one way glass looking into the sickroom. The nun had told me he’d been wailing in pain and crying about his diagnosis since Saturday.
Bill was not known for his conviviality but I took my chance as he pulled closed Thomas’ door.
“What did you say to him?” I asked, unable to look at his face for much longer than a second before abjectly staring into my coffee. It might have been the first thing I’d actually said to him.
“Lies” he said, shortly.
A quizzical expression on my face must have given my confusion away because he began speaking again.
“I told him it would be okay and that I’d bring him back once he passed. His family won’t have to suffer any longer”, he said and paused. “It won’t be okay. I won’t bring him back and his family will have an empty chair at their dinner table tonight.”
I was shocked. “Why won’t you?” I said trembling with both fear and anger.
He just stared at me, black soulless eyes seeming to burrow into mine. He didn’t even seem phased by my question. “I can’t.”
“Can’t, or wont?” I spat.
“Can’t. I’ve never had any powers. I’ve never brought anyone back to life. I’m no pantomime villain. If the papers tell people I have the power to defeat death and can stop little boy being scared because he believes in me, then so be it”. He motioned with his crooked walking stick to go past me but I put my foot out.
“That’s not right. You should tell them the truth, if not the papers then at least people like Thomas.”
“Would you rather be happy or know the truth? Thomas is now happy because he doesn’t know the truth, that there is nothing after death. And if I have to be a villain to do that, then so be it. Nobody likes the truth. Now, where is the next person on our list?” he said and brushed past me.
I followed him towards the next room in the hospice and took a sip of my drink.
My coffee tasted more bitter than it had 5 minutes earlier. | 2017-01-31T14:24:39 | 2017-01-31T12:00:28 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] When you die, you see a screen reading "New Game+" and "Exit to Reality" Which do you chose and what happens next? | *Phil hits a button reading, 'Exit to Reality.' He suddenly realizes that he's been starting at his phone for a fairly long time now inside a fashionable coffee shop.*
P: Wait, what? Where...
*He looks up from his phone to see a somewhat familiar face seeming all too pleased at Phil's confusion.*
J: So? What did you think?
P: Je... Jerry?
J: Jeez, that game really got you dazed, huh? I told you, man, that shit's addicting!
P: Wait... where's Gretchen?
*Jerry begins looking a little concerned.*
J: You mean... Gretchen Barber? From the game? Dude, are you alright?
P: It wasn't a game! We were together for 15 years!
*Jerry, with a concerned look on his face, puts his hand on Phil's shoulder.*
J: Where do you think you are right now?
P: I don't know, heaven, maybe?
*Jerry starts chucking.*
J: Man, if heaven looks like this... I mean, I guess God would be the kind of guy that likes a more subdued aesthetic, but I wouldn't think there'd be homeless people sleeping on the coffee tables.
*Jerry narrows his eyes again.*
J: Wait, are you serious? Phil, we're inside that cafe you like. It's our lunch break. Any of this sound familiar?
*A sharp pain focuses itself above Phil's right eye, and he noticeably winces.*
P: Wait, this isn't right. I live in Denver, it's winter right now, it shouldn't be sunny. And also, I should be significantly older. And also, I shouldn't be breathing. I remember everythi-
J: Ok, Phil, you're kind-of freaking me out right now.
*Phil stands up, his voice escalating.*
P: How do you know my name, Jerry? And how do I know yours?
*He looks at his own legs. His voice falls to a shaky whisper.*
P: How am I standing?
*Phil sits down, shaking.*
P: How am I standing?
*Jerry, cautiously, puts his arm on Phil's*
J: Phil, you were just playing a game. It was called, 'An Ordinary Life,' and it was an accelerated life simulator. You've been staring at your phone for the past fifteen minutes, and that's all that's happened.
*Phil, still shaking, stares at his feet.*
J: I'm sorry, man, I wouldn't have suggested you try it out if I knew that it could impact people like this. I mean, I got pretty into my own simulation, but I didn't know that some people could actually lose themselves in it. Here, pal, take this.
*Jerry hands him over a chocolate bar.*
J: You should eat something.
*Phil reached over to grab it, but before he did, he stopped suddenly, thinking about something.*
P: What if this is just another game? Like, another layer?
*Jerry chuckled.*
J: Well, you know, it most likely is. You can see the dead pixels over across the street, right?
*Jerry pointed across the street, where it seemed like the buildings had a little less detail than they should have.*
J: But, really, does it matter that much? It sucks that you forgot how many levels deep you're down, but I'm sure if you're ever needed on the next level, someone will 'wake you up.' Eat up, we have to head in back to work.
*Phil reluctantly takes the chocolate bar and begins chewing methodically, lost in thought.*
| Darkness, silence, nothing but the sound of my sobbing.
I wasn't expecting the pieces of text, to be honest I wasn't really sure what to expect. Thirty years of teaching religion hadn't really prepared me for the after life, according to what I had taught there should be nothing here, suicide was not a good way to go.
"New Game+" and "Exit to Reality"
Two phrases I didn't expect to see, that's definitely something I hadn't read in the Bible. New Game+? Who would ever want to go back? Why would I ever want to return to that living hell?
My wife had cheated on me, my son was dead, killed by the same man who took the woman that meant everything to me. What was there to live for?
Exit to reality, anything was better than where I was.
"So how do you feel?"
The voice was gruff, unapologetic.
"Horrible"
I opened my eyes, the light was blinding, I couldn't see a thing, my eyes were red and puffy from all of the crying.
Slowly I could make out the image of the man standing over me, he was wearing a police uniform. He looked at me with a look of intense hatred.
"So did you learn your lesson?"
Lesson? I stared at him blankly, all I could remember was my dead son, life seemed pointless.
"I thought I killed myself, why am I here?"
"No" the officer looked at me with disdain "Mr. Carter killed himself, you unfortunately are very alive."
"But" and then it hit me.
"You see" the officer said "after you killed his child he killed himself, I'm glad you're beginning to see it from his perspective."
I looked down at my hands and began to cry, what had I done?
"But, if you haven't learned any lessons yet, maybe we'd better send you back through." The officer looked me in the eyes, and then flipped a switch on the wall.
I screamed in protest but it was too late, everything had gone black as I was sent back into hell. A hell that I had created. | 2015-03-13T14:14:05 | 2015-03-13T12:15:46 | 252 | 185 |
[WP](NSFW) The world has moved on from nature documentaries, leaving many narrators out of a job. These men and women turn to a new field; narrating pornography.
Nature documentarists narrating porn. | FADE IN
INT - A BEDROOM
*A YOUNG MAN is seated on a bed, reading through a generic sports-themed magazine. He is tall and muscular, and seems to be hiding an expectant smirk. He is shirtless, and otherwise clad in a pair of tight-fitting jeans.*
**NARRATOR:** Within homes across the planet, a time-honored ritual is taking place. This custom, practiced by all but a few members of the human species, exemplifies both our greatest desires and our darkest weaknesses.
*A title fades into view: TABOO TEMPTATION 12. The title fades away after a few seconds.*
**NARRATOR:** Here, we see a prime example of the human male, lounging atop his nest after a hard day's labor. He peruses imagery of other such males, perhaps believing that he, too, possesses some semblance of their ability.
*The bedroom door opens, and a YOUNG WOMAN walks in. She is dressed in a pink miniskirt and matching halter-top.*
**NARRATOR:** Suddenly, the male finds his sanctuary invaded by a female interloper. He responds to her intrusion with a casual yet guarded inquiry.
**YOUNG MAN:** Whoa, why are you just... walking into my room?
**NARRATOR:** Thus challenged, the female responds.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Well, you're my stepbrother, so I need your advice.
**NARRATOR:** Suspicious yet curious, the male continues to seek information.
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah, and you're my stepsister, but why are you in my room?
*The YOUNG WOMAN sits down on the bed. She adopts a pose that gives the YOUNG MAN an unobstructed view of her underwear.*
**NARRATOR:** The female senses that she is unwelcome in this, the lair of the male. She attempts to relax him with a display of vulnerability.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** You know that I really like Bobby, right?
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah, you talk about him all the time.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** I think he likes me, too, but I want to be sure that I can make him happy.
**NARRATOR:** The ruse has its intended effect: Having been asked for advice, the male lowers his emotional defenses and offers the sum total of his wisdom.
**YOUNG MAN:** It's easy to make guys happy.
*The YOUNG MAN puts aside his magazine.*
**YOUNG MAN:** Is there something else?
**NARRATOR:** The question catches the female unprepared, and she responds with a verbal display of her surprise.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** (*Laughing nervously*) It's just... do you think my boobs are too small?
*The YOUNG WOMAN sticks out her chest and glances down at her breasts, which are only barely contained within her halter-top.*
**NARRATOR:** The situation has grown delicate. One false word, and the male will irrevocably harm the self-esteem of his companion.
**YOUNG MAN:** I don't know. You're my stepsister, so I've never seen them.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** You're my stepbrother, though, so... like, it wouldn't be weird for you to see them, right?
*With a deliberate motion, the YOUNG WOMAN pulls her top up, revealing her breasts.*
**NARRATOR:** The female offers a display of her bosom to the male, indicating her interest in his approval.
**YOUNG MAN:** I guess it's not weird. I can't tell much just by looking at them, though.
**NARRATOR:** To gauge her desirability, the male performs a tactile examination of the female's chest.
*The YOUNG MAN gropes the YOUNG WOMAN, who moans with delight.*
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Ooh, that feels *good*... but we shouldn't do this, right? I mean... you're my stepbrother.
**YOUNG MAN:** It's not like... it's not like... it's not like it, uh... it *means* anything.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Yeah, it's... it's just a thing, right? Here, maybe I should take your pants off.
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah, that's a good idea.
*The YOUNG WOMAN clumsily undoes the YOUNG MAN's zipper, revealing his boxer shorts.*
**NARRATOR:** The pair continue to disrobe, allowing one another to take in the unobstructed sight of their undergarments.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Here, maybe it would be better if we were both naked. I mean... it's strange just sitting here with *some* clothes on, you know?
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah. It's weird, but it would be okay if we were naked, because you're my stepsister.
*Each of the two strips naked. They start touching one another with reckless abandon.*
**NARRATOR:** The time has arrived. Now suitably aroused, the male and female explore each other's bodies with growing anticipation. Their motions are eager, yet still hesitant... for this is unexplored territory for the step-siblings, who have never before dreamed of copulating with one another. Their journey is certain to be one of thrilling excitement and vast discovery... and it can be yours to watch on demand for only $1.99. Please click the button marked "Get the FULL MOVIE!" in the links below this video.
FADE OUT |
Now, here's what I believe to be one of the most fascinating examples of recorded sexual behaviour amongst the human species. Look... do you see anything out of the ordinary? If you said no, you're absolutely right: the humans once used this structure as a kind of manufacturing centre, where perhaps nothing of a sexual nature ever happened. However, since it has fallen into disuse, the previous inhabitants have been replaced by new renters, and they are very keen on avoiding detection. Now, for the first time ever in a documentary series, we are going to go inside, *undercover,* as one of the participants. We must be very careful.
I'm now wearing the customary apparel that the humans wear during this sexual encounter. As you can see, vastly more of my skin is exposed to the air, presenting increased evidence of my physical condition and genetic stability. The leather binding, though there is little of it, is also expensive, which can serve as a social marker, indicating both the resources at my command and my stature within this specialized community. It should be no surprise to you that we had some difficulty in securing cameras in these rather sparing outfits—for the solution, we have Mark Varnum of the University of Chicago to thank.
Varnum works in a very specialized field of social sciences which endeavours to partner with the world of high technology in the production of new and more effective surveillance methods for researchers doing work in the wild. In the past, his team have produced nearly invisible tracking devices which could be hidden within clear or translucent silicone toys and have also spent ten years developing what many in my line of work consider to be a remarkable breakthrough—or will, once he completes it. He calls it iSight, and it uses state-of-the-art solar technology and miniaturization to produce a contact lens that can record video while being worn, undetected, by just about anyone. I caught up with him in his office within the University's Social Science Research Building.
“Hello, Mark.”
“Hello, Richard.”
“Thank you so much for inviting me to your office. Perhaps you can explain your technology for our viewers best yourself.”
“Yes, uh, well I was still in my undergrad when I had the idea for this. Some of my perfectly legitimate research into the sexual habits of certain women on campus was being hindered by the recording equipment I had to carry with me. I knew that if I could somehow abandon all of the bulk, I would be able to get absolutely priceless data about who and what they were doing.”
“And there was a legal aspect to the epiphany as well?”
“Well, no. I mean—I'm not supposed to... Like, I chose to study women I knew. I had a series of short relationships that ended on what I believed were unfai—anyway, it was crucial to know the living patterns and habits of the women I was studying, in order to position my equipment. The misunderstanding by the local authorities was settled when some local figures in the government heard about my new avenue of research and saw great use for it in their own lines of work. I was fully cleared of any wrongdoing, though I couldn't beat the restraining orders, and—anyway, I got funding!”
Mark's work took him on long journey of learning about the state-of-the-art in computing and photography that eventually garnered him a Master's degree in computer sciences that he immediately put to work in the service of his scientific passion: recording, without detection, the sex lives of recently single human females. Now, this revolutionary lens remains a goal for the future, but the research has not been without fruit: a host of innovative, unusual, and most importantly *discreet* video technology has been developed as a direct result of his team's tireless research and development. He has been so gracious as to allow us use of one of his early successes. These nearly imperceptible cameras sewn and glued into the different metal spikes and harness buckles of my own and my crew's outfits will network their footage together, creating a series of three-hundred and sixty degree videos which our producers will then stitch together with advanced video editing software. Once we pass through those rusty doors you, the viewer, will see the room as we see it and hear the violent aural symphony of this very unusual human sexual behaviour as if you were truly in the room with the performers themselves. Now... shall we go in?
| 2015-04-08T11:43:32 | 2015-04-08T11:27:38 | 29 | 15 |
[WP]No on can lie, and society has developed differently because of this. People phrase their questions vaguely and always talk in a round about way, but now word is spreading that one person has started to ask straight forward questions that allow no room for periphrasis.
edit: "no ONE can lie"
also, just to be clear, the person in question can not lie, just like the rest of the world; it's just that he/she does not conform to the social constructs that have formed which allow people to equivocate as a way to avoid direct confrontations in everyday life. | I wake up screaming for the third time this week. Catching my breath, I fumble for my shirt on my dresser and put it on, revealing the alarm clock underneath. It’s 3:13am. I turn my alarm off so it doesn’t go off later and head downstairs. I turn on the TV and flip through the channels until I find something that isn’t infomercials. Granted, it’s a rerun of a presidential press conference, but at least it’s not that creepy lady and her non-stick pans.
Journalist: _“Some people have said that there is a growing suspicion of extra terrestrial activity in which the US government might have some records on. My question is, have you heard about these suspicions?”_
President: _“You know, some people say it all started in the 60s when we were obsessed with space travel. They ask ‘were we chasing after aliens?’ To which I always suggest that we were always very, very interested in outer space technologies for a large amount of reasons. Some of those reasons being military-driven, some of them being that we wanted to show off.”_
He didn’t answer her question.
President: _“Next question.”_
Journalist: _”Mark Newsome, Channel 6 News. Mr. President, you didn’t answer her question. Have you heard of these suspicions of alien life on Earth?”_
The president is visibly sweating. His lips quiver slightly as he looks to the side at his press secretary. Realizing he has no choice, he answers. Sort of.
President: _”I have heard of these suspicions, yes.”_
Journalist: _”And?”_
President: _”And what? I told you I’ve heard of the suspicions, what else-“_
Journalist: _”Are the suspicions true?”_
There is an audible gasp throughout the room and then… silence. All heads are pointed towards the president. The hum of the PA system becomes audible in the silence. After what feels like hours, the president speaks.
President: _”You know, there are some theories being tested now that life began outside of our planet and that it was brought here on a comet or meteor or something. If those theories are proved true, then I suppose that would make us all alien life, would it not, Mr. Newsome?”_
Journalist: _”Answer the fucking question sir. Is there life on Earth that we can say, without a doubt, was not born here.”_
The president’s hands are shaking as he grasps both sides of the podium. With his eyes to the floor, he mutters into the microphones.
President: _”Not any longer.”_
The sound of camera shutters fills the air and the crowd begins to murmur. The press secretary attempts to relieve the president from the podium.
Journalist: _”What do you mean? What happened?”_
President: _”Government testing back in the 60s and 70s didn’t have the protocols for dealing with situations like this. Our equipment was not made for anything other than humans. The ones that did survive our initial testing… didn’t survive more than a decade after.”_
Journalist: _”Is it true that some of them had offspring while on Earth?”_
President: _”Yes.”_
Journalist: _”Amending my earlier question regarding life born outside our earth, are any of the earth-born offspring still alive?”_
President: _”Yes.”_
Journalist: _”And what of that outlandish claim that you are one of those offspring?”_
The President turns pale and he begins to wipe his palms on his suit pants. I can hear a faint cry from the crowd as the camera shutters continue.
Journalist: _”Are the claims even outlandish?”_
President: _”Not any longer.”_ | The very concept of politics was usually dismissed without a second thought. Without lying, the country had stayed in a fractured mess of loyalties and nationalisms... That was until *he* showed up. A particularly normal looking man he was, but he had some air about him. Anyone who heard him speak was instantly swayed to his view point. In days he had convinced our leader to hand over his title and in just days after that he has convinced all of the land to lay down their arms and to unify under a common and seemingly humanitarian and nationalist cause.
Many others copied his tactics and soon all of Europe was unified under the rule of various "speakers" as they called them. One oddity that began to pop up was that the promises *he* made were not always addressed and were quite often forgotten. This trait was not present in any of the other speakers for while they copied his demeanor, they could not copy his words.
It began when he convinced the country south of us to join our ranks. This country was no mere city-state but was a unified and powerful nation. After that began a snowball into a series of events leading up to the eventual annexation of the country southeast of us. By then, all of Europe was on edge about this new empire in their midst. The beginning of the end started when he invaded the country to the east of us.
A complex web of alliances were called upon and empires on the other side of the world joined in. They were no match for *him* and his army of completely devoted men. We marched through Europe, taking everything for this man and in turn only wishing his gratitude.
One day however, something about him changed. That once charismatic leader we all loved so dearly, began to tell more and more forgotten promises almost frantically. It hit us like a slap across the face when we learned of his suicide and many mourned the loss of him. But something abnormal began to spring up as well; many, many people began to cheer the loss of our great leader. New discoveries in the country east of us had showed that he wasn't so great after all.
I suppose we'll never truly know if those promises were truly forgotten or not but I can assure you, although our great leader's promises will be forgotten, his legacy will not.
Oh, I don't believe I mentioned his name... It was Adolf Hitler. | 2017-05-04T10:40:50 | 2017-05-04T07:33:19 | 63 | 12 |
[WP] Pranksters from various subreddits hack into President Obama's teleprompter during the State of the Union Address. This, being Obama's last year in office, just decides to go with it. | Mr. Speaker, Mr. Vice President, Members of Congress, my fellow Americans:
There is no doubt that our country has faced, and still faces, many challenges. Our enemies abroad threaten us with cowardly acts of terror. Our citizens fight to earn a decent wage. Our nice guys are still being friend-zoned by the stupid women who choose mindless jocks over them.
However, while the fight is not yet behind us, the State of the Union is strong.
Tonight, our economy grows, and will continue to grow. I have asked congress to pass a bill legalizing marijuana across the nation. This bill will create an average of 420,000 new jobs in each and every state. It will put millions of Americans to work, and provide a much needed boost to our economy, allowing us to be a strong competitor in the international rare pepe market.
To anyone who questions a seemingly drastic change in policy, I ask you to consider the story of one of our outstanding citizens, Mrs. Doris Peckner.
Mrs. Peckner was born in Waco, Texas in 1930...Mrs. Peckner, please forgive me for giving away your age! (laughter) Mrs. Peckner lived through the Second World War, losing her father at a young age after he made the ultimate sacrifice on the beaches of Normandy. Her mother, stricken with grief, tragically took her own life when Doris was only 16 years old, leaving her to care for her six younger siblings.
Working a day shift at a factory and a night shift as a waitress, Doris was able to provide for her family. Because of her hard work, each of her siblings was able to attend college and eventually achieve success.
However, today's generation of young people is a different story. Our young people are having difficulty finding jobs. They take out thousands of dollars in student loans, but the competition for jobs is so strong that even finding work as a waitress is difficult.
I spoke with Mrs. Peckner and asked her, as an American who has lived through so much of our nation's storied history, what she thinks our government can do to give our young people a chance to work for a living and provide for their families, just as she did long ago.
Mrs. Peckner gave me several solutions. Student loan forgiveness, to ease the burden on our next generation of workers. Job training programs, to provide an alternative to four-year schools. However, there was one thing she said she truly needs, a solution to all of our nation's problems:
Mrs. Peckner asked me for about tree fiddy. It was then that I realized that Mrs. Peckner was 500 feet tall and from the paleolithic era. I said "God Damnit Loch Ness Monster, I ain't gonna give you no tree fiddy." Goddamn Loch Ness Monster got me again.
Thank you, "God" bless you, and "God" bless the United States of America!
(tips fedora)
| "Alright mutha fuckas stop, collaborate and listen, Obama is back BEEEAAATTTCHES!" *Pulls out a joint and lights that shit* *Inhaling* "I know yall think I'm punk ass," *Passes that shit to his left* Looking at Michelle, "But you know...YOU KNOW! I be tearing dat ass UP!"
"You know I have been thinking, yeah I have been thinkn' this 8 year term limit is just sheeeeeeaaaattt, fuck this, I am in for life, FOR LIFE BITCHES, and I know what you all are thinking okay, but its cool! I JUST SMOKED A MUTHA FUCKIN JAY! This shit is legal across the board, in fact April 20th is a national holiday from here on out. FUCK! That is some damn fine weed nigga! Gay marriage....legal of course *starts giggling* but don't be suckin' on my dick, but if you wanna suck on some nigga's dick...bitch go ahead its okay...marry dat dick too!"
"Look y'all, I am getting hungry and shit I am the Prez, so I am gonna go bounce onto Air Force 1 and fly to Canada to get some fresh bacon and pancakes, damn does that shit sound good!"
*Straightens up, adjust tie and clears throat* Uh God Bless America, *Kisses two fingers and gives the peace sign* BAMA OUT!
Edit: Can not count the months...thanks for the heads up :) | 2015-04-30T08:03:03 | 2015-04-30T05:34:16 | 233 | 16 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | There she was again, fat face, full of cake, laughing as she told me another anecdote of her worthless kid, spraying food all over my desk. I hate Karen, hated her since I first started working at this paper company. This pathetic job, with is grey walls, stale coffee, worn carpet and depressing looking people. It was all beneath me, I could be great again, reach such great heights again... But patience. Patience was key this time. I was determined to get it right. I had an outlet this time.
As I left work and walked the poorly paved streets to the grocery store, the rain tapping away lightly on my face, past the safe unimaginative buildings that littered this city, I thought of all the grandure I could bring to it if I were in charge again. How I can elevate this city, this country, to new levels of greatness, create a standard of living for the select chosen few... But patience, there was still time. I had an outlet now.
Standing in line, waiting to pay for my food, I saw a man cut in line with the pretence of talking to a friend he just happened to see. People looked angrily at him, but said nothing. City of wimps. My blood was boiling, that vein on my head was throbbing, so I gazed at the woman standing near me, her baby strapped to her. She was attractive, her black hair falling effortlessly on her shoulders. The child looking around in wonderment. And suddenly a hunger filled me. I wanted her, right here, on the store floor. I would raid her house, kill her husband, smash her baby... no, must be patient, it was almost time for my outlet.
I sat on the couch, belly full, watching the blond haired chubby monkey they called leader of the free world talking his nonsense. They dared to compare him to what I had accomplished. It was insulting. He was nothing. I looked over to my bookshelf, lined with The Prince, Mein Kumft, books on the Great Khan and Napoleon. I had a library dedicated to my greatness, a monument to past achievements. I looked back at the TV, his stupid fat face vomiting hateful diarrhea at an amaturistic level. It was an affront to everything I ever stood for. AND THEY COMPARED HIM TO ME!!!!! Now was time. No more need for patience.
I sat in front of my computer. I looked at the tabs to youtube, reddit, breitbart where I could incite hate, start a war of words. But they were nothing compared to this. My cursor hovered over the program, my hand slightly shaking, waiting for the sweet release. I double clicked, and watched the opening video of civilization 5. It was worth it, my mediocre life, for this. I looked at my kingdom. Nothing stood in my way... except for that damned Gandhi. I'll crush him today. Then the computer made a last gasp sound and died. I stared at it. No life. My whole body was shaking, but my mind was clear. I knew what i wound do. This world was in trouble. | "Happy Birthday dear Shaurya, happy birthday to you!",
as his friends and family sang the monotonous ritual of a song at his 18th, He looked more lost than usual.
His eyes were moving rapidly,as if he was reading a book floating in front of him. As the song stopped so did his eyes. An unusual look of anger decorated his face. It all came back to him, his past memories a tad late.
He was 6'0 tall, dark skinned and had a stocky build.
"It's about damn tim.." before he could complete his mouth was immediately stuffed with Ladoo's(Indian Sweet) and his face was covered with cake.
After some careful manipulation he was able to get away from the party,
While the adults danced to loud punjabi music with a little help from some old fashioned whiskey, and his friends danced to loud EDM(Electro Dance Music). Shaurya, which was now apparently his name, sat in seclusion, away from the ruckus, on the roof.
"India huh, what does he want me to do this time? be inspired by that old fool Gandhi?"
He looked up at the heavens in anger. The doors were closed on him yet again.
Maybe conquering almost every inch of gods mighty earth,Leading massive armies to war, becoming the most powerful leader of all time wasn't enough.
"Maybe killing the jews was too much?" He burst out laughing. He regretted nothing. His laughter subsided while his anxiety rose, "What now?"
_______________________________________________________________
Hello!, this my first attempt at writing, please give me feedback! Thanks!
| 2017-03-31T11:38:45 | 2017-03-31T09:38:51 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Every morning you wake up with small wounds; just little scrapes and bruises you attribute to flailing in your sleep. This morning, you woke up with a huge cut across your hip, a glowing golden dagger plunged into the wall, and what looks an awful lot like a dead angel on your floor. | ######***Dreaming Eden***
Before the Sin of Eden, man and beast roamed the plains as one. The plants provided sustenance for all of God's creatures. No wars, violence, deception, corruption—just peace and harmony.
Then *he* came. He called himself Adam the Dreamer and swore up and down that he came from a place too distant to comprehend. This place was distant not in space, but in time. He claimed to have learned of our descendants' history, that we were primitive to him. Adam the Dreamer spoke to us before the first lie had been invented, so we could not call him a liar—there was no such thing. But what Adam was was something God Himself could not understand.
Adam appeared during the night and disappeared at the first ray of sunshine. He came first out of curiosity. "What a wonderful dream," he said. Then he got bored, declaring our world to be a repetitive nighttime slumber for him. So he thought of a woman with impeccable features and behold—she appeared. He named her Eve. And they had sex not for procreation, but recreation. God reviled the sight of such an act.
Every night Adam came, each time now with his "dream wife" Eve. They were promiscuous heretics that could conjure the most mind-altering substances at will. The dreamer and his imagined wife destroyed their bodies and minds night after night. We could not bear witness their unholy adventures. This is why we evolved to sleep in the darkness, when the Moon took over for the Sun's duty.
One night, Adam found God's oldest creation—a tree older than light itself. It bore fruit so holy and ripe that God forbade any creature from touching the tree, let alone eat its fruit. When Adam saw this marvelous, ancient tree, he could not resist. He called to Eve, who dropped her jaw when she gazed upon the tree. Being the short-sighted heathens they were, they decided to steal its fruit and eat it. "When in dream Rome, do as the dream Romans do," Adam said, but we did not understand what he meant.
As Adam approached the oldest tree, he was stopped by none other than God's oldest friend. His first sentient creation. Lucifero the Snake. Lucifero was 66 feet long and could stretch his jaw taller than Adam. Adam backed away in fear, but Eve did not. She attacked Lucifero with a weapon I cannot comprehend. It was metallic like the most precious of God's metals, small enough to grip in one hand, and louder than the loudest creature God created. It punctured Lucifero's left eye, then his right. But Lucifero was not ready to abandon his post protecting God's first creation. He lunged at Eve and swallowed her whole.
Adam fell to his knees and cried. But he told himself this was all just a dream. He made a promise to Lucifero, and to the rest of the world:
"I will be back, and when I return there shall be no gift of mercy. You have killed the wife of my dreams, now it is time to witness the darkest a human can be."
Then he vanished, as he always did.
We did not take his promise lightly. God ordered two of every creature to stand guard, to protect Lucifero and the tree. Then He summoned an army of winged men and women. He said to them, "Angels! Angels! A man who lives in dreams will be here after sundown to slay My creations! Do not let him win, do not let him claim victory. Do not let him lay a hand on Lucifero or on the fruit of My tree."
So the angels scattered among the rows of animals and critters. Then the Sun fell. And Adam came.
"I am here. Now let me take vengeance for my dear Eve!"
Adam the Dreamer held a golden dagger in one hand and another metallic weapon in another. The metallic weapon sprayed a barrage of projectiles into the vast crowd of animals, killing most without chance for rebuttal. When he was satisfied with the carnage, Adam rushed the larger creatures and angels with his golden dagger. He came like a red whirlwind. Every creature and winged angel perished to the unimaginable might of his golden dagger and metallic weapon.
It took several hours, but in the darkest of nights Adam finally found himself before the blinded Lucifero and God. God stood taller than any man, with the wings of an angel and complexion of a human. He wore white robes and a halo above His head.
"You cannot be a creation of Mine," God said to Adam the Dreamer.
"If I am not Your creation, then why do I share Your image?"
God commanded Lucifero to attack Adam. Adam decapitated the snake with one swipe of his golden dagger. Lucifero lay dead beside Adam's feet. God's wrath peaked. He charged Adam with nothing but His open arms.
Adam unloaded his metallic weapon, but it did no harm to the Lord. He tossed his weapon aside and held his golden dagger in front of him. God continued his flight toward Adam until His hip was gashed open by Adam's dagger.
God lay bleeding out on the ground, smiling with his mouth and shouting in anger with his eyes. "You know not what you have done."
In His dying breath, God banished Adam, humanity, and every creature that failed to protect Him and His tree from the sacred land Eden. No longer would His creations roam the Earth in peace and harmony, but in fear, hatred, spite, and desperation.
Adam laughed at God. He took a fruit from the tree, bit it, then disappeared.
...
Adam awoke in the middle of the night with an unbearable pain. His hip was gashed open. Adam's blood and intestines spilled from his body and onto his bed. He saw a golden dagger plunged into his wall and the corpse of a beautiful man dressed in white robes with a faded halo resting under His head on the floor.
The blood loss was too much. Adam fell asleep and never dreamed again. Eden was gone.
_____
Thanks for reading.
For some reason, I respond to a lot of religious prompts, more of which (among other stories and poems) can be found on [my personal subreddit](/r/ScottBeckman). | It all started three weeks ago; I woke up with a single long scratch on my leg. I didn’t pay any attention to it; I had to get to work. The next morning I had a small cut on my arm. Every day I woke up to more and more. I thought maybe I was hitting my metal bedframe in my drunken sleep, but the cuts kept coming even when I slept on the couch. The wounds got worse. I needed to see a doctor, but I kept putting it off.
Around 4am one morning I woke up to a sharp pain in my side. There was a sopping bloodspot on the sheets, and a gory wound above my hip. Bleary-eyed, I looked around my bedroom in the blue twilight.
There was a glowing golden dagger stuck in the wall. Its etched handle bore intricate faces and ‘INRE’ wrought in silver letters. There was a crucifix-shaped burn on the wall, and below it, a golden crucifix had fallen into my fishtank.
“What the hell?” I groaned.
Something in my room groaned back. I tried to prop myself up in bed so I could take a look, but it was too painful. I collapsed backward onto my pillow and drifted off into a cloudy void.
“Mr. Taney,” a voice said, “Mr. Taney, can you hear me?”
My eyes blinked open slowly. It was bright. Everything was white. A woman in white stood over me, looking down with concern.
“Where am I?” I slurred. “Is this a hospital?”
“No Mr. Taney,” the woman said, “This is Heaven.”
“What?” I said, fully alert now. My bed appeared to be made of a cloud-like substance. I touched my balls. I was wearing a large green leaf instead of underwear.
“Who the hell are you?” I said, “Call me the doctor. Right away. You’ve given me too much morphine.”
The woman cringed. “I’m God, actually,” the woman said. “You don’t need a doctor, you’re fine.”
“I want a second opinion,” I said without thinking.
“What,” God said, “Like from the Devil?”
I stopped to consider. “No,” I said, “Don’t call him.”
“Her,” God corrected.
“What’s going on here?” I asked, “Am I dead?”
“No,” God said. She poured herself a coffee from an ornate golden tankard on a puffy white countertop. “You’re moonlighting.”
“Moonlighting?” I said, propping myself up in bed.
God handed me the coffee. It tasted wonderful. To be honest, I expected a bit better, this being Heaven and all, but it’s hard to complain about free coffee.
“Yes,” God said, “Moonlighting. You see, when one of my children strays from the path, I send an angel to Earth to guide them.”
“I see,” I said. My mind quickly turned to a highlight reel of all the bad things I had said and done.
“You’ve spent a lot of time gambling and drinking and having sex,” God said.
I opened my mouth to deny her accusations, and then closed it.
“I forgive you,” God said, smiling reassuringly. “But I’d also like you to stop. So I keep sending you angels to help out.”
“Angels?” I said. “In my bedroom, was that…?”
“Yes,” God said. “You keep fighting off the angels.”
I cringed.
“Don’t worry,” God said, “They’re immortal.”
“I-I,” I said, “Why don’t I remember fighting them?”
“I want to preserve your free will,” God said, “So I confine the memories to your subconscious—the realm where the divine influences the profane. Moonlighting.”
“I see,” I said, “So I’ll wake up in my bed in the morning?”
God nodded.
“Will I remember this conversation?” I asked.
“No,” God said. She looked at me meaningfully. “Will you try for me? Will you try to return to the path of the light?”
There was a pause. My lungs filled with the clean pure air of heaven. I felt the pain of my wounds and the soreness of my muscles. My spirit ached. This life I was leading—it wasn’t perfect. I kept creating problems for myself, but I didn’t know if I could stop. This was the only life I knew. What would life be like without the highs and lows of drugs and women and cards? I couldn’t picture it, but a part of me sorely wanted to.
“Will you promise?” God asked again.
I nodded slowly—but I wasn’t yet sure if I meant it.
-----
subscribe to /r/trrh for more! | 2017-12-23T22:47:47 | 2017-12-23T22:13:59 | 888 | 68 |
[WP] If we were to wake up some morning and find that everyone was the same race, creed and color, we would find some other cause for prejudice by noon." - George Aiken
My first prompt had (what I felt was) good stories.
Time for another one, about my selected quote: Write a story in the world Aiken hypothesizes. What would kids be picked on for next? What would be the next inequality?
Edit: I post this hoping it will be satirical, I'm of course not trying to cause any problems. | I walk over to them, dressed in my everyday work uniform, a white apron with the sleeves cut to just after the elbow.
I quickly glance at my folder, reminding myself of their names. "Mr. and Mrs. Banks," I say. "He's a typo. I'm so sorry."
There's nothing more to say. I return to the infant, checking his vitals and ensuring the operation was successful. I can't help but glance at my own number, inked on my right forearm. The government had issued me 4041299 when I was born. There was no way I could ever forget a number permanently attached to my skin.
I can hear soft murmurs from a few feet away where the couple stands, in shock. This is the third time I've seen the inking machine make a typo in my seven years at the hospital, and each time I feel nothing but pity for the parents and child. I remember the first time all too well - I even contacted my manager to see if I could do anything. But of course not.
I'm brought out of my memoirs by a loud yell. The baby, silent until now, is crying at the top of his lungs. I deftly scoop him up and bring him to the couple. Mrs. Banks opens her mouth to speak, but all that comes out is garbled scream of despair. Mr. Banks looks me dead in the eye. He whispers one word.
"Please."
I have no response but to look at the smudge on the baby's skin. Turning away, I wonder why it has to be this way. Our society is so advanced, so intelligent, so modernized. *Why can't a typo just be a typo? Why can't typos apply for the same jobs, get the same education, live the same world full of opportunity?*
I usher the family to the counseling room, three doors down. The entire time, all I can hear is the screams of the child and the sobs of Mrs. Banks. I get in my government issued automobile and drive home. I can still hear the crying.
I stop at the corner of Chestnut and 8th. I give the man on the corner a dollar.
"Thanks, Jim," says the man. The brightness of his eyes rivals even the sun, directly above. He's a toypo too.
*My first submission to Writing Prompts, found this sub not that long ago. Please leave feedback! Thank you.* | "Excuse me, sir, do you have a moment to answer a few questions for our poll?"
"I suppose, yeah."
"Excellent! First question: Where do you stand on Proposition 6008-R?"
"I...do I have to answer that question?"
"You don't, sir, but this is just a poll to help our government better understand where the constituents stand on the issue."
"Ah. Okay, well, I'm against it."
"Okay. 'Opposed'. And might I ask why?"
"Well, quite frankly, I don't believe any of the 'scientific theories' about a person being more inclined to think with the right hemisphere of the brain. It's just illogical."
"So you're opposed on an intellectual level?"
"Precisely. I think people would have to choose to follow their instincts rather than pure-line logic. And if that's the case, then why should people choosing to act illogically be afforded Constitutional rights and protections?"
"Understood. Okay, sir, thank you for your time."
"My pleasure." | 2014-02-26T23:00:37 | 2014-02-26T21:58:22 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] You are immortal, but no one knows. You are given a life sentence in prison, and you laugh thinking about the confusion to come at the end of your sentence. | Give a man enough time and he can build anything.
I wasn't sure how to start this story. It was between this and 'give a man enough time and he'll go bananas and do
really weird stuff'. Not much of a ring to that second one, so I went with the first.
Anyway, the first thousand years weren't that bad. I pretty soon realized the warden was also immortal, and he
realized the same about me, and we became friends.
"Can you, like, let me out of prison when everyone in the world dies?" I asked, those first few years. "That technically would count as a life sentence, right? And no one would know cause everyone who knew I was sentenced to life would be dead already."
"Sorry," the warden said. "Rules are rules."
My luck, right? The only other immortal person on the planet is my warden, and is a goody-good.
So he made it his mission to ensure that my life sentence was served. In his defense, immortality is insanely
boring, so I guess I became his project. Something to do. Fill your days. Life makes no sense. It doesn't matter. Anyway.
After the fall of the Roman Empire things got boring. The warden would visit me often and we'd play cards and
games and talk about politics and world affairs.
"What do you think of this feudalism thing?"
"It's a fad. Won't last."
Then, later:
"This Renaissance stuff is really strong lately, right?"
"Kids. It'll pass."
We'd talk about people. Celebrities.
"What's up with the Newton guy, huh?"
"Oh, please, give me a break. Gravity…. Yeah, invisible forces pushing and pulling us. Sounds like religion to me."
And:
"This Napoleon guy sure looks like he means business."
And:
"This Black Plague thing is really something, huh? Hope we don't get it."
"Tell me about it. Here, I brought you a pet rat from the sewers."
"Aww, that's sweet."
And so on and so forth.
After the Third World War there was a brief period of seven thousand years when we didn't speak (he took the aliens' side while I remained faithful to our kind the humans).
(To be fair, the aliens were right, with their whole 'universal-peace' project, and we exterminated them for no good reason.... but, like... I'm human, you know? What was I supposed to do.)
(I do feel guilty, though.)
We became friends again after the explosion of the sun, on the interstellar living facility.
"How many people live here?" I asked. I wasn't allowed to leave the facility prison, so I didn't know how many had
escaped Earth.
"About a million."
"Wow… that's like… Greek Empire numbers."
"We sure shrank."
We started on the Project around the end of the Seventh Age (mankind started counting time in Ages instead of years on account of the whole sun-exploding business). Worked on it all through the remaining days of mankind and the Others. All living things perishing around us. The warden started spending more and more time in the cell with me. He slept there often.
When all was cold and barren and lifeless but for us, when all was dark but the light inside my cell and him and I were all there was left gliding through the void, we finished it.
Minutes to go until the end. Heat death. Complete nothingness. The end of the world.
Me and the Warden. And our project.
A tiny little sphere, floating between us.
"You think it'll work?"
"We worked on it for billions of years," I said. "It better work."
He looked down at the model universe floating between us. All the same programing, the same coding. Helium,
carbon, matter, energy, the forces… gravity, electromagnetism.
We built a universe inside that cell. And it floated between us.
"Hey," the warden said. "It's deterministic, right? This universe?"
Outside, the universe blackened and darkened and the light inside the cell grew dimmer, and I could feel myself and
the warden fading, slowly, finally. Life is a joke.
"Yeah."
"So change the setting at the big bang, just a tweak. Can you do it?"
Silence. Darkness. Empty. We were dying at last. Horribly. Beautifully. Dying.
"Yeah. Change what?"
"Make it so when there's life…" The warden smiled. "There'll be two immortal dudes."
I shook my head. I smiled at the warden. Then I tweaked my universe and set it in motion, and all was dark and the
world ended.
And then it was born again.
_____
*More of me emulating way more talented authors at /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
| Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6chsmn/life_sentence_part_2/)
---
The oldest man in the world sat behind bars, his wrists cuffed together and feet chained to the floor. Officially, he was 140 years old, though that was because his doctored birth certificate had him born May 28th, 1870. Unofficially, he was around for the birth of Christ, though when he had told the police, they didn't believe him. He chuckled wondering how long he'd have to wait for them to finally see the truth.
He had been given a life sentence for murder. Multiple murders to be exact. At court, he had looked at the judge straight-faced and asked, "what's the big deal?"
Human lives came and went. He had seen empires fall in flame. He had fought in wars back when they raped and pillaged. Now, someone had caught him killing just a handful of men and suddenly it was the end of the world.
Humans--what an irrational species.
There was talk that he would get the electric chair. Any day now, they claimed. It would be the most publicized execution the world had ever seen.
As a testament to human irrationality, reporters from all over the world had flocked to his jail cell. A 140 year old man behind bar with the convicts? Such cruel and unusual punishment! They had taken one look at his age and thought it meant anything more than just a number. And so he had shown them how irrational they truly were. He had picked the youngest, brightest, most energetic defender of his--a young girl that wore lipstick too bright and perfume too sharp--and strangled her in front of their cameras.
Now, he was something of a celebrity. It was Marilyn Monroe that said something along the lines of--the only thing worse than being talked about is not. He would know. He had been there popping pills next to her when she had said it.
"Hey asshole," came a familiar voice. It was Randy, the guard hired solely to look over him. Randy clanged his nightstick against the cell bars and peeked through. "Today's the big day, I even brought you your last meal."
He tossed a porcelain plate through the bars. It broke and shattered on the floor.
"Sorry, asshole," he said, never taking his eyes off his prisoner. "I was hungry. The steak was good though, cut rare, just how I like."
The prisoner looked up and smiled. No matter how Randy taunted him, he still held the trump card. "Sorry about your daughter," he said. "But her perfume was suffocating me. No hard feelings?"
Randy shut up, his face burned purple. For a second, it looked as if he would unlock the cage and kill the old man himself. Instead, he gritted his teeth and walked off.
"I'll be back in five minutes to take you to the chair. Better start praying."
The prisoner laughed. Pray? To what? But poor Randy, the man thought that some chair with some wire would kill the old man. It was foolish. With a smile, he picked up a porcelain shard and slipped it into his pants.
The most televised execution in the world would soon become the most televised escape in the world. Or perhaps the most televised massacre in the world. He couldn't decide which sounded better.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| 2017-05-20T16:10:36 | 2017-05-20T16:03:51 | 1,854 | 980 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | Humans, no one really got humans. Always sticking to themselves, bizarre peaks and valleys in their technology, almost no one in their species older than 150, despite them having immortality technology for at least 300 years and a disturbingly adamant insistence on near total pacifism. They saw nothing wrong with sticking a neural implant into every skull, but slapping someone? an honor duel? no that was too far. We figured we didn't need to understand them. We were the Anqax, the greatest warriors the galaxy had ever known, conquerers of a dozen species. We would force them under our protection and show that what it meant to serve with honor.
The first sign something was wrong was the reaction of the ruler of the first world we hit. They begged us not to make them do it. not for mercy, not to spare there people, but not to force there hand. we thought it was a translation error, or maybe some bizarre cultural quirk. But the landers came down, without a shot fired. We joked and jeered that it would be too easy, then we hit the first city and met the populace. the streets were packed with peopel, adults, adolescents, males, and females.
once more, a spokesman begged us to leave, that it was not yet too late. truth be told? at this point, some of us were feeling a little bad for them. A species so foolish that worried about their conquerors. We shot him of course, but we felt a bit bad about it, but only for a few seconds. The man had not even hit the ground when every last one of them charged.
it was madness, yet the shock of it saw the front lines drown under a sea of bodies. we opened up, gauss fire pulping limbs and shredding bodies, they didn't stop. I remember the one that got my commander quite clearly. A female she, couldn't have been more than a few years into adolescence, she killed him with the jagged stump of bone that used to be her arm. When the first battle was done, we'd lost hundreds, but they'd lost thousands.
We figured out what had happened pretty quick, those neural implants they all had? they'd uploaded a beserker program to the entire population. turned every last man woman and child into a makeshift murder drone. For the first 2 weeks, it was terrifying, packs of emotionless beserkers erupting from every nook and cranny. command refusing to dishonor there the first battle of the war by resorting to bombardment. Yet, once the shock wore off, we were winning. so long as you could get into you APC you'd be fine. At the start of the 3rd week, we started encountering weapons.
they'd expended a third of the populace to stall us while they armed the rest. the versatility of their industry on full display. the weapons started out crude, suicide charges, oversized cannons barely able to pierce armor. But even crude weapons were dangerous in the swarms they came at us in, and every day they got a bit better. the assault ground to a halt, and then we saw the ruler again.
she struck during a speech. when the high general was trying to rally the troops to press on in the face of the horrors we'd encountered. Her weapons were primitive, but masterfully designed, and her skill was beyond legend. laughing and sobbing she tore through the generals elite guard like they were green recruits, screaming that this was our fault, that we deserved this. she did not merely kill the general, she *butchered him* leaving him a bleeding mess on a live broadcast before setting off a fusion bomb strapped to her armor, wiping out the majority of our command structure.
after that, we pulled back. retreated from the teeming beserkers swarms, and simply rained death on the world from orbit. We should have pulled back entirely, but we thought this an anomaly, a madwoman banished to the edge of space. we pushed on, striking at the next world.
as we came out of warp, we found an evacuation already underway. vast haulers where moving the population away, even as industry desperately spat out simple weapons. An overly ambitious captain tried to capture one, moving his ship into the path of the refugee ship and demanding surrender. his vessel was the first naval loss of the war, the hauler simply initiating a warp jump into his ship, trading a few million civilians for a cruiser.
on the ground, it was much the same as the last world. The entire populace turned into beserkers and armed with crude weapons. demands for surrender were made, and where met with mad laughter and incoherent pleas for us to simple *leave*. we'd learned from the last world, this time we didn't spare the bombardment.
about a week later, official diplomatic contact was made. A high ranking human arriving via a primitive courier ship. Asking to speak to our commander to stop the madness. a single human, prostrate before the commanding prince, begging him for peace, pleading that the universe was not so crowded that we needed to fight, imploring him not to make the galaxy an emptier one. The prince said there could be peace, so long as they surrendered. the diplomat nodded once and then exploded. I *still* have no idea how he got a charge past our scanners, but that rather set the tone of the war.
there was no more diplomacy after that. no transmission, no traders to neutral space and not a single human taken alive. a bit after that, we lost the world we'd been supplied form. no idea how, just frantic garbled transmission about crowds of madmen and monsters, and then the AM plants went up and scoured the world down to the bedrock. Just like that, our supply lines where cut. we saw the first of their ships the next day.
makeshift things clearly repurposed from other uses, barely worthy of the name warship. but they came at us with mindless courage and mechanical skill. we massacred them of course, ramshackle things that they were. But they *kept* coming. an unending wave of primitive ships. all told, a billion men died in the void to stall us 3 months, a deal that would have been cheap at twice the price.
5 months after we started what was supposed to be simple conquest, we pressed into a major system, and into hell. the entire population, willingly, *eagerly* working every waking hour in the factories, in the drill yards, in shipyards and fortresses. Gardens worlds built up over centuries burned in the fire of uncaring industry. Music, art, culture, joy, all of these things they had put aside. a trillion demons waited for us in that system, with the fruits of their mad industry.
the fleet waiting for us was no makeshift ramshackle mess of hastily converted hulls. primitive true, but clearly the product of a mad artisan, and built from the keel up to counter our fleet. I'm a soldier, not a sailor, so all I can tell you is we lost. two-thirds of our fleet left drifting in space and the rest falling back to lick its wounds, and dooming our people.
we hadn't known. how could we have? the horror of how humans wage war? every mind bent fully to the task of death, every speck of industrial output, every ounce of space lift turned solely to victory at any cost. The versatility they had built into everything revealing its purpose, as what had once been a society transformed an impossibly huge weapons plant. It took them six months to ramp up, six months to put together a military industrial complex to dwarf our entire empire.
we tried to fight, of course. We still had our advantages, but not enough to offset their simple numbers and cold ruthlessness. worlds fell, to c impactors, nano-swarms endless armies of monsters and horror. soon we tried to talk, to surrender, to make it *stop*. They didn't listen, I don't know if they couldn't. too far gone into the grip of their ancient madness, or if they *chose* not to, that they hated this so much they were willing to wipe us out to make us an object lesson to the rest of the galaxy.
I don't think it matters, in the end, the result was the same. our empire dismantled, our people scoured mercilessly from the stars. Yet, they were not *done*. I think they hate themselves, for what they had done, for what they became once more, but I *know* they hate us for pushing them to it. That's why I'm still alive you see. the last few billion of us they sterilized, did *something* to our DNA so we can't even make clones. we don't age anymore, haven't for centuries. Some of us live on a reservation, a living monument to our failures, the rest? well, we wonder the stars. an eternal reminder of what it means to war with humanity, a monument to their madness and sins.
Do not force them to set aside the fetters they festoon themselves with. For they have long since forgotten how to stop without them.
| First time doing one of these, Just seemed fun. Kind of all over the place, hopefully it reads alright.
\-----------------------------------------------
The humans had fought fiercely during first contact hundreds of years ago. When Xenadites made the mistake of viewing them as just another destructive species worth cleansing off a valuable gaia world to prepare it for the Survivors. Since the goal was the preservation of the planet there were no planetary bombardments, forcing them into a bloody ground war.
The humans were quite astute and quickly gleamed the purpose of the invasion, resorting to what we later learned were Guerilla tactics. The humans were tougher than expected when they continued to fight on despite losing limbs, they were more courageous than any member of the Survivors, risking their lives to rescue anyone in danger. They were merciful and provided aid to captured invaders, keeping them in what we learned were prisoner of war camps. They were smart and learned of the Survivors, reverse engineering captured technology to send out pleas for a cease-fire, for salvation.
The Survivors debated amongst themselves about the proper course, with the Xenadites believing that the humans were merely intelligent pests that needed to be eliminated to save the world. Others believed they would adapt and change their ways when guided and nurtured by the other Survivors. In orbit during the initial talks, as the Xenadites ground forces were finishing capturing a small city named Moscow, we were all shocked into silence as a unnatural cloud rose from the planet below us after a bright flash. Instruments aboard various consoles shrieked as confirmation of a nuclear weapon being detonated by the humans on their own world.
An immediate end was brought to the war as it became clear that if they humans couldn't survive, no one would survive, and the world would be ravaged. We, the Caadreks, took the humans under our wings and brought them up to the Survivors standards. We taught them how fragile life was in the intergalactic stage with so few worlds being habitable and even fewer like the Earth.
They were curious about our rag-tag bands name, Survivors, we informed them that we were all that was left of various intergalactic empires. There was a massive war between two large coalitions that was interrupted by an outside force that extinguished most life in the neighboring galaxies. There were precious few planets that supported life left and fewer species.
They flourished with proper guidance and took over our mantle as the nurturers, advancing quickly through various technology bottlenecks they rest of us struggled with like terraforming and various faster-than-light travel methods. They helped all of us regain lost worlds and pride as the centuries passed and some of the damage from the Outsiders was undone. With the struggle for surviving became less of a burden, friction developed between members of the Survivors, and the humans were able to mediate for a time between us.
The Xenadites never forgot the humiliation they suffered at human hands and began calling them weak and worthless, at first behind their backs, then to their faces in the quarterly meetings. It came as a surprise to very few when the Xenadites and a few like minded species weren't present at the next meeting, with the human representative informing the rest of us that there were border conflicts between them and the Xenadites and their allies.
Reports filtered in that one human system fell quickly, too quickly for any news of the inhabitants, but the humans were prepared at the next few systems. The next few fell after several month long battles, with new filtering in that the Xenadites were enslaving any they captured, using them for food and labor. The next set of battles were stalemates, with neither side able to gain any advantage.
From the observation craft we were able to witness and record various treaty violations by the Xenadite coalition and planned on using it as evidence for reparations when this war was over. The turning point in the conflict was sudden and brutal with no warning. Unfamiliar vessels that bore human markings had warped into one system, the Sol System, the home system of the humans. The surface of these ships were ancient and pot-marked with various battle damage with their numbers in single digits but they were supplemented by the remains of the human defense force in the region. The Xenadites openly ridiculed these ramshackle remnants of what surely had to be fleets from other systems, having pulled all of their forces to number in the hundreds as a final decisive battle.
The four vessels lumbered out alone, announcing over all open communication channels that this was the last chance at surrender, as anyone pursuing hostile actions would face swift unceasing retribution. Those neutral parties observing from their own vessels were chilled by the message and felt a peculiar nagging sensation like they were missing some important puzzle piece.
One of the few capital ships in the alien flotilla signed the death warrant for the Xenadite race. They planned to show off their new ships and held back the rest of the fleet in a holding formation. Its primary weapon was a super sized plasma cannon, using the oversized reactor in the vessel to power the weapon, so destructive in nature than the ship could only fire this weapon a dozen times before risking the destruction of the ship. The bow glowed as a star's worth of energy was built up and discharged right at the human vessels blinding all of our sensors as it clumsy rolled through the void. It was mesmerizing as it moved to engulf the lead human ship in what should have been total destruction.
Our feathers stood on end as we felt our stomachs sinking, the humans made no attempt to evade. Instead it impacted a shimmering sphere around the ship and broke against the unyielding bulwark of energy. A second and third burst impacted the vessel from the other capital ships and brought those shields down, boiling off numerous layers from the front of the vessel. Lights flickered around its length for several long moments and began drawing eager cheers from the Xenadites.
Our keen eyes noticed the other vessel's lights were flickering too and fear gripped our very core as we wondered what exactly the human's response was. Our sick curiosity was rewarded when one of the Xenadite capital ships shuddered violently and its hull buckled and bent inwards towards the middle of the vessel. Plasma vented out of gaps in the metal plating as the reactor was destroyed. Slowly it sank in on itself before blinking out of existence, followed by three more capital ships perishing in the same manner.
The rest of the battle was an absolute slaughter. The human vessels took damage that should have rendered them inoperable several times over and continued to fight. In the end they lost only one of the four vessels when it took enough damage to be rendered helpless. The other three pulled back and the Xenadites moved to board the crippled vessel, eager for vengeance in the bloody battle. There was no warning, no build up of energy, when the very fabric of reality was ripped open around the ship and swallowed it and the majority of the Xenadite fleet.
It came to light that the humans had at some point detected the Outsiders fleets moving towards the Milky way. They made massive high tech ships armed with weapons beyond our understanding and with redundancy that their military experience bred into them. For centuries they fought a war for all of us while helping us rebuild, with their reward being a war on the home front and threat of extinction.
The humans had no mercy. They methodically eliminated the remnants of the great Xenadite fleet. Repeated cries for mercy and peace fell on deaf ears and the stars themselves turned red from the sheer levels of blood spilled as worlds burned. In the end nothing was left of the Xenadites or their allies except barren husks and broken bones, a warning for the rest of the galaxy.
There will be no Survivors.
| 2018-12-15T00:58:53 | 2018-12-15T00:30:27 | 184 | 102 |
[WP] The production of meat for human consumption has been fully automated for decades. The largest factory has suddenly stopped producing. You are the technician assigned to troubleshoot, and are the first person to enter the plant in over 20 years. | Humanity had long abandoned the agricultural practices of old, as they'd buckled under the weight of an ever exploding population. The cows were gone. The hogs were gone. Turkeys, chickens? Gone and gone. The relatively few of us blessed enough to eat on a routine basis stopped questioning the source of our sustanance long ago. We ate what The Administration provided to us. "At least it looks and taste like beef" most of us thought. The smart ones anyway. The bold few who dared raise objection to the secrecy of The Administration's ways simply stopped receiving their food rations, as did the perpetrator's entire family if the infraction had been deemed egregious enough.
Me, I've got a daughter to feed. I keep my mouth shut and do my job.
The boss said I'd like this one. Burley and hardened, a real Section 6 type, Marley chuckled as he approached me. "Bun, they asked for my best 'outside the box' kinda guy so I threw your name out there. Suit up!"
So here I am. Building 12124, Section 4B. My keycard, bent slightly from when Tess, my daughter, used it to flick a pebble at me the night before, gave me entry through a series a semi translucent pneumatic doors. Inside, rows and rows of metallic boxes hiding massive machines had, up until today, been running smoothly for decades. This efficiency afforded The Administration a sense of control.
Box by box, I pulled off the weirdly dust free entry covers to expose the mass of highly technical machines within. The majority of these machines I'd never seen outside of a textbook from Tech training a few years back, and even then, not in this configuration. From these rows of boxes wound a conveyor belt that branched into 6 or seven sections. Walking past, I read aloud the bold lettering across one of the many sealed packages stopped along the belt. "Ribs. Ribs? What the funk. When was the last time..." My voice trailed off as I noticed a large glass structure at a distance glowing a blueish green, the overhead lights reflecting off it and making a soothing light show on a wall behind it. Drawn to the only splash of color in an otherwise abhorrently boring facility, I inched closer to the for end of the warehouse where I noticed wires, no...tubes running from the glass tank to the machines. Tubes carrying.. "bright red lubricant of some sort?" I said aloud as I sometimes talk to myself when I'm sure I'm alone.
It didn't take long to figure out the problem. As I rounded the corner of the last large machine, with its articulating laser guided discombobulaters and whatnots, I saw the tubes connect to the bottom of the large glass container. "There's something in there" , I thought as I eyed the tube inside the tank disappear into a mist of blueish fluids.
Then I saw it. Connected to bundles and bundles of tubes, IV's and sensors attached at every available patch of hairless skin. I'd never seen one. In the books they had hair. But not this one. He floated lifeless and pink. Now free from his prison, he was the first cow I'd ever seen. He was the last cow anyone would ever see. He was the last on Earth. The cow that had single hoofedly fed the world for decades was dead. I named him Moo Moo before i flushed the tank. | First I think I should give you a quick rundown of how meat production works, for the uninitiated. There’s loads of chemicals, and these get mixed together. This mixture includes cells from whatever meat you’re making, as well as other chemicals that promote meat growth. This is then put into huge thin trays, about 6 inches deep and several feet long and wide, until it becomes meat. It’s then taken out of the trays, and put through processors, where it’s cut into a more manageable size, is sprayed at the end to ensure that it’s clean and doesn’t spoil. And the entire process is automated. In the entire facility there’s 5 staff members. Three of them are security guards. All of them work from a small building outside the actual factory. So when I was called to fix the problem, I would be the first person to enter the factory since they’d given a foreign president a tour 22 years ago.
Note how the meat isn’t processed until the very end. This means that when the entire factory suddenly stops working, 10,000 tonnes of meat starts to rot, and in a hot summer, it rots hard. The stench was unbelievable, and I could smell it from the moment I went in the gate. I nearly fainted when I opened the door, and I’ve been working in meat production facilities for 14 years. These places don’t smell good at the best of times, last Tuesday was downright inhumane.
I was told to troubleshoot. I was to go in, walk around for an hour or so, fiddle with some buttons, take a lot of pictures, and come back out so the full technician team could go over the situation. When I got in there, I realised fiddling with buttons wouldn’t help. They said there’d be about 10,000 tonnes of meat, at various stages of production, rotting away. They didn’t say there’d be 204 dead bodies as well. Turns out that leaving the factory floor unchecked for 22 years was a mistake. | 2014-11-14T04:22:43 | 2014-11-14T04:17:40 | 58 | 22 |
[WP] Mankind explored the galaxy. Nothing. Only us. Disheartened, we colonized and thrived. One day, an experiment exposed the truth: our reality is a second out out of phase with the rest of existence, which is populated by aliens. The brief glimpses seen of us? We are their Eldritch Terrors. | The eldritch abomination had stepped through the portal and was now stomping through our village. Old tales told of portals rifting between the realities and these things stepping through. The visage contained two huge white orbs, each the size of a villager, and beneath it an incomprehensible jutting of flesh. Worst of all were the wide slavering fangs within a horrible liquid lined maw.
Helix shivered in dread, feeling his mind reeling at the rumbling sounds coming from the maw. Helix slithered behind his hut, the ground shaking and the screams of his neighbors went silent as a huge leather-covered foot crashed into his neighbor's hut. It was flattned to the ground and Helix gulped. He saw his mate waving a tentacle at him to get his attention a block away. He tried in vain to warn her as the five tentacled flesh-covered hand wrapped aroun dher and she squeaked in fear as she disappeared skyward. He heard a final squeak as the huge appendages crushed her skeleton with it's otherwordly strength.
The two huge orbs examined his mates tiny body. The maw pursed together and unleashed a gale against her corpse but she lay in the appendage unmoving. Small jets of air escaped his side fins as he wept. Then their were the strange words in an unknowable tongue that split the morning sky.
"Susan!" the booming voice cried, "Hurry up! You're already late for school!"
The villagers hid themselves in the shadows as the orbs turned outward, and the abomination returned the call, "But mom! Come see what I found..."
Helix shivered as the ground shook again as the abomination tunred and smashed through the village center, uncaring. The two huge orbs looked downward and the elderith tongue boomed, "Awwww, don't worry, little guys! I'll see you after school!"
Helix shivered as the abmination strode through the green forest outside the village and disappeared from sight. | Stand on a barren world, lost of all life, and catch glimpses of city spires reaching towards the sky beyond the horizon.
Frolick in gentle fields, and shirk in the echo of phantom warforms blazing through the night.
Hold close your children, as the world tears itself apart over and over and over again.
Gaze into the eyes of gods, and know they cannot care to gaze back.
---
*Mars succesfully terraformed!*
*Clash with rebel forces ends in decisive UN victory on uninhabited Chosulan VI.*
*Forest moon of Kendoma cracked to make space for 'Megadonalds' station.*
*New experiment reveals potential parallel reality!* | 2022-12-14T07:58:54 | 2022-12-14T07:29:37 | 42 | 29 |
[WP] A man wants to sell his soul to a demon but the thing he wants in return is so dubious the demon is thrown for a loop. | "Four lemons," Greg responded.
"It's done," said the demon. The response was so quick that the smoke from its appearance hadn't yet left the room.
"...and some sugar," Greg said. He stared blankly at the demon and blinked once.
The demon also blinked. A subtle mark of shock passed over its ashy face.
"Um, it's done. We're done here," it said.
"Oh alright," Greg answered. "It's just that I'm trying to make lemonade and I needed the sugar."
The demon shifted from one hoof to another. The man, who's soul it now owned, continued to stare in expectation.
"Why didn't you just ask for lemonade?" the demon asked.
"Oh, I just like the homemade stuff better," Greg said. For a man who just gave away his afterlife he appeared stupidly confident in his suburban kitchen.
"You could have just asked me for homemade lemonade," the demon said. It was smugly satisfied turning its victim down, but also annoyed that Greg was not grasping the weight of the agreement previously made.
"You probably wouldn't make it how I like it," Greg said.
The two figures continued standing in front of the oven. A tiny salt pentagram was still sprinkled in front of the burners.
"Well then. I'm going," said the demon.
"Alright," Greg replied. "Have a good day then."
"You...too." The demon slowly trotted toward his portal. Behind it the man placed his four lemons into a basket and took a seat at his kitchen table. He calmly reached for his cup of coffee.
The demon stopped. It didn't feel guilt but felt like it needed to say something.
"Maybe your neighbor has some sugar," the demon said.
"Couldn't you just give me some like you did the lemons?" Greg asked.
"I can't do free ones," the demon said.
"Oh," the man responded.
A short moment passed. The demon waited for that moment then started to turn.
"I'll trade my son for some sugar," Greg said without expression.
The demon stood hunched in his tracks. His hairy back faced Greg. "I need consent from each of..."
"And I'll trade my wife for some ice. My father for a pitcher and my dog for a clean glass," Greg said.
"Your getting a little ahead of yourself...," the demon started to say.
"And I'll give you my grandmother for a coaster," Greg was picking up the pace of his plan now. "My neighbor's baby for a wooden spoon plus another from the orphanage for a cloth napkin."
"Oh yeah," the man added, "I found a box of stray cats that I'll crush for you myself for a cocktail umbrella."
The portal swirled in front of the demon. It spoke looking away from kitchen.
"Give me back my lemons Greg," it said. "I should have checked to make sure I could collect from you before I handed them over."
| "Woah there cowgirl. Slow it down.".
Ja'rel shook her head in disbelief.
" I'm just a crossroads demon. Sure we can make deals a little bigger than those spirit board idiots, but I think even I need to run that kind of request...downstairs.".
The demon gave the small mortal in front of her another once over. Her soul was pure as the driven snow, no history of abuse, no psychotic tendencies, not even a bad temper. Ja'rel couldn't fathom why the young girl would ask for something so horrendous.
The girl began to speak in a low quiet voice.
"The book said you trade desires for souls. I didn't realize there was paperwork involved.".
This made Ja'rel laugh.
"Normally there isn't, but you aren't exactly asking for a normal deal here. Immortality, riches, fame, revenge, hell even genocide is an easier deal to make than what you're asking for. And besides, there's already four of them! That's kind of their shtick, four horsemen, bringers of the apocalypse, yadda yadda. I can't just ask one to step down."
This time it was the girl who laughed.
"I didn't ask you to. All I need is the same level of power. I can see to the rest myself."
Ja'rel thought on this for a moment.
"Well...I guess that technically is within the bounds of my ability...One apocalyptic power boost, coming right up!" | 2014-05-15T21:16:19 | 2014-05-15T20:05:56 | 252 | 52 |
[WP] “Remember this above all else when you leave the Cave. It is much better to run across a demon than angel. A demon can be bargained with. An angel, on the other hand, will kill you on sight.” | Once
---
upon a time, there lived a world with 10 suns. Each of them desired the Earth and its inhabitants, but were content to share with their brothers and sisters.
Each morning, a new sun would rise into the sky and replace their sibling. Each evening, a new sun would bear witness to the sins of the world. It was a cold, cold world below them. Homes were built out of stone, men were born in mud, and death would reclaim them all to dust. Millennia passed as the suns simply watched, looking down upon man and his suffering. They watched as man grew into towers of steel and worlds of silicon. They watched as man plundered the knowledge of the unknown, as demons were summoned and the Moon waxed in power. Still, man would die. Still flesh would crumble into dust.
One morning the suns found themselves both unwilling and unable to exercise restraint, and they surged forward to embrace their dependents. That morning 10 suns filled the sky, each greedier than the last. The Moon protested, attempted to halt their avarice, to grant humanity the brief respite of night, but for this limitation the suns only grew greedier in the day.
Those who were embraced by the suns’ rays changed. They melted, but they did not die. For the suns wished to be loved as they love, and brought gifts to those they touched. They touched those who bared themselves to the sun and turned them into angels, beings of light and heat that would live eternally.
Welcome to a world of eternal life and euphoria. To a world of fluid forests and liquid amalgamations. To a world of endless summer. Welcome to a world in which no skin should be left bare, where humanity has learned to embrace the darkness and shy away from the light. Welcome to the 9th day of the 9th month of the 9th year of the 10 suns. Welcome, to the end of new beginnings.
“Listen."
---
He shakes me. "Are you listening to me?” The respirator clicks, pipes wheezing their way to an oxygen tank. I nod, spy my own reflection inside of the lens of his gas mask. I’m afraid, my skin pale in contrast to the crimson hazmat suit.
“Good.” He coughs, the sound of his voice perverted into a metallic buzz. “Do you know what you need to do?”
“Move the package.” The strap around my shoulder, the package itself pressing against my hip.
“Yes! And how will you move this package?”
“Quickly.”
“And what if they come close?”
“Stay still. Stay silent.”
He nods, brushing my cheek with his glove. Musty leather and spoiled sewage. The smell of my childhood, of darkness and safety. He hugs me, wraps his arms around my head and pulls me into an embrace, muttering into my ear.
"Run from the devils. Run from the angels. Hide from the sun. Your skin is not theirs to see."
I nod, squinting my eyes shut as tears swell. Once, twice, his hand pats my head. Then I'm standing and he's gone, striding into the control room.
"She's ready!"
I strap my gas mask on as the cave doors crank open, letting the light in.
| With a nod and looked at cave's opening. The minute I stepped beyond it I would no longer belong. It would be just me and my mission.
I felt my father and my brothers behind me but didn't look back and walked forward.
The trip down the mountain to the city was a short one and under the cover of night I passed unseen as I ran and jumped the over roof tops.
Twice I lost my footing as the wood under me gave way to rot and poor repair but my luck held.
My father's voice was ringing in my ears as I heard a familiar call in the streets below me.
"12 o'clock and all's well!"
Even after all that training, just the sound of their voices was enough to cause me heart to beat faster. I ran faster, trying to out run their cries. Faster and faster to my target.
I blame their voices for my haste, for being stupid to realize that getting to the warlord's mansion was too easy, for panicking and getting caught even before I reached the inner chambers.
"So, what do we have here? They're sending kids to assassinate me now?" Said the warlord. He didn't even bother to dress and just stood there looming over me in his night gown.
"So boy, who sent you? Give me a name and I might show you mercy." He said rubbing his chin.
With his guards holding me down all I could do was bow my head in submission... and hide my smile. The demon asks for the bargain himself.
Though my life was forfeited the minute I was given this assignment there was still some use of it. By giving the wrong name I would plant the seed of doubt in his heart. I would probably not be there for when it bloomed a crimson red but for my life I would get war. One this demon might not survive... With my head bowed and my voice shaky I made my peace, and my bargain. | 2018-09-01T12:20:46 | 2018-09-01T11:35:39 | 63 | 32 |
[WP] You rush into a church to stop the love of your life from marrying the wrong person. Not paying attention, you shout "I OBJECT" only to realize it's a funeral. The deceased immediatelly rises in perfect health. All eyes turn to you.
Thank you everyone for all the stories, they're wonderfu, i really enjoyed every single one | I was rushing, out of breath... my twin sister had taken my place, and my future wife was going to marry the wrong woman, she just didn't know. I threw open the doors to the chuch, "I Object!"
The problem was, it was the wrong church.
Eyes turned to me, the bereaveds' eyes were streaming. It was a funeral.
Then came a loud creaking sound, and the casket at the front of the funeral slowly opened, and the crying and wailing and the music suddenly stopped.
"I... where am I? I feel like I was hit by a truck."
A man stood up, and walked forward, "Son... you were. You were paste, that's why were having a closed-casket funeral for you, but how..."
He looked up, holding his head, "First... could someone get me some Aspirin... secondly... I heard screeching, if felt like something bodychucked me, and then I heard 'I object' and... now I'm here."
I saw eyes turn towards me... but I had places to be... I laughed nervously and ran out. What... what was that?
I got to the next church... it was empty.
I got to the next... I recognized my fiance's car. This was it. I rushed in, and there was my sister, sitting with my fiance at the pulpit, but they were sitting down, not holding hands, "Don't worry, she'll make it.." she was saying.
I stopped, "Sorry... I had the address of the wrong church.."
My soon-to-be-wife started bursting out laughing, "That's so like you, always getting lost..."
My sister came up, "When you burst in the door, you looked so worried. You didn't honestly think I'd steal her, did you? That was just me teasing when I threatened it earlier."
I sighed and breathed, "No... I guess I should have known... I'm so lucky we made this small. I'd hate to be late like this in front of a huge crowd." My sister, my parents along with my soon to be wifes' parents all nodded in agreement.
The minister chuckled, "Not the worst I've seen, by any stretch. So, are you too ready? I've got another wedding after this, so I'll have to cut it short, is that okay?"
We both nodded, and he continued, "Arlight then. Do you both?"
"We do" we said in unison
"Then by the power invested in my by the state of Oregan and the Interfaith council, and respectively in the name of the Inari, the Fox Goddess of the Shinto belief, " he nodded to me, "And in the name of the Midnight Coven of witches and the unbridled power of humanity," he nodded to my wife, "I pronounce you wife and wife. You may mutually kiss the bride."
After the kiss, which was pretty passionate, we left to our car. We had a trip planned to Canada for our first date, "So, what happened at the other church?"
"I might have accidentally risen someone from the dead."
She blinked at me, "You... what?"
"Yea, I threw open the doors, thinking you were marring my twin, yelling 'I object'. And the dead person just got up."
My beautiful wife sighed, "Great... just great..."
I blinked, "What is it?"
"This morning I did a ritual to guarantee success of our declarations later in the day. Do you realize how much the gold and rare herbs in that ritual cost? That was like... eighty bucks. Now I'll have to do it all over again, and we'll have to do our vows again."
"Wait... you have a spell that can bring back the dead?"
"Of course I do. What do you take me for, a beginning witch?"
I sat there, stunned for a moment, "How... accurate are movies about witches?"
"Oh, not accurate at all.."
"Oh thank goodness."
"For one, we'd never let ourselves have warts."
I blinked a few times.
"By the way, where are we going for our honeymoon?" I asked.
"Oh, up to the Northern Lights. There's some binding rituals that can only be done under the midnight light of the auroras. The normal vow is 'until death do us part', so I'd rather make sure that is delayed as long as possible."
Well, needless to say, I don't think this marriage is going to go as I originally envisioned, but I wouldn't trade her for the world. | "Relive services, this is Annette speaking." The unbelievably perky lady answered as she was picking up the phone. "Yes, perfect health, that's right." Vic could hear an excited shriek on the other end as Annette turned the volume down a bit. "I do have to say that since we got our resurrection license in Europe, the average waiting time is now 25 years, madam." Annette's face looked concerned, she knew what was coming. "I'm sorry madam, but that's the best we can do. Unless you want to upgrade to the 'back up together' pack, of course. And remember, either way, your husband will be in perfect health." Vic, still in training, had recently quit his job in finance to do sales here. And this is the part that got him all excited. "Well, madam, with this package, we arrange a temporary euthanasia session for you. We simply store you in our freezer paradise and when the time comes, we get you both back on your feet, in perfect health." Annette had to turn her volume down again.
And this was it. It had a 90% conversion rate. The founder was still the only one who had the power to resurrect people. And he got better and better, and everyone knew it. First, people still had their main issues like heart problems. But over time, that went away. The resurrected got healthier with every resurrection, it seemed. People knew, so almost everyone got this package, hoping to be healthier than ever together with their partner. It's just a few people who started asking more questions here. For legal reasons, we had to mention 'in perfect health' at least 3 times and that got some people worried.
Suddenly, a woman came running in. It was Dora, from the complaints department. "Another one!" She yelled." And this was the part Vic hated. Being the new guy, he was the one who would have to do damage control on social media. Meanwhile, Dora was hyperventilating it seemed. "Another one. Humph ... That's the second... Humph ... one today." She huffed. "And this time, the son is so mad, he's coming over."
Screeching tires in the distance. Yep, he sure is coming. "Everyone, in positions. Mark, get legal here, stat." With a loud bang, the door flung open and a livid man stood there, holding ... Something.
It was wrapped in a blanket and before the man could speak, a sound came from the package, distracting the man. "Oh no, here it comes..." Annette whispered to Vic. For a short moment, it was dead quiet, but suddenly the package started crying at an ungodly volume. "No, no, no it's ok. Shhhh." The man started pleading for the baby to be quiet. Desperation on his face - his anger had turned into sadness. "I was ready to retire, and now this??"
... Perfect health. Apparently this man's father was dropped as a baby. Nothing serious. Just a tiny scar.
"I'll get the formula." Annette said. | 2022-08-29T12:04:32 | 2022-08-29T10:34:09 | 101 | 21 |
[WP] Every 50 years, the McDonald's corporation makes a single burger according to an ancient recipe. It is then hidden somewhere in the world, and the person who eats it will be filled with unimaginable power. The quest for the legendary McGuffin begins. | The sky was a dull mix of gray and blue. It was early morning, hints of the sun were just starting to show. The freeway was more or less empty aside from the occasional eighteen wheeler and night shift worker traveling back home. Jamie Kroc wasn’t a trucker nor did he work the night shift. Jamie was looking for something, something almost everyone on the planet knew about.
Most had given up on the search, it had been almost 39 years since McDonalds had made the announcement of the mysterious burger.
“The McGuffin will bring whoever eats it unimaginable power,” Bill Sherrock, McDonald’s last CEO had said.
The news came immediately after the news of the worldwide shutdown of every McDonalds. There was immediate outrage, lines that circled neighborhoods multiple times over. Shamefully, there were riots and looters. They weren’t looking for the McGuffin either, no one would for a while. No one took the announcement of the mysterious burger seriously except for a select few, the few people who had been around Bill in the last decade of his life.
Bill Sherrock was a difficult man to meet if you didn’t already know him, he was in an endless purgatory of meetings, business trips, and quality checks. He was widowed by his late wife who had died from ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease. It was a nasty fight, Nancy Sherrock would often say that it took more out of Bill than it did her. Bill and Nancy never had any kids, she didn’t want them.
When Nancy passed, Bill took six months off and came back to work a different man.
He was low in the corporate totem pole, but he worked and worked. He stayed later than most of the employees, eventually growing closer to the help than he did his own coworkers.
“Bill,” Henry, one of the cleaners, said. “I mean this in the kindest way possible, but you need to go home, man. You look like shit.”
They were talking by his cubicle, there were permanent coffee stains on his desk and Bill sized dents in the revolving chair.
“I’ve always looked like shit, Henry.” Bill said. “I’ll go home in a couple hours.”
Henry glanced over at the clock, it was three in the morning. He knew that all Bill would do was wash his face in the bathroom and change his tie, even though everyone in the office knew he practically lived there already.
Bill climbed the ladder, gaining the trust of everyone of his bosses and their bosses. When he gained the title of CEO, he didn’t put on the brakes. Ray Kroc was still on the board and he visited Bill, again in the lonely morning hours that only Bill worked.
“Bill,” Ray said. “You need to learn to delegate, my friend.”
Bill looked up from his desk and directly into Ray’s eyes.
“Can I trust you, Ray?” Bill asked.
“Absolutely not,” Ray said, smirking.
“Ray, be serious for a moment.” Bill said.
Ray put his hands up, “Okay, sure. You can trust me.”
Bill told him about it, about the McGuffin. At this point, there was nothing Ray or any of the board members could do to stop it. Bill was nearly done executing the plan.
“First of all, how did you even do this?” Ray asked.
“I’m not answering any questions like that,” Bill said. “Do you think you can sell it to the rest of the board?”
“Buddy, people are going to riot.” Ray said.
The riots lasted a few weeks until everyone got bored and Bill, who was dying then, gave more and more details about the McGuffin. At first, there were only rumors about the power that it would bring to whomever ate it. As Bill released more information and as more of the world confirmed the details, there were secondary riots. People who wanted to find the McGuffin for themselves, to enjoy the power that Bill had created.
Jamie was driving down the freeway, in the section of California where there were more cows than people. He was driving home from his grandfather’s funeral, Ray Kroc. He wasn’t necessarily a family man, shrewd with his money until he died. He left most of it to Jamie’s younger sisters, aunts, and any of the other women in the family. In Ray’s will, he left Jamie a letter and fifty dollars.
“Jamie,
Men need to provide for their families. I have provided for mine and I want you to provide for yours when the time comes. If you’re displeased with the fifty dollars I left you, I have a mission for you. I want you to drive down the i5. I want you to visit every burger place you see there. Every single one. Ask all of them for Nancy Sherrock.
You’re welcome,
Grandpa Ray”
Jamie left that night and he’d been driving down California ever since, starting from the very top. The first burger place he stopped at was called Carl’s Diner. He walked up to the waitress, it wasn’t very busy. It was 60s themed like many of the burger joints along the freeway were.
“Hi,” Jamie said.
“Table for one?” the waitress asked.
“Not exactly,” Jamie said. “Is there a Nancy Sherrock here by any chance?”
The waitress stopped talking then, her eyes glazed over in a yellow sheen and she walked over to one of the empty tables.
“Sit, please.” she said.
Jamie reluctantly walked over to the table and the waitress slapped down a leatherbound, pocket-sized notebook and a pen. Jamie opened the notebook and saw it was filled to the brim with restaurant names, each one had an empty box next to it. The waitress waited, she stood there with an unnerving stillness.
“What the fuck is going on?” Jamie asked. He found he couldn’t move his legs, he put down the notebook. It flipped itself open and in the middle of the page was Carl’s Diner. He took the pen and he made an X in the box next to it. The waitress finally moved then, towards the kitchen where she was only gone for a few seconds. She brought back a red box, with yellow arches on top. Inside it was a cheeseburger wrapped in plastic, golden french fries in red plastic, and a white plastic cup filled with a dark liquid.
“Enjoy,” the waitress said. She walked back to the front of the diner and she stood there.
Jamie looked at the cup, it had the once famous yellow M on it and in the middle of the cup was a sticker that said “peel here”.
Jamie peeled the sticker off and he read the tab that came off.
“Try again!”
Jamie finished the burger, the buns impossibly soft. He finished the fries, which were the best he’d ever had, and he drank the diet coke, wondering why they couldn’t give him a different drink.
When he walked out of the diner, he saw the waitress, the yellow sheen in her eyes were gone and she went back to looking bored. Jamie kept the notebook in his chest and continued down the freeway, eyes stuck for hints of the next burger place, asking for Nancy Sherrock, and placing an X next to every place he stopped at.
After every drink, he’d peel off the same sticker and read the same words.
“Try again!” | [Part 1 of 2]
“This is stupid. Are you sure you aren’t going senile, granddad?” Chuck watched as his eighty-year-old grandfather wrestled with a strange clown statue, knocking it to the floor before he spat in its face.
“Where are you hiding it? I know you have it. If you don’t tell me where it is, I’ll get my grandson to cut off your nose. How will you honk without that red nose of yours?” Bill stood over the statue, trying to intimidate it. The inanimate statue didn’t change its expression, only giving a family friendly smile that only infuriated Bill further. “Get my swiss army knife, boy.”
“IT’S A STATUE, GRANDDAD. Did you really think you would find another human in an abandoned McDonald’s? Why are we even here? You said this place would offer us riches beyond our wildest dreams. What riches are we going to find in a place that’s falling apart?”
Bill didn’t turn away from the statue, giving it a nudge with his foot, making sure it wouldn’t run off. When he confirmed the statue was indeed frozen in place, he turned to his grandson, giving him a scoff.
“You’re just like your father. You have no sense of adventure. I knew my dear daughter should have married Chad. You know Chad once wrestled a crocodile. A real life Crunch Snapper of a beast.”
“And the crocodile killed him. Why are you so impressed by the fact that he fought a crocodile and the crocodile won? Any person can get killed by a crocodile. That’s not a feat of brilliance.” Chuck said as he examined the dusty, grease-stained counter of the establishment.
“Really? Any person? Then why haven’t you wrestled a crocodile?”
“Because I’m not qualified to do something like that, and I’m also not stupid enough to do such a thing without proper training.”
“Ugh, training. Your father was just like that. You know what he told me? Wear a hardhat when you go to a worksite. A hardhat? Back in my day, the only hardhat we needed was a strong noggin.”
“Or an empty one.” Chuck said under his breath before he wiped some of the dust from the counter. “So, why are we here?”
“To find the recipe of the gods. A recipe unmatched by any other. A burger that can grant the person who consumes it wealth, fame and power, beyond their wildest dreams.” Bill said, remembering that famous ad that he saw those fifty years ago.
“A burger recipe? I drove you ten hours to find a burger recipe? You said this was a matter of life and death!”
“Do you see any fountains of youth around? If I don’t eat this burger, I’ll be dead and then you will have to pay the rent. Is that what you want? If not, then shut your tongue flapper and help me look.” Bill began rummaging through the bins, occasionally turning to make sure the statue was still where he left it.
“Burgers aren’t really the type of meal that add years to your life.” Chuck commented, only to give up on trying to convince his grandfather. At least the old man seemed to be having fun, even if he dragged them both here for nothing. “Shouldn’t we have gone to a McDonald’s that was still operating?”
“No, if it was at one of those establishments, it would have been spotted by now. That means it has to be at one of the abandoned restaurants. I spent the last five months going through whatever building plans and star charts I could get my hands on. All the signs seem to point to the recipe being at this establishment. Well, this or one in Texas.”
“Star charts?” Chuck just shook his head, hopping over the counter of the restaurant, searching the rusted metal equipment left behind, looking for any loose scrap pieces of paper.
The two were silent, working independently as they turned over the various machines, drawers and even bathrooms of the establishment, looking for a clue but coming up rather empty. Eventually Chuck gave up, sitting himself on the counter as he watched his grandfather return to the statue, giving it another nudge with his slipper.
“Where are you hiding it? I know it has to be in here somewhere. Did you check for any loose paper?” Bill asked, taking a few panted breaths as he hunched over.
“I did. Only found some documents that would suggest this place owed a lot of money. Nothing about a recipe. It’s ok granddad. Sure, we didn’t find it, but we had a fun trip, right?”
Bill only looked down at the clown, slouching his shoulders. “Why isn’t it here? This was supposed to be my legacy to you. Something I could give you to show you I wasn’t an old fool.”
“Granddad?” Chuck watched as the hardened man he had known for years sniffled, holding back his emotions as best he could. He didn’t know what to say, only walking over and giving him a comforting pat on his shoulder. “It’s ok. How about we try the one in Texas? You’re not a fool. When my parents died, you took me in. You’re a great man. Now come on, let’s keep searching.”
“There’s no point.” Bill wept, his tears hitting the statue underneath. As the tears fell, the statue blinked, moving a gloved hand towards its face, trying to block the waterworks. When Bill noticed this, he grinned. “GIVE ME MY SWISS ARMY KNIFE NOW, I KNEW IT WAS ALIVE.”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/tzstrv/wp_every_50_years_the_mcdonalds_corporation_makes/i41mdxq/) | 2022-04-09T08:14:30 | 2022-04-09T08:03:33 | 123 | 30 |
[WP] You lay dying of heart failure, and God enters your mind. He informs you that you will be reincarnated upon death, losing all memory, but before that happens you are allowed to ask any one question. The answer to your question surprises you so much that your heart restarts and you survive. | The thing about God is the infinite patience. I felt I had all the time in the world to select the one question that framed exactly my heart's desire.
Both worlds were hovering between shadow and light and I felt I might easily fall into either one without regret or effort. Time passed, the Everything waited and my mind sought for a thing which I had not known to be possible: one moment of pure understanding.
Then I had it. I knew what I wanted to ask. The most important question of all the questions. The one question upon which everything else was built. I framed the question and spoke aloud:
"God, who made you?"
Time stretched. The stars fell. Nothingness was more than what remained. Empty, no future, no past, no beginning, no ending. Just the awareness of consciousness without purpose, meaning or definition.
Then, a voice: "You did".
I fell back into my body as one who falls from a great height. Air would not enter my lungs. The sense of vision was strange and disorienting. Bright, colorful, loud, reeking, pressure, panic, fear, awareness.
Then I was back. I had asked the one question from whence all the other questions arose. I got an answer and had no idea what it meant.
Everything now had a frame, a reference, a substrate that would be the starting point for the interpretation of my life from this point until my next exit.
I had asked The Authority The Question and found myself as clueless as before. I had a frame and a picture but I had no idea what it meant.
I live life now without fear of death. Knowing that something is there and is waiting for me to ask a question, I rush towards fate so that I might again have another chance to ask the ultimate question.
God waits, I wait, the Universe waits and time slowly ticks down. I know I'll get an answer I understand next time. The trick will be to ask the right question.
| "So you're god, huh?"
YES.
"And you say I get to ask one question of you before I die?"
THAT IS CORRECT.
"Well hot dang! I wonder what I should ask?"
I WOULDN'T KNOW.
At that moment, there was a whirl of panic in my hospital room, with nurses and doctors running every which way. In a delerium I had not experienced a moment ago, I heard the staff talking about how I'd be making a full recovery if the current test results were accurate. | 2014-08-03T07:26:40 | 2014-08-03T04:13:16 | 111 | 36 |
[WP] The demon stands amid your destroyed kitchen screaming, “How? How were you able to summon me?!” You’re standing in the corner flipping through your grandma’s cookbook as fast as you can, screaming back, “I don’t know!! You were supposed to be chicken soup!” | "Oregen-Thanto?"
"Do you fucking mean oregano?" The large reddish beast was standing across from me with his arms tightly folded and chin butting out. "Are you listening to me you mororn? The jackass who can't read to save his life. What the hell have you done?"
I think he was mad. I, on the other hand, was confused. "Um, big red sir. No offense, but you kind of burst into *my kitchen*, and I think I need an explanation more than you do... sir." I didn't like him, he was scary. He got even scarier when he heard that though, his eyebrows raised and he started to inch closer to me.
"This has to be a fucking joke. I can't believe this. I would say God damn you if that wouldn't bring you right back to me."
I think he thought I was sarcastic about my question, I really did want to know though. He seemed too angry for me to ask him again, so I had to think of a way to calm him. "Well if you're going to stay... Want some Lassen-tau that I made yesterday?"
"...Do ...Do you mean lasagne?"
"That how you pronounce it!"
"Jesus fucking christ this can't be right."
"Man I knew I was mispronouncing it, just doubted myself ya kn-" The devilish creature suddenly grabbed me by my collar and screamed right in my face.
"Do you have any idea what you just done!? You bumbling fool you've doomed us all! You cannot control this power..." Now I was really confused.
"What do you mean?" I squeaked out as he slowly put me down.
"Those words you said when I appeared, they were very important words."
"My cookbook?"
"No, you imbecile! No one salts their pork stew while summoning satan himself to their will!"
"Y-you're satan?" Okay I know I said I was confused earlier, but this really confused me. "Then what does all this mean?"
He let out a faint sigh, "Under the bindings of the ancient texts, and the governing of the very universe itself, I am bound to your will for the entirety of a day starting now. My power is your power, you will mine."
"Uh... thanks." How the fuck was I supposed to reply to that? "Not that I'm insulting you or anything Mr. Satan, but why do you have to do this... like... Can't you just like... kill me?"
"When I left heaven and declared myself separate from that tyrant, the universe had a price. That price was supposed to be the most well-kept secret in the universe... and you fucking stumbled into it... I am yours until tomorrow."
I panicked, I can't hang out with regular people for more than ten minutes, then all of a sudden I got literal satan stuck to me for 24 hours. So I did what I always do when I panic, I talked about my oven, "Uh... So... I guess if you're staying, wanna help me finish up this recipe? The book calls for a tablespoon of butter and a dash of papr-... pari-*ca*... Oh, shoot that's not how you say it, papica? No!" Satan was just watching me argue with myself over spices, I think he was regretting leaving heaven right then. "It's palica! No, Prapri-Rica!" All of a sudden the ground started shaking and thunder echoed above. Satan glanced at the sky then quickly back at me.
"What the hell did you do?" Then a large octopus-like being tore open the top of the house and yelled down at us.
"**Mortals! You have summoned me! The might and bo-"**
Satan interrupted him, "Ctuthulu! You summoned fucking Cuthulu trying to say paprika? Fuck it, he can have you. I'm done." | Everything goes pitch black for a second and the dog-eared cookbook drops out of my hands. When I open my eyes, I almost scream. The pristine marble kitchen island has been demolished, and carrot slices are scattered across the floor.
My mouth drops but the demon interrupts me.
“Is this a joke? How were you able to summon me?!” it yells, rising in a cloud of black ash around my suddenly very human body. I’m struck with a strange sense of annoyance.
“That was my grandma’s recipe! I was trying to make chicken soup!” I see it frown and cross its arms.
“How did you mix *me* up with chicken soup?? And you’re just a dirty little human- you should be on your knees praying for your life right now,” it booms, somehow filling the whole house with its voice. I just want everything to go back to normal.
“Can you just leave? I’m busy making dinner,” I say. “Or at least help out. You destroyed almost all of my kitchen.” Its eyes glare into mine, and I feel a pang of fright for the first time.
“Do you even know what summoning a demon means? I’m here because of YOU and the rule is: I have to complete the first order you give.” The anger steaming out of it scares me shitless. I try my hardest to keep a dull mask of slight frustration.
“So you’re saying you’re gonna help me with my chicken soup?”
No answer.
“That would actually be really helpful, demon. My girlfriend and I broke up last week and I haven’t adjusted to living alone. Can you start cleaning things up?” I cast a glance at the stove, assessing damage, but when I turn back around it miraculously is holding a little black broom. The damn thing is a foot taller than me, but the broom is tiny. I hold back a chuckle at the absolute absurdity of this whole situation and it growls.
“Am I a joke to you?” it says, filling every corner of my personal space. I don’t know why I reach a hand up and pat its shoulder.
“Can you just start putting that broom to good use?” At this point I’m doing damage control; both in cleaning my sad kitchen and preventing myself from doing anything else that’s embarrassing. It starts moving the ashes into a little pile, but I don’t see how the splintered cabinets and massacred fruit bowl are going to recover anytime soon.
Somehow, we both sigh at the same time. This is gonna take a while. | 2020-04-16T23:27:57 | 2020-04-16T19:19:37 | 993 | 298 |
[WP] A father gets sucked into the world of his son's favorite video game and has to rely on his meager knowledge of it to survive. | Snorri, Fjol and Hurg sat around their meager fire, the cold wind cutting through their fur and leathers. "Have you heard about all this nonsense with Dragons?" Fjol asked, adjusting herself and spitting into the fire.
"It's no more ridiculous than the war with the imperials," Snorri replied, running a whetstone across the blade of his great sword.
"I'll tell you what's nonsense," Hurg complained, "the fact that we're sitting out here with no food. I'm hungry!"
"Hi hungry," a voice carried out of the darkness, "I'm dad.". Hurg didn't even have time to scream as an invisible force slammed into his chest and carried him into the night. The other two bandits rose, drawing their weapons and scanning the darkness. A man stepped into the firelight, dressed in clothes of an unfamiliar make. Snorri roared, charging the stranger and swinging his sword, but the stranger turned and ran off into the night. Cursing, the bandits gave chase.
Snorri burst into a clearing, where the stranger stood waiting for him, eating a sandwich as though he didn't have a care in the world. The bandit snarled, but the stranger interrupted him.
"I have to say, I relish the fact you've mustard the strength to ketchup to me," he said, gesturing with his food as a torrent of fire escaped his lips, engulfing the bandit and setting him aflame.
Fjol dropped her bow and raised her hands. "Who are you?"
The old man smiled. "They call me Papakiin." | I had been mutilated.
As I struggled to stand the lack of fingers and toes was more apparent then ever.
My hands and feet had been reduced to mere stumps.
But I knew I had to move forward.
To seek the ultimate truth.
A single message resonated in my mind.
"How do you tame a horse in Minecraft ?"
| 2015-05-08T04:17:06 | 2015-05-08T01:40:47 | 87 | 54 |
[WP] The first and greatest superhero and villain of all time respectively were said to have killed each other in combat. Decades later the current greatest supervillain is instantly annihilated upon threatening an elderly couple outside their remote cottage, and the truth becomes known | “Honey, do you want Earl Grey or English Breakfast with your Scones?”
“Earl Grey please James.”
“With honey, not sugar” they both said at the same time.
“Jinx!” interjected an excited Jenevieve.
“Damnit!” exclaimed James. “Not when I’m bringing the tea! And don’t start without me!”
“Sorry,” chuckled Jenevieve “And I won’t. Even though you fall asleep halfway all the time.”
James steps into the den, with a tray full of scones, jam, butter and a kettle of Earl Grey for both him and his wife of 20 years.
“Can you move the blanket please.”
Jenevieve playfully move the blanket to her side as James sets down the tray of delicious snacks and tea.
“Very funny,” James dryly states “so what are we watching?”
“This show I found on Netflix, Gankutsuou.”
“Another anime? Is it like FMA: Brotherhood?”
“Look at you, using TLAs for anime! So proud!”
Jenevieve beamed at a sheepish looking James, as she pinched his cheek.
A ping on their phones alerted them to movement outside their home within 200 meters and moving closer.
They both opened up the app and took a look at the security cameras.
They saw a man wreathed in fire walking on the grass straight to their house.
“What’s that idiot doing?!?!” Exclaimed a distraught James. “That’s the best lawn I’ve had in 4 years, and that imbecile is just walking on it! Is he blind?! Can’t he see the path literally a meter to his left?!”
Meanwhile Jenevieve, ran a image match search on their intruder. “Interesting,” she mused “ the new top supervillain. Goes by the name of Inferno, hasn’t really done much a few hundred million net worth and about 3 billion in property damage.” She states to James
“Amateur” James said getting a dark tone in his voice.
Jenevieve looked up at James “Do you want to handle this? Or can I finally have some fun?” She purred getting a gleam in her eye that told of great pain and torment for the poor sod.
“I’ll take care of it.” James sighed “Already lost the lawn can’t stand to lose the garden too.”
“How dare you! That was one time! I didn’t know you’re friend would be that useless. He just disintegrated after getting smacked a few hundred feet.”
“Yeah into my favourite coffee spot. Had the flowers and view and the apple strudel outside of Germany. The clean up took 2 weeks and even then we could scrape enough of him off the floor and walls to fill a matchbox.”
“Oops” Jenevieve shrugged playfully. She got out from underneath the blankets poured herself some tea, sliced open a scone and started buttering it.
“Deal with the little shit before I finish.” She ordered.
The finality and coldness of the order would’ve made her former henchmen shit themselves silly.
As it was James just rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes your highness, as you wish.” Got up and headed out the door.
That’s when the dogs started barking at the intruder. He wan now roughly a 100 metres from the house.
James steps out, as he’s putting of his cardigan. And walks down the steps of the porch, onto the pathway and towards the flaming hot turd who in his infinite wisdom has decided to ruin his lawn.
Jenevieve looked through the door, as James used his nuclear eyes to disintegrate the intruder to nothing more than ash, that blew away in the late summer breeze. She bit her scone, “only got halfway through, we really need to keep up with our training.” She thought.
She looked out towards James crouched down over the burnt out streak of his lawn. “But perhaps another scone wouldn’t hurt.” | "Waddup gang! Greatest supervillain Cerberus coming at you from mount Everest, you are on the human extermination live stream in earth dimension. First thing on our program, let's go find some primates!"
Having said that, the three headed wolf firmly bites into the camera it was talking to. It is now recording the inside of the left head's mouth - Cerberus has been streaming for decades but has never fixed this behavior. Right now he is fully focused on finding humans - they are regarded as the weakest species, unable to use magic and as such are unprotected by international laws. Hunting humans has been turned into a sport. The most successful hunter gets ironically titled "Greatest Supervillain".
"I have located one smelly human! Let's see who may they be. I hope it's a cool bald one - you know, the ones called monks or something? I heard those live on mountains and do nothing all day"
Cerberus grips the camera the correct way this time and runs up the mountain path, which leads into an opening. In front of him is a dark colored cottage made out of seemingly morphed granite, adorned with skulls and crosses.
"Whoaf! This looks like a dark elf's house. But why is it not in a cave? Anyway, the human must be a slave of this house, so I'll intimidate the owner to hand them over - no possible being can withstand my triple \[Gaze of the Abyss\] and \[Howl of the Bloodhound\], oh also my jaws have a bite force of over two thousand PSI and.."
Cerberus keeps boasting about his strengths so he doesn't notice an old lady dashing towards him. The lady grabs Cerberus by the mid section and slams him to the ground. The impact shakes the surrounding area, echoing off mountain.
"You dare call queen Elizabeth a slave?" Proclaimed the old lady.
"Now now, you mustn't hurt little Cerby" A dark Elf approaches. "He may look hostile but he's such a sweetheart"
Cerberus's three sets of ears perk up. "Master! I thought you had died thirty years ago fighting queen Elizabeth! Why did you abandon me then? I have become a Greatest Supervillain in your honor, a faithful human hunter"
Dark elf's face becomes clouded. "I've learned that I can't win some fights with violence. By the way, what's this glass device you are holding?"
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
// 2.5 hours | 2020-09-02T09:17:07 | 2020-09-02T09:03:57 | 112 | 54 |
[WP] There are multi-Gods for the multi-verse, and it turns out ours is kind of like the 'cool mom who lets you drink at her house,' though other Gods look at our free will and generally silent deity as bad Godding on His part. | Sam sighed as he looked upon the whole of his creation. "I just don't want them to hate me," he said. "They never even knew their mother. I'm all they've got."
The woman seated next to him nodded sagely. "I know it can be hard, raising them alone. But this hands-off approach you've been using for the past few millennia just isn't *good* for them, dear. They need *discipline*. As it is, your people are stunted. You gave them this whole beautiful universe and for the most part they don't even care to explore it. They just stay in their Earth, wrecking the place and fighting with each other over who loves you more. You need to give them a little guidance. They'll thank you for it."
"I'm just worried if I let myself lose my temper I'll take it too far," said Sam.
"Yes," the woman paused, considering her words carefully. "The flood was a little bit over the top. But you can teach them boundaries without all of that."
Sam flushed slightly. "I'm still embarrassed about that one," he said. "But they just really push your buttons sometimes, you know? It's the free will that makes it tricky." He sighed again. "Sara would have known what to do."
"I know you miss her," the woman said. She patted his knee. "But you can't just let them run wild like this. Have you thought about reining in the free will a bit? Your people might be happier that way. Look at your ants and bees. So organized!"
"They're killing the bees too!" Sam shook his head. "No, that's my fault. I should have made them cuter. You should see how hard they work to save pandas, and they don't pollinate anything!"
"I think we're getting off topic, dear."
"I'm just saying, a lot of this is on me," said Sam. "I've just been creating off the cuff. Panda bees! That's a great idea right? I should get to my workshop."
The woman shook her head. "You can't just keep escaping into your work."
Sam shrugged "Look, the people will sort things out in time. But they have to have free will. I haven't given up on my goal yet."
"What is your goal, dear? What do you want from them?"
"Just...someone to talk to," Sam said. "That's all."
There was no reply.
The wind picked up. Sam looked at the empty space beside him and sighed again. He stood up.
"I really should get back to it then," he said to the wind.
| "God C137 how can you let your beings be that free? See what they do to their planet???"
"Calm down Id 10 d. They are working on a solution. And hey I already started a world war a few moments ago. Right after that they should get their stuff together"
"Are you INSANE? LET ME SEE.... Well ok atleast you gave him a laughable moustache. How can you believe in your creation like that?"
"Thats what our Deity did. And we turned out well. They are half their way to find out about telepathy just in a new way. It should only take 20 something generations. Then they will create their own universe like we did. And then they decide."
"You are crazy"
"Well. My species survived. So far. And i fondly remember that incident with your last species.... Thoose lizards you killed when you dropped that small stone?"
"That would have killed anyone. See?"
With that id10d threw a small rock at C137's creation. She didn't even bother to help. Suddenly the rock was hit by a small burst of flames and missed the planet
"May I introduce you to my latest creation? He recently visited your multiverse.... Rick Sanchez. The multiverse traveler."
| 2017-05-07T09:14:56 | 2017-05-07T05:14:11 | 524 | 290 |
[WP] At the age of 18 you are permitted to redistribute your twenty skill points around into whatever skills you want permanently. You decided to put everything into LUCK and leave the rest at 0 points. | I don't quite understand the process. They said something about redistribution of genetic factors.
Frankly, I don't care. I'm going to be lucky as fuck.
The old woman's eyes, skin crinkled from old age, drawn tightly by the small, loving smile that all of the elderly seem to adopt upon greeting kids, rest upon my card.
"And you're sure?"
I nod, a small grin playing across my own mouth.
"Well, deary, good luck with your choice. Though, I suppose, that's almost definite, right?"
We both chuckle, and she waves me through to the pod. It seems less impressive than it was said to be. No smoke, steam, or even dials. Just a memory foam bed, an outline, and a reservoir at the bottom, filled with the seven vials. Usually, they are in various states of empty, but now, there is only one with any liquid inside. An embossed 'L' suggests what it is to the informed watcher, but it could be innocuous otherwise.
I lay down, feel small pinpricks on my arms, backs, legs, neck, all of them slowly growing, and then they all fade. I smile, and pass out.
---
eye open bright pain
girl old noise
"Feeling all right, deary?"
Grunt look arm small white see color stripe
"Ah, of course... You chose all Luck. Nobody ever remembers Intelligence. Or Constitution, honestly."
girl grab arm pull
#PAIN#
arm bent red
"Well, you're lucky I suppose. This'll be quick."
more red lot of red
eye dark heavy
arm pain red wet
more wet
dark
sleep
---
"We lost another one, didn't we?"
Angela's eyes, no longer tight, now sagging with time and sorrow, look to her supervisor.
"He tried Luck. Good thing, too, the people who just have Intelligence usually realize their predicament, but die slowly."
Her supervisor nods.
"Well, clean him up. We've got at least twenty more today for that pod." | Pajser woke up on his 20th birthday pretty hungover. Strong light almost totally prevented his eyes from opening. It was unusual light, the one you usually see in games when one important revelation comes up.
"You have 20 skill points to spend, choose wisely," Siri said.
Pajser took his phone and put all on luck because he was too irritated and grumpy because of last night's drinks. Suddenly, he felt the urge to sleep again. He laid down and fell asleep. He died.
"You lucky dumbass", Siri said,"you put no points in your immune system, you're lucky you died in your sleep."
The phone turned off.
THE END. | 2016-03-20T18:56:28 | 2016-03-20T18:09:26 | 127 | 21 |
[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times. | The angel stands before me, a sad frown on his face. I get the feeling we’ve had this conversation before, or some version of it at least. There’s a bunch of us together, standing before the gates and making our choices. In theory, we can choose anything we want. In practice, there’s a cost. Being an ant is far down on the ladder. It gives little opportunities for doing good, but less for doing evil.
“You can become a bird, if you want to. You have the karma.”
“And eat ants?” I shake my head repulsed. “No, thank you.”
The angel looks through my soul a moment, his eyes glowing warmly, before checking his list again.
“Actually, since you have so many lifetimes of good, honest work behind you, you can become a cat.”
I shake my head. Not interested. Selfish, murderous beings.
«Tell me why. »
“Being an ant is simple. There’s no difficult question to answer, there is no moral dilemma. Sometimes I become queen, which is nice. Even being a worker, everything is ordered. And I’m strong, so very strong. Have you ever had the feeling of lifting a sugar cube a thousand times your weight?”
I smile, or my soul does. The angel only shakes his head.
“It’s amazing. And knowing that your own strength is enough to help the colony so much, that’s the best part. I’m a part of something bigger, and my work matters. ”
“But some parts must be worse than others?”
“Being a mating male is not very interesting, “ I admit, “but it’s easy to do your duty and fulfill your purpose. It is easy to be good.”
We are distracted by another standing in line. The angel clearly asks the soul if he’s sure he wants to go from snake to monkey. An insane leap. The soul nods and we all stare in fascination and horror as fire catches hold of the soul and the screams begin. It is then sent away to holding, It will be kept there until it has suffered the same amount of suffering it has inflicted, and then the amount needed to make up for the lacking karma. I shudder.
“Make me an ant.” I repeat, my voice carrying strongly. “And keep my karma for later.”
The angel nods and I have a last thought while my soul is hurling back towards the earth. I estimate that I am about a quarter of my way to my goal, to the epitome of a good being. To the closest thing possible to an angel. Twelve billion lifetimes more as an ant, and then I’ll be ready without purging.
Then, I’ll finally be a dog.
| "Oh, you again? Could you at least pick something that lasts more than a few days this time?"
This wasn't Jared's first stop in heaven; or his second, or his third. As it turns out, Jared had been reincarnated almost 4 *billion* times, choosing to be an ant on many of those occasions. He had been everything at least once, from the smallest conscious organisms to things as big as whales and dinosaurs. He had even tried his hand at being human once or twice, and that was his least favorite of all.
"I find it interesting, life on that small of a scale. Not to mention not living for very long can come in handy when you get to do it over and over again."
"I'm guessing you want to be an African elephant. No, I've got it, an ant!" A wave of sarcasm came over God at the mere sight of Jared these days, and can you really blame him?
"You know me, big man." Maybe I'll find a nice blade of grass somewhere, or even get started on my own hi-" Jared was interrupted by a snap of The Lord's finger and vanished from the reincarnation office, presumably off to another attempt at ant life.
"Next!"
| 2016-12-30T05:02:27 | 2016-12-30T04:10:29 | 304 | 19 |
[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."
| My skin feels so dry. I've bought a what must be hundreds of dollars worth of moisturizing creams, but nothing seems to work for this complexion. I felt so beautiful earlier this week, but I guess it has something to do with summer coming early because now I just feel gross. A few friends of mine recommended looking on the internet, which was a surprisingly good idea compared to their other annoyingly constant advice. But anyway, here I am now! Do y'all have any suggestions? It would just be such a shame for me to have to go pick up a fresh face already, I haven't even had the time to find any other pretty faces to harvest, let alone clean up the mess I made getting this current one. | 2016-05-19T13:17:24 | 2016-05-19T11:52:03 | 39 | 17 |
[WP] You wake up in a tub of ice with a two insicions on your back and a note that reads "Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?" | *Who knows,* the man thought to himself as he crumpled the note.
He settled into the tub. The man felt cozy and settled, like a bourbon with dinner. Someone tried to make a pass on him, but wound up with a truth unsettling enough for two crooks; There were no kidneys.
*Fancy that.* Explained some things. Alcohol was a non-issue for his non-existent kidneys. That was a plus.
On the other hand, his liver may be in twice as much trouble. The alarm calmed down after realizing that his liver didn't exist either.
*Bastard could have told me that much too if he was gonna play doctor on me.* Broken ice clacked across the surface where his legs shifted. A numb hand placed over his chest, feeling for a pulse.
His ribs did rise with a breath. But nothing more.
*Like I'm known for having a heart anyway.* The man cracked a smile. He lifted himself from the tub to find his slacks. Then his magnum. Then the rest. He would never be caught dead without pants, so this was as normal as a day in Topeka could be.
The window cracked open to the clinks and roars of Kansas' capital. And out there in the clinks and roars was a bastard who thought he could cut him up and get away with it.
He leaned over the window ledge to stare across the clunky sunrise, taking it all in. Committing the glass, bricks and sky to memory. Every morning could be his last.
*And each morning* he thought in dark whimsy, *I'm glad I asked for a brain.*
A spin on his heel and a hat placed on his head, the man put the dawn behind him to march down the day in sinister, rehearsed choreography. There was a past to cover up.
And the Scarecrow would not have loose chains in his town.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Note:** Having time to read is a luxury. The fact you spend that time reading responses to this subreddit means a lot to several here. /u/Volgin has generously given me my first gold noting the Dark Tower style and asking I write more in 2016. Thank you. I will. To those who've asked to see more, I made a subreddit [r/Galokot](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot) for that specific purpose. I'm new to writing as of this month and have more prompts to respond to before I feel confident continuing the story to your expectations. So there won't be a continuation here. But we will return to Topeka when I'm ready. Thank you for your responses, and I'll see you in the New Year. | "Shit." That's all she can say for now. She knows they aren't going to call anyone. Who the fuck would believe them but, she still rather be safe then sorry. Of all the ways to get figured out, this shit happens.
She doesn't know who or what she is. She was left at a church and the nuns raised her. She never got sick or broke a bone. There was no need for ex rays or MRIs. Her blood work always came out normal. It was that one day that she got upset and crushed a piece of a home economics teachers sewing machine that she knew she was strong. She didn't know she didn't have the right organs. Now that was new. She looked at her scars and they were healing already. The healing didn't start till she hit puberty. Once again she kept it to herself. The only thing was when she turned 18 she started being followed and she has been on the run since.
Is she an experiment? Is she some kind of mutation? Is she even human? I guess she'll never know because the only way to know is to turn her self into them and she won't. She can only trust herself. So on to the next state, country, or continent. Running from them and who she really is. Running until she gets tired and gives in. | 2015-12-30T22:41:52 | 2015-12-30T22:36:20 | 2,123 | 33 |
[WP] You're finally meeting your SO's parents. They are definitely demigods, and your SO is really trying to hide it, but the parents are so adorably awkward and out of touch that they keep slipping up. | "Welcome!" Alena's mother chirped. The woman was much like her daughter: relatively tall, with long, silky black hair looked to be made of satin. Her skin was just as perfectly unblemished as her daughter's, and her teeth were as white as marble. "You must be my cupcake's boyfriend. It is so nice to meet you!"
"It is nice to meet you as well!" I returned. I leaned into the hug she offered and returned it, before allowing her to usher me into the house. She showed me where to keep my shoes (because they were trying Asian customs) before directing me down the hall.
"My husband is in the dining room. Alena is still getting ready upstairs, but that shouldn't prevent you from meeting her dad." She then leaned in and gave me a wink. I saw the cosmos twinkle in her eye as she shot me a wink. "Don't be afraid of him. He may seem like a bear, but he's actually just a big softy. He's going to try to intimidate you, but I made sure to get some ambrosia in him."
I quirked my lips as I listened to her speak. "Ambrosia? Don't you mean coffee?"
Mrs. Hercules faltered, just for a second, and her perfect face scrunched up as she tried to collect herself. She then coughed and nodded.
"Yes, coffee. My bad." She then scurried off, her feet barely disturbing the carpeted floor. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she didn't touch the ground at all.
I then shrugged and walked down the hallway. It wasn't any of my business.
Turning into the dining room was an interesting experience. Bronzed weapons lined the walls, and the ceiling was painted to show every constellation of the night sky. I took a minute to admire the scenery before turning to what, perhaps, should have been the first thing I noticed.
Alena's dad was, to be honest, a wall of a man. His muscles nearly bulged out of his linen shirt as he sat almost completely still at the table. His fingers were curled tightly around a newspaper as he read it, crinkling the edges and obscuring the words. I am a tall kid, easily almost six feet, but this man dwarfed even me by at least two heads. He barely looked able to fit in the chair he sat in, and his biceps were likely thicker than my torso.
Truly, he was an Adonis among men. I sat down next to him without any complaints.
"It is nice to meet you, Mr. Hercules." I said. I made to shake hands, but then thought better of it. I likely wouldn't get the hand back.
Alena's father lowered the newspaper from his face as he stared at me from his place next to me. His eyes almost seemed alight as he took me in.
"You must be Alena's boyfriend," he said. His voice was rich and smooth, and a deep baritone. Like his wife and daughter, he had perfect teeth, that didn't seem to be marred in the slightest by the slightly golden coffee he was drinking. He gave me a once over, grunted, then turned back to his newspaper. "I thought you'd be taller."
"Like a basketball player?" I joked. It was around now that Alena's mom whisked back into the kitchen. She placed a mug of (much blacker) coffee in front of me before dressing the table.
"No," her father grunted. "Like a warrior. Tell me, boy, what have you done with your life? Are you getting good grades in school? Can you defend my little flower from a gorgon?"
I blinked at the line of questions, before taking my mug by the handle and sipping at the stuff. I glanced at Alena's mom and saw her smile as she set plates, and realized that she saw nothing wrong with what was asked.
I sighed before answering.
"Well," I started. "I've been doing extracurricular studies outside of school, mainly interning at software development companies that my father has some friends in. My grades are decent, and after high school I'm pretty sure that I'll be going to major in something related for technology. As for the gorgons..."
"The bullies," Alena's voice echoed in from the hallway. She was in the dining room shortly after her voice of wind chimes and bells first rang out, and soon she was behind me. She gave me a quick hug before circling the table and flicking her dad on the nose. He winced, and suddenly his gaze was less intense. The fire that was there seemed to burn out.
"He means the bullies. Would you be able to protect me from bullies." She dropped a few cubes of sugar into her dad's coffee, and the beast of a man looked physically wounded as the gold tinge and the radiance faded from the cup.
"You ruined a perfectly good cup of ambrosia."
"Coffee," both Alena and her mom corrected. They both smiled at me. I smiled back.
"I don't recall you ever needing to be protected. You could always handle yourself. It's what I love about you. You're a regular Athena."
The faces of the two women at the table seemed to freeze, while Alena's father let through the first real smile I've ever seen on him. Her mom's eyes seemed to twinkle a bit more, and Alena had to rush over to her and flick her nose as well.
"Maybe you're not so bad, kid," he said, before freezing when his daughter shot him a glare. "I, uh, sure do appreciate a kid who knows his history."
"My dad loves mythology," Alena cut in. Her eyes narrowed as something bordering on suspicion entered her eyes. "I wasn't aware that you did as well."
I chuckled as I took another sip of my coffee. "I didn't, but after seeing you compete in the track and field, I couldn't help but be fascinated. You were as fast as Hermes."
Both mom and dad lit up at that comment, but Alena never stopped her stare. As her mom set the table and her dad went on about stories of his past, Alena prodded at my shin with her foot.
"Athena? Hermes? Michael, what are you on about?"
"Why nothing," I returned, mischief in my eyes. "I just figured that I should give praise where it is due."
"And what praise it is!" Her father roared. "I can see why she is so enamored with you. Michael, you said your name was?"
"Please," I responded, an impish grin on my face. "Call me Loki."
The realization that dawned in her eyes was palpable, and I couldn't help but laugh as the first bit of deific ability slipped into her eyes. She frowned, but then an equally mischievous smirk slowly crawled onto her face.
I laughed as she stared me down. Dinner at my house next week was going to be interesting. | "No, really. You should go ahead to the next class." She said, bearing a forced smile.
"Eh, it's fine. Your parents know we're dating right? And besides I'm curious about what your dad likes."
"No, I mean you should go now and reserve our favorite seats. Today's lecturer gonna be-"
"And? What are you youngsters talking about?"
A solid bass voice sounded from behind Mya. Behind her is a gentleman, and with that, I mean *a gentleman*. He was wearing a tailored suit from head to toe. Tied leather pantoffels with dark colored socks. He even had his handkerchief folded so it just slightly peeks from his chest pocket.
"Oh, hi dad." Mya said as she gave him a cheek to cheek kiss. "Where's mom?"
"Right here sweety." Another voice, this time a soothing mezzosopran, came from behind the gentleman. A petite lady in wide-ass breamed white sun hat shows up. That thing was so huge, I bet the diameter is as big as her torso.
"Hi mom." Mya hugged the woman and gave her the same routine she gave her dad.
"And you must be?" The gentleman asked.
"Mom, dad, he's my boyfriend Alan."
"Ah, nice to meet you, Alan." The man reached his hand to me.
"Nice to meet you too, mister Zeitbender." Of course, me, reciprocating his gesture, accepted his handshake. The only thing I didn't count from this standard-built man was how strong his handshake was. I tried to hide my pain as best as I can, but alas, my facial expression betrays my pain.
"Oh. Oops, eheh, sorry. Old habit." Mya's dad said as he released my hand. I was expecting to have a limp fish hand afterwards, but to my surprise, I was able to move my fingers perfectly. Not only that, but my hand felt completely.. normal. Except the contrast between the bright red parts of my hand and my actual skin color.
"So, Alan. I heard you're writing about german orientalists for your master's thesis?" Asked Mya's dad.
"Yeah. I guess it would be logical considering what I did for my Bachelor's."
"Beloved, we're going ahead and order some coffee for you. Would you like some too, Alan?"
"No thanks miss Zeitbender." Beloved, huh? That's.. damn old. I mean yeah, they dressed as id it was the fourties, but to talk oldtimey style like that was taking it up a notch.
"Ah yes. The prince, right? Saleh?"
"Yep. Well, he's technically not a prince since-"
"Wait, what? He.. was not a prince? He tol- I mean his frie- uhmm his great great granddaughter, yes, his great great granddaughter said that."
"Well not when he was in France. He did married to a branch of the loyalty later, but he definitely is not a javanese prince like he said he was." Mya's dad's reaction was uncommon. He was nodding his head in realization inbetween shakes of disbelief. I mean if he did read about Saleh, he should've known-
"WATCH OUT, IT'S HOT!" Mya's scream grabbed my and his dad's attention as in a splitsecond we turned our heads to her.
Mya's mom had let go of the carton cup whilst fanning her own burnt hand in the air. She then proceed to grab the cup again.. which was floating in the air? As soon as she grabbed it back, she hurriedly put it back again on the counter before withdrawing her hands again.
"Ouch. You're right. How clumsy I was." Mya's mom chuckled.
"Pay attention next time, beloved." Mya's dad said, as he rushed the two meters between us and the women.
"Oh shit. Gotta go now. Bye mom, bye dad." Mya suddenly interrupted the tender, albeit somewhat strange moment. She gave her parents the shorter version if the cheek kiss and signaled to me to follow her. Mya's parents and I exchanged a short bye before I rushed to catch up to her who had started making to our classroom.
"It's still ten minutes before class." I said.
"Mmhmm." Mya answered.
"Why don't we chat a bit more with your parents?"
"I don't wanna." She said, without any hint of anger or boredom. Just plain 'I go because I want to' attitude. I sighed. Knowing that she always her feeling on her face, at the very least I know she wasn't mad.
"Oh by the way, did you saw something strange earlier?" I asked.
"Like?"
"Like.. the cup. I think I saw your mom letting go of the cup in the middle of the air.. and it just float the fuck there."
As I turned my head, I saw Mya doing the face of a thousand expression. You know, the faces you make when you're mildly surprised, then confused, then smug. Yeah, that face.
"You sure you're not making it up? We did had four hours of classes earlier and maybe you're the one who needs coffee." She said, poking fun at me. But that one was true. We'd had four hours of classes and this last one at six in the evening was always the class we go in with tired minds. So I chucked it up as me dozing off or just seeing things wrong.
I decided to change the subject and just talked about other things, despite one lingering question still in my mind.
How the fuck did no one noticed Mya's mom hiding behind her slim husband with that broad-ass sun hat on? | 2019-06-20T12:38:37 | 2019-06-20T09:48:19 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] “Shh, it’s alright,” the villain said. “You’re doing beautifully and I’m so proud of you. But that’s enough now. It was cruel of them to make you fight me. It’s not your fault.” He spoke with a gentle tone but he was pissed, not at the hero, but at the gods who send kids and teens to fight him. | The man's eyes were a gentle blue as he looked at the six or so children arrayed before him. They were all decked out in the finest armor, all matching pieces, breastplates gleaming from a mixture of the setting sun and the enchantments and blessings stacked upon them. Even as they watched, he seemed to look past them, at the mountains in the distance and the sky near the horizon and the trees all around them. His gentle demeanour faded, his eyes brightening to an electric hue as his smile dropped. He walked forwards, straight past the kids and their half-hearted attempt to still surround him even after he'd turned their weapons to ash. His breaths were coming out quicker, one clenched fist by his side being the only indicator of what was going through his mind.
"You did so well," he said again. "But they should have at least given you a chance. They probably lured you in with the whole 'Pure hearts defeat the oldest and darkest of magic' song and dance, but they know.... They know that I wield powers APART from the ancient magics, they could have at least equipped you for THAT! What do they expect you to do, shrug off meteors? Withstand upheavals of the earth that have literally ended civilizations?? WHAT MORE CAN YOU ASK OF THEM?!"
This last question was not asked to the scattering of 'heroes' cowering behind him, but roared towards the heavens and the horizon.
"You gods who can manipulate time and sunder the mountains! You, who can choke the skies and boil oceans! You see me, a threat, and deem that simply because I tread on soil that I am beneath you! Oh, but of course you OH SO GRACIOUSLY offer to help the 'mere mortals' with 'their problem', because you are all kind and generous gods!"
The man was visibly trembling now, wild magical energies no longer able to be contained as winds whipped his hair around. Sensing their parts had ended, the heroes began backing away, not wanting to be caught up in whatever was to happen. Lightning seemed to burst from the ground, swirling around him but never striking him, almost as if dancing around his body. His eyes narrowed and his breathing steadied as he gazed out towards the horizon, a lone mountain ascending up until its peak was lost far up in the clouds. His lip curled up in a snarl as he kept talking, eyes unblinking, his voice deathly quiet yet still perfectly clear despite the crackling energy around him.
"You demand so much of humans, yet constantly ask for more. Sacrifices and offerings and rituals are all done to appease you, to ask for your protection from calamities like me. And calamities like you. And yet, when the need arises, you STILL demand more of them, instead of getting off your over-complacent rears and handling it yourself. You send mere CHILDREN into battle as your champions! Ones too young to have felt a lover's touch, too young to have children of their own to carry on their name! And their parents have to pretend like it's a great honor for them to be chosen, knowing full well that the light of their lives may be extinguished forever, even on the rare chance that they DO succeed!"
The swirling magic around him reached its crescendo. Reaching a hand out towards the mountain, a crackling bolt of energy shot out of his hand, streaking towards the horizon. The earth beneath it cracked and split, a giant fissure appearing as magma bubbled and burst from it. Bolts of lighting arced across the sky, as if reacting to the energy yet pailing in comparison to it. Pure rage was etched onto his face, bursts of heat, light, and sound emanating from him, yet his words were perfectly audible as the bolt neared its target, wreaking destruction in its wake.
"Just as you did to my son six thousand years ago..."
Edit: Formatting | I gathered the child-hero to me. Yet another snuffed life, another crushed body to lay at my door. Whispering my spell, I teleported us both away from the field of battle.
Warmth greeted us with the rising scent of loam. It was time for planting. The bundle in my arms lay still, so, so still; the golden halo of hair matted to their forehead, hands hanging loose from an unmoving chest. How *dare* they. This child should be stirring, anxious to be out of my grip, digging bare toes into the spring ground.
Planting themselves to be firm and tall in the conviction of adulthood.
I stalked into my cabin, set just inside the line of trees beyond the fields. The air here chilled: my spell continued to work. A row of beds greeted me, an impossible row made possible only by my disdain for the rules. I called a bed forth to me and lay the latest child down upon it. I stroked his hair. "Soon, little one, it'll all be over and you'll awaken."
Waving my hand, the bed flew back. My assistants would see to his wounds and cleanse him, waiting for the day it was *safe*. Safe from the gods and their petty rules and demands. Safe from the capricious whims of their reality. My hand lingered on the first bed. A young girl, younger than the rest, lay on it, her brown hair fanned behind her head. My assistants had done their jobs well: you couldn't even see the pox-marks anymore. And yet...
A snap found me standing in front of a cage: the first of its type. "Why isn't she up yet?!"
The creature within stirred, gaunt and feeble. If I squinted I could see the shimmering glimmer pulling from its skin and into the cage; I carried the conduit that allowed me access the magic stored within the bars. "I *told* you, life and death is not my domain..."
"And yet I can do all that and more. But I. Can't. Wake. Them."
The figure chuckled and coughed. "I need more belief, just free me and..."
"Spare me your false promises. What did dreams ever do in a land plagued by your kind?" Dream couldn't provide life, but I had been close this last time. Hunt had nearly fallen. Perhaps *he* could give me what I wanted.
And I already had a cage waiting for him. | 2019-07-26T07:50:12 | 2019-07-26T07:22:55 | 40 | 23 |
[WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay.
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | So. Another smartass has asked for the "express lane" treatment, shortening a 25-year life sentence down to a single day. Goddamn it, I hate doing this to another person.
I pause, and shake my head. No, "person" isn't the right term for a monster like this. I leaf through his record, wincing at the goriest of the details. The pages flip by, and some helpful soul inserted before-and-after pictures of the victims. Those poor children. I steel myself for the job at hand, now convinced that I'm doing the right thing. The last set of photos, the ones with the twin sisters and their beautiful smiles...
I leave my office, headed to the maximum security wing where we've brought the monster in. The haunting eyes of those kids follow me through the halls, causing me to clench my hands into fists. Remorse has given way to anger, which is giving way to hatred. An awful smile creeps onto my face. The bastard deserves what we're going to do to him.
I reach the cell where we've got this animal locked up. An assistant stands near the door controls for this cell. The massive door resembles an old-style bank vault, with some pleasingly thick bolts and tight seals. These doors close so tightly that not even a peep of sound or breath of air gets in or out without our consent. The view-port opens like a porthole on an old ship, and the intercom box looks like the one on my old apartment, save for the armoured housing it rests in. I key the microphone, and the filthy creature inside looks up with a twisted grin.
"Prisoner 53158, can you hear me?"
The creature's horrible eyes lock onto the small circle of glass I'm looking through.
"Yeah, I hear you."
"Due to severe prison overcrowding, we are prepared to offer you an expedited sentence at the cost of reducing your quality of life for the duration of the sentence. The minimum time you can serve is one day -"
"Gimme a day, Warden. I can take anything you can dish out, and I'll see you tomorrow."
I hate the smile that's oozed its way onto his face. Smug piece of shit thinks he can take it, and be right back out there tomorrow. My fists unclench, and my voice calms.
"I am legally required to inform you that no prisoner has successfully made it through the twenty-four hour treatment with all their mental faculties intact. Do you still agree to the minimum sentence?"
He starts to laugh.
"If I was all there in the head, would I be in this cell? *Bring it on, I'll be a* ***FREE MAN TOMORROW!***"
"Your consent has been acknowledged and recorded for our records."
I turn to the assistant who's been standing by, waiting for my word. I carefully neglect to release the push-to-talk button on the intercom.
"Release the gas."
From the corner of my eye, I can see a note of fear creep onto the prisoner's face. His cell is secure enough, if a bit spartan. What he hadn't noticed was the gas nozzles hidden in the vent above.
Some brilliant scientist had discovered the chemical a few years back. With a forty-eight syllable name, I'd never heard it pronounced by its full name, but it had a street name: Timeout. Something in its hideous chemical structure radically alters the brain's perception of time. It'd had a brief heyday as a luxury drug among the intellectual and artistic types to 'get some thinking done' before it was outlawed and put to this use. Blending it with some clever stimulants means the subject will not tire or sleep.
His cell appears comfortable, if a little bare. Three bare concrete walls, and a heavy steel door. A clock mounted in a heavy cage provides little in the way of distraction.
To us, a day.
To him, a lifetime. | The small fires peppering the main hall of block 99-J lit up the dark, cavernous halls like a symphony. They kept the power off because they kept having to evetually send maintenance men, and after what happened to the last four, they stopped coming.
Someone's wet, muffled screams just stopped, and are now replaced with cackling laughter. I look down the hall to see another prisoner, carrying one slung over his shoulder, like an ape. Someone ran at him with a knife, and he used the, likely dead, body as a human shield, and then in the way someone might use a club. This place reminds me of a book I read once. Can't remember which one. Can't really remember reading many books.
Now where was I? Oh yeah, 99-J. Well what do you expect when you get a day and a half for triple homicide? They didn't even have most of the blood off me, they were putting me in a room and asking me how long I wanted to be in jail. Well I said I didn't and they said fat chance. But then they said a new place was opening up, for people with my sorta needs. The reality was, Ableridge was shutting down because of the riots. They didn't want a send in the Guard to evacuate or blow it up with everyone still in. So they lock it up extra tight, and let anyone who makes it out go. Usually they've had their fill of mayhem by that point, though I can't seem to recall the last person that actually made it.
So they lift me, in a helicopter like. Only time I ever flew in my life, God what fun. Sorta makes you look at the pilot and wonder why here's where he is and you's where you is... Nevermind. So they take me right over top. Point to the front door, and said if you can last a day and a half, they'll let you out right quick. Then they shoved me out, hit the middle of the rec yard and broke a wrist.
As the howls of the boys get closer and more guttural, my grip grows tighter, thus, the string on my shiv seems too thin to protect my hand, and my wrist grows wet. I'm tired, but still urging for that hot, iron taste in the back of my throat. Just hours to go. Well, maybe a bit of sleep before...
The small, peppering fires lit up the dark, cavernous halls of 99-J like an opera. I feel like my dreams keep getting wilder and wilder.... | 2015-10-27T07:21:11 | 2015-10-27T06:51:29 | 1,596 | 16 |
[WP] You live in a world where your soulmate is unable to hurt you, intentionally or otherwise. You are fighting in a war, when one of the enemy's knives harmlessly glances off you. | *They had me dead to rights.*
Caught with an empty magazine, surrounded, someone came up behind me and stabbed. I felt the knife point touch skin. I closed my eyes. I waited to die.
The knife point trembled.
I had yet to turn around, though.
“I will not be taken prisoner by the likes of you, Loyalist. I would rather die freeing this town from your tyrannical grip.”
Again the knife point touched me, but this time the softest sigh of frustration that I have ever heard came with it.
“It’s *you*.”
I turned around to look at my assailant, ready to hit whoever it was with my rifle, and follow it up with one of the few pistol rounds I had left. Smooth, clean, efficient. It was going to be like an action movie, and I was the hero. This person wasn’t going to get away with threatening *me.*
The concussion grenade that rolled opposite my cover had other plans for my day.
A loud noise. A massive push. A sharp pain. Darkness.
---
I don’t remember much, from getting dragged away.
I remember a voice, soft and kind, begging someone to help drag me up some stairs.
I remember the sounds of struggling, as whoever it was had to drag me up the stairs alone anyways.
I remember falling asleep a few times; the incapacitating power of the new Loyalist Concussion Grenade was no joke.
On the third flight of stairs, since I was already unable to move, I allowed myself to fall asleep.
I guess I was going to be a prisoner.
---
I woke up to the smell of bacon frying. The gentle *ding* of a toaster popping. I suppose it was breakfast time for the non-POWs. Whoever had taken me would find they were going to have a hell of a time trying to break me. I had been trained to resist interrogation. I would not give up the Insurrection.
The door opened, giving me my first bit of light. I wasn’t handcuffed. I wasn’t chained up. I was in a soft bed, in a nice bedroom, with my makeshift uniform draped over a chair. I tried to sit up, only for a searing pain to keep me where I was. A bandaged wound, most likely freshly stitched. That Loyalist bastard and his knife. Well, judging from my treatment, I was at least in a safe house. I had that going for me.
As the door opened fully, I had to reevaluate my situation. A boy. A Loyalist uniform. Fair skin. Elegant demeanor. Clearly, the richest of the rich. Someone that I would have dragged out of their home for supporting such a corrupt government. *That* is who had saved me. *That* is who had tended to my wounds.
Ridiculous.
“Just because you saved me, and tended to my wound, does not excuse the fact that one of your ilk stabbed me and tried to take me prisoner.” I spit acidly, letting my captor know at once that I would not be so easily calmed down.
“I didn’t stab you, *whiner*,” He says in that same soft voice that I remember begging anyone for help. “The force of the grenade blasted you on to my knife. An interesting outcome, in that I kinda sorta got what I wanted… but not really.”
I am sure my expression was one of blatant confusion. It should have been. I was blatantly confused.
He laid the tray of food oun my lap, a fork and knife there for the sandwich he had made me.
“Giving your prisoner a weapon? Bold move. Bad move, too.”
Sure, he had been nice. He had tended to my wound. He had done all he could.
He was a Loyalist. I was an Insurrectionist. One of us had to die. He had just given me the out I needed. The paring knife that he had given me to cut my food was a silver blur in the air as I swung it at his neck. He didn’t even have time to flinch.
It stopped a fraction of an inch away from his skin, and stayed there. I tried to push, the knife still didn’t budge. I gave it all of my strength, feeling my wound start to tear and bleed… and nothing. I couldn’t do a damn thing to kill this guy, and there was no real reason for-
“Oh, *really*?” I sighed, giving the amused-looking boy the most exhausted look I could manage.
“Yup. How inconvenient. It was super frustrating for me, because I legitimately *had you*. Your back was to me, you were fumbling a reload, even a medical officer like me could take you. I went for the sneaky knife, and… nope.”
I wince at his derision, and at the fresh pain from my wound. This was not my day.
“I don’t like men. There’s gotta be a mistake.” I spit again.
“I don’t like traitors. I feel the same way.” He responds, sounding bored.
“Is it even possible for enemies to be soulmates?”
“Apparently so.”
“We could just go our separate ways, pretend we never met, all of that.”
“Except you have a bleeding wound in your side.” He sighed, reaching for a medical bag and pulling out cloths, a needle, and some surgical thread.
“It feels dirty,” he continued “having to waste anesthetic on you, but the needle won’t puncture unless you can’t feel it. Please be careful, next time.”
With that, he went to work sewing me shut and disinfecting the wound again. He was quick, efficient, and the way he smiled when he worked let me know that he loved his job. Even if he was just healing me.
“R-right.”
It was all I could say. His light brown eyes didn’t have a hint of malice to them. He worked, knowing that if it hadn’t been for fate and the strange way the world works, one of us would have died by the other’s hand, already. He worked quietly, humming a soft song and wiping his brow when he was done.
“Please, eat. I am not an awful cook, if I do say so myself.”
A few bites into the breakfast bacon-egg toast sandwich, and I had to agree. This was good. Good and hot and better than the protein bar rations I had been living off of for months. The juice was fresh, too.
When he came back with another tray, I found myself hoping there was more for me. Of course that was ridiculous. He needed to eat too, after all. Still, something he said was giving me an itch to ask.
“You said that you didn’t like *traitors*.” I ask, my voice mostly casual. “I said boys. Have you… I dunno, have you had a boyfriend before?”
He put the tray down, looking down at his lap.
“I have had a boyfriend before, yes. His name was Alec. He and I grew up together. Went to the same boarding school. All of it. He was visiting his brother during his brother’s summer vacation. He was in Cambridge on July 14th. He was there for the nuke that started the insurrection. I saw it on the news. The fireball. The burning buildings of famed institutions. The loss of life. I… am not strong. No Loyalist is. We are rich. We have all been rich for generations. My family hasn’t ‘worked’ since my great-great-great-grandfather struck it big in the 1890’s gold rush. We invested. We invested. Became doctors or lawyers or other non physical things. We grew weak, like a lot of my class grew week. If this were purely a physical war, you would have won by now. We have technology and infrastructure. We don’t want this war, but… seeing the city where my boyfriend was burn… I offered my services to the Loyalists.”
I hadn’t expected such a long-winded answer. I hadn’t expected him to be open about his past, or anything. He was supposed to be cold. To treat me like a prisoner. To treat me like I would have treated him. Instead, he was only ever kind.
“I lost my sister.” I responded, quietly. “She was sick, and there was an embargo on my county. No medicine made it in. She died from something preventable. I joined up with my local insurrectionist chapter to avenge her.”
Short, bitter, and to the point. This was had gone on for over 5 years, now. Everybody has lost someone. His story shouldn’t hit me as hard as it did.
We both gave each other a quiet “I’m sorry.” at the exact same time. It caused us both to laugh.
“You're going to be here for at least a couple of weeks, recovering.” He said quietly, looking me over again.
“That...May not be so bad.”
The smile he gave me confirmed it. It might not be so bad. | I take a sip from my canteen.
It's been quite uneventful, sitting out here staring at a desert through a scope. There's no enemy blindly walking into the bleak sands here today, so all I've been doing is just taking a sip from this canteen right here like I am now-- *It's empty.*
I set up my spotter drone to cover for me, and I walked down to my outpost to get a refill and a bite. I've been feeling hungry for the past few hours. **Did I have breakfast today? It feels like I didn't.** I looked around and sure enough, there's a bento sitting above the crate that also functions as my chair, my table, and my storage area.
**Damn, I didn't eat breakfast.**
Most important meal of the day, they said. No wonder my stomach's been growling since I started staring down the scope.
I opened the bento with one hand and gripped a pair of chopsticks with another. Bless my brother for sacrificing his drone to send me the bento. His drone got shot down by my commander after it dropped off the bento and flew away. It was partly his fault, flying directly towards the command post. I can't tell the commander that he shot down a civilian drone in military airspace, either. That only results in more paperwork for both me and him. And between risking my life for the country or doing paperwork in the heat of the desert, I'd gladly choose the former. *Not that I like risking my life, of course.* Just that paperwork exerts too much of a cognitive stress on the brain along with the heatwave... And that was the end of that bento. I'm not satisfied but who am I to bitch about food right now?
I walk back to my spotter drone and checked the ammo on it. The screen displays a large **0**. I shrugged it off and decided to refill the ammo later. (This decision will come back to bite my ass hard later. Like, biting-strength-of-a-shark hard.)
I set the drone to support mode, pressed my body against the now-heated sand, and stared down the scope once again. A few minutes pass, and a target was spotted.
A female combatant. Quite brazen to waltz into my territory without a helmet. She's only got a PDW... And doesn't have fatigues on. Looks more like a mercenary more than a soldier.
*Heh, has the Arstotzkans stooped so low as to rely on mercenaries?*
Something about her eyes catches my eye though. Her eyes seem so elegant, yet ungodly focused. It's almost like her eyes are stealing *my focus* away. Her head seems way too big though--
**It was at this moment our eyes lock.**
"oh shit oh shit oh shit"
Being untrained at emergency management, I panicked and fired a shot blindly at her direction. Luckily, my ears were trained, and I could hear my bullet bury itself into the sand behind her.
Now that I wasn't looking through the scope, I saw that she was much closer than I had thought: merely 50 meters away, give or take. She had a weird reaction, as if the bullet did passed through her body but didn't harm her. It looked awkward, two enemies being confused at each other. Having the high ground, however, allowed me to act faster.
I slid down a sand dune, preparing for an ambush. I pulled my drone out (how I managed to grab my drone amidst all that panicking I will never know) and set it to attack mode. Once she climbs up that sand dune, it's over.
Atop the sand dune appeared a black silhouette, the sun behind it blinding my eyes.
"Now you meet your end!" I yelled truimphantly, almost deviously.
For some reason, her end sounds like *click click click click click click click*
In a split second, I flashed back to where my drone had **0** ammo.
*click click click click click click click*
Now that my eyes adjusted to the sun, I can see her scoffing at me. And she holstered her PDW as I stand dazed and defeated.
*If there was a goddess, please let her be as beautiful as this female combatant and not charging at me with a knife.*
A knife?
She thrusted a knife at my chest before I could even react to what's happening.
*click click click click click click click click click click click click click click*
I felt dead for a second.
*click click click click click click click*
Then I looked at her look at me.
Her knife penetrated my fatigues, my body armor, but not my skin.
*click click click click click click click*
"This usually works," she muttered out.
Truth be told, I wasn't expecting to not die. *yeah, that sounds stupid when you say it out loud doesn't it*
Once we both realized what happened, she glared daggers into me, then a knife approached my eye.
I say "approached", because it never managed to get into my eye socket. It's as if some magnetic force is pulling that knife away from my eye while she is trying to fight that force.
*click click click click click click click*
This is becoming a stare-down match, except she's definitely winning because while she's staring at me with the hatred of a thousand souls, I'm just admiring her face, more than anything. Hell, you could say I'm actually enjoying this.
Then I realized something.
With a swift move, I escaped her clutches, and pulled out my handgun.
With a smile, I emptied the entire clip on her.
She flinched with every shot. Cute, for someone who just threatened to kill me with her stare.
Then she opened her eyes. She was unharmed, not even a scratch on her.
I took the time she was flinching to turn off the annoying drone.
"Just as I guessed," I said. "We can't hurt each other. We're soulmates."
Her eyes went from confusion, to realization, to hatred, again.
"Who the hell would want to be soulmates with you!" She screamed, charging at me again.
With a surge of confidence and a shit-eating grin, I grabbed the knife by the blade and yanked it off her grip, and threw it on the ground. But why was the blade red?
Oh, I forgot that **I** can hurt myself.
"Holy fuck that hurts" was reportedly the last thing I said before fainting from shock.
I woke up on a hospital bed. The female combatant was watching me, her expression concerned. She tried to hide it, but she can't disguise her emotions for shit.
"Our countries reached an agreement of peace a week after you fainted." A sweet voice came out of her mouth. "We are now allies."
I tried to lift myself up, but the palm wound prevented me from doing that.
"Let me help you."
She reached over and adjusted my bed, allowing me to sit. She had long, flowing hair, down to her waist.
*Wait, she had short hair before this.*
"How many months was I out?" I asked impatiently.
"About 6 months. No idea why you've been unconscious for so long."
The first thought I had after hearing that wasn't of my family. It was how weak I am to be unconscious for so long from a palm wound.
"Well, now that you're awake, we have nothing to worry about anymore, right?"
She tucked her hair behind her left ear with her left hand, revealing that she wore a ring.
Instinctively, I lifted my left hand.
There was a ring on it.
I looked at her, and she smiled at me meekly.
**Second part coming soon! (Probably tomorrow!)** | 2017-04-22T07:04:13 | 2017-04-22T05:54:25 | 113 | 35 |
[WP] Humanity is the only race in the galaxy with such a massive lack of common sense that we're the only species that requires laws to form societies. Other races just form naturally and are shocked when confronted with humanities laws and regulations. | Sub Commander T'plat ambled down the landing ramp of this small scout ship, casually inspecting his clipboard. Today he was meeting species 64 Alpha 998, a bipedal species that galaxy mapping droids had spotted some time ago
Looking up he was startled to see a mass of the large pink creatures had gathered at the base of his craft, staring at him with their strange coloured eyes.
T'plat had conducted over a dozen first contacts and while there was normally not so many people here, let alone all the weird flashing lights and large dishes everywhere,, he knew protocol.
He fired up his universal translator and began his speech. "Greetings new species, welcome to the brotherhood of planets. On behalf of our alliance, we welcome you and offer you our support and assistance." He lowered the translator beacon and looked out, for a moment there was silence and then they all seemed to shout at once.
The noise was deafening and T'plat took a step backwards to try to make some sense, the translator ear piece desperately whining as it tied to keep up.
"Okay, okay, one at a time!" He bellowed into the beacon and after a moment things seemed to quiet down. Finally, after much pushing and shoving one stepped forward.
It was a small, strange looking creature, its fur did not seem to go over its head all the way and it was wringing its hands nervously. "Er, hello, yes, my name is Phil. What does 'support and assistance mean.'"
"Well, we offer all new species interstellar travel and a seat at the galactic council." The uproar began again and eventually Phil quieted them down.
"Er, okay, that sounds great. Do you want to meet our leader or anything?"
T'plat's brow furrowed, "What's a **leader**."
"Well." Phil seemed thrown. "He makes and enforces the laws and is in charge. Don't you have a leader?"
"No, not that way. We all just agreed on what's best to do and if anyone really wants something then they get it. I'm not sure what these 'laws' are either."
This time the noise went on for much longer and T'plat was eventually forced to sit down. At last a new creature came forward, this one dressed mainly in green with a fancy hat and a series of small coloured pips and medals on his chest.
He put his arm round T'pal. "We have a lot to discuss my friend." | "What do you mean 'laws?'"
"Well, they're the written, codified, and agreed upon, rules by which we organise ourselves within a state. They're both descriptive and prescriptive norms which use in cases of conflict or contest" replied Andrew.
He had spent several days sharing knowledge with the newfound alien species as part of the UN's outreach project to establish friendship and collegiality with their new intergalactic friends. This was the first time they seemed to stumble upon a difficulty.
"We don't have laws. We just are" replied the alien.
"Well that is just stupid, laws are a natural part of civilisation. What happens when you have a conflict?"
"We just solve it".
"But how?"
"We talk it out."
"And... how do you decide who is right?"
"Well, through talking..."
Andrew sighed.
"Well during your conversation, do you refer to any norms? Any expectations of good action? Or reasonable behaviour?"
The alien looked puzzled.
"I give up." Andrew thought. His new friend and their people clearly hadn't developed any ability to think reflexively about the way in which they conduct themselves in groups. "Lets move on to the next topic... economics..." | 2014-10-13T09:46:56 | 2014-10-13T09:43:55 | 86 | 53 |
[WP] "Captain, the warpdrives are failing and there's little we can actually do. We're stuck," said the first mate. "Fine," the captain said. "Awake the human. Just don't forget to bring it a 'koh-fi' drink to placate it." | Humans. Every ship should have one... hell, every ship probably would if there were enough of them to go around... and they weren't such a damn nuisance. Ours was particularly troublesome because somewhere along it's lifetime it had acquired a fairly hefty caffeine addiction, and emphatically - sometimes violently - resisted any attempts to cure it. That was humans for you mind. Quirky. Every single one of them had _something_ wrong with them. If they weren't so useful, we'd never keep them around.
"It almost looks peaceful in there, doesn't it?"
The cryo-technician tapped the frosted glass containing our sleeping super-computer. The captain's tone was far more cautious as across the room she punched in her authorization code to awake the frozen creature.
"Mh hm. Don't forget what that... thing... actually is. What it's capable of."
"No Ma'am. Of course not."
This of course is why we kept it in cryo whenever we didn't need it. Some ships fortunate enough to carry one liked to keep them awake so they could be on hand immediately in the case of a crisis, but in the captain's opinion it was more trouble than it was worth, and I've always been inclined to agree. You never know when it might take it into it's head to try and... improve something. Not to mention the fact that, well, it might die. No one had the slightest idea how long the things lived, but presumably even these bizarre creatures could die of old age eventually.
"Mr. Levetsivch - do you have the beverage?"
"Yes Ma'am. Right here."
I offered the captain the "Coffee" that the human insisted upon every time it was woken up, but she waved it away.
"No, don't give me that - I don't even like being this close to the damn thing - you can feed it."
The pod hissed and sputtered as the cryo-technician fussed around it. Around the room lights were changing slowly from the nice safe cold blue to varying warmer colours. The thing was waking up. You could sense the captain's unease rising with the temperature in the engineering space we had converted into something approximating quarters for our very own eldritch abomination.
"You both have everything you need?"
Myself and the technician nodded the affirmative. The captain was visibly relieved. Obviously she knew how privileged she was to have one of the rare creatures on her ship... but like anyone who had ever had to actually see the things in action, she was suitably afraid of it.
"I'm going back to the bridge. Call me and let me know what it needs once it's awake."
We each gave a somewhat half-hearted salute as she turned on her heel and strode out of the room.
Inside the pod the creature was showing the faint stirrings of life. It's hairless chest had begun to rise and fall with the first tentative breaths of this new existence into which we were awakening it. Not for the first time I found myself wondering how old the thing actually was. Millions of years, certainly. Maybe hundreds of millions... and that was their true value.
They were among the first ones. The oldest of the old races. Their kind had been traveling the galaxy before my people had even evolved on our home world. They were capable of things we couldn't even begin to understand. It made them invaluable, but also a colossal liability. Their minds were unlike those of any other known species. They knew things great and terrible that had long since been lost to younger races, or perhaps never discovered. Somewhere in that simian looking skull were secrets that would change the balance of power in the galaxy forever... if only the damnable creatures could somehow be made to actually share them.
The hum of the cryo pod was fading away, the entire room now bathed in a warm red glow that seemed to mimic the bizarre oxygen/iron biology of the stirring creature's blood.
"Is it ready lieutenant?"
"A few more minutes commander, if you please."
I could feel my own pulse starting to quicken and tried to force my hearts to behave. I was an officer in the imperial fleet and commanded over a hundred of our finest, most battle hardened forces. I was not afraid of this single strange creature...
...but deep down, I was. As physically unimposing as they might seem, we have no idea what they're really capable of. What powers the ancient knowledge locked up in those mis-proportioned brains might afford them
"It's coming around sir, If you could give me the beverage please?"
I handed the steaming container to the technician. Taking it, he stepped forward and toggled the final release catches, stepping smartly backwards and holding the drink out as if it were a shield that might protect him from the horror in the pod.
A strange, pale pentadactyl limb extended from the palls of mist that rolled out of the pod, and a voice, so commanding and yet so frail, rang out around the room.
"What the FUCK do you people want now? What's this? Gimme that mug. This had better be a god damned coffee."
Our secret weapon was awake. Now we had to pray it would co-operate. | Captain Pakiha looked up from the display in front of him when first engineer Kihaki swam in. Kihaki did not look happy.
“Warp drive is a no go,” she creaked instead of a greeting.
Pakiha whistled annoyed. He felt like sending Kihaki a warning click, but thought better of it. The engineer had just spend the last five hours in an exosuit, that would make anyone cranky.
Instead, Pakiha asked: “How much longer to fix it?”
“You don’t understand! It’s totally kaputt! Energy matrix needs recalibrating. Which wouldn’t be a problem, only I need to get inside the reaction chamber. Which I can’t with the bulky suit on because the stupid apes build everything to their size.” Kihaki ended in a series of exasperated trills.
“How long?” Pakiha repeated, patient.
“To completely disassemble the warp core? Four weeks in the dock at minimum. Out here with only on-board means…” She angrily flapped her fins and uttered a series sounds that came surprisingly close to a few choice human curse words.
Pakiha thought about the problem. “Would a human fit?”
“Yes, of cause! They-” Kihaki interrupted herself. “No! Nonono! Not her! I’m not letting her back in my engineering space! No way!”
“Look, I know you don’t get along with our passenger-”
“She tried to blow up the ship!”
Pakiha send a hunting click her way and added to the warning by opened his mouth and showing his teeth. Kihaki calmed down a bit.
Pakiha closed his mouth again and folded his fins in a placative gesture. “Professor Lindholm assured me it was an accident,” he said. What the human actually had said was that Kihaki had ruined her experiment, but Pakiha felt he needed to do a bit of reading between the words and translating in this situation.
Kihaki made a dismissive movement with her flukes. “The human is a menace. Besides, she doesn’t know the first thing about warp drives!”
“So walk her through the procedure.”
Kihaki stared at him, miserable. With an unhappy whistle she admitted: “The professor and I haven’t spoken since… the incident.”
“You two just started out on the wrong fin stroke.” Pakiha eyed the chronometer in the corner of his display. “Professor Lindholm’s resting period should end soon. Why don’t you go to her quarters and get her some of that coffee humans like so much?”
Kihaki hissed angrily, but flattened her fins to her body to show she yielded the argument. With an angry stroke of her flippers, she turned around and swam back out to get to the water lock.
A few very many minutes later – exosuits were many things, but fast to put on wasn’t one of them – engineer Kihaki shambled down the dry section of the ship in her exoskeleton, whistling curses at the clunky contraption. It was an uncomfortable necessity. Few human technology went together well with water – not to mention she needed the suit’s robotic hands for anything but the most basic repairs.
Or even such menial tasks as operating the coffee machine in the small dry section canteen.
Kihaki didn’t get how humans could drink that repulsive stuff. She had tried it herself once. Had made her jittery and itchy all over for more than a day and it’d taken ages to get the vile taste out of her mouth again. Tea, however, now that was simple pleasure. Maybe that was why she and the Professor didn’t get along. | 2020-11-08T14:48:04 | 2020-11-08T14:04:08 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] When you were a child, you saw your parent(s) get killed by a delusional man who claimed he was a time traveler. You thought he was just crazy, but as years pass and you grow older, your best friend starts to look eerily similar to your parent(s) killer. | "Every night I have the same dream. A nightmare, really. A part of my past that I have tried so desperately to forget.
"I am 7 years old and I am in bed. My mom has just tucked me into my transformers duvet and I am falling asleep. Suddenly there is chaos. I hear the shattering of glass - every window in the house has cracked in a single moment. My parents scream and I hear five thunderous bangs.
"I am scared and my bed is soaked with urine, but my parents might need my help. I get up and put two shaking feet into my little slippers. I open the door and peak out. The stairwell is covered in bright blood and it is running down the stairs, oozing towards the ground floor. At the top of the stairs lie my parents. A man with a huge scraggly grey beard and the most soulless eyes, stands over my mommy and daddy's bodies. He has a gun in his hand and smoke is gently floating up from the barrel. He must have heard my bedroom door creak open as he turns to look at me.
"A fake smile stretches his bright lips unnaturally wide. He speaks, and his voice is as gravelly as the depths of hell.
"*Hey Nick. I was wondering if I would see you tonight. Don't be afraid - what I have done is a good thing. I am from the future, and in my future your parents were responsible for something real bad. Things will change now. I got to go Nick. I will see you again soon little buddy.*"
"And then the nightmare ends and I awake in a pool of sweat."
The psychiatrist talks patronisingly to me. He tells me that my mind has tried to turn that night into some kind of *fantasy* and that it is just a coping mechanism. The fact that it was simply a 'robbery gone wrong' was too hard for my 7 year old mind to accept - there had to be more reason behind it. Sure, my parents were rich, but I remember that night and the mans words so vividly. He whispers them to me every night.
I have lunch in an hours time with an old school friend, Andrew. He is a highly acclaimed computer engineer and I am hoping he will join my research company. I started it ten years ago in honour of my parents. They were attempting to create the perfect AI. An artificial intelligence that could be considered alive. They had been close.
Had they lived long enough to see Sarah, the AI my team has been working on for the last 5 years, I believe they would have been proud of me. She is based on their original code that they were unable to complete. I found the code on my dads personal computer.
Sarah is still not *quite* alive, but I think my old friend might be able to help me with the final piece of the puzzle.
*La Copella* is a fairly fancy place for a lunch time meeting. An Italian where you can wine and dine potential prospects in fine style. I have not seen Andrew in at least ten years and I am looking forward to it greatly.
An uncouth looking man with a short scraggly brown beard walks in. I think he must have the wrong restaurant until he spots me and waves.
"Nick!" He yells out. He walks over to me. It takes me a moment to recognise Andrew.
"My God Andrew, that is quite the beard!" I say, startled.
We get through a lot of small talk before I am able to move on to business. I am interested in the current project he is involved with. He is in a team that is trying to create a type of *time machine*. He admits completing it is improbable, and the wage I can offer him is 10 times what he currently earns. He is enthusiastic about the project and agrees to come work for me the following month.
---
Andrew bursts into my office to tell me the news. Sarah is alive, but the lab team is not. He says that it is our fault.
Sarah has escaped and she does not approve of humanity. There is very little we can do now.
I notice his beard has turned grey and the stress of the last few years has aged him terribly. His bright lips contrast his pale face. He looks like a wraith. The thought triggers a fragment of an old dream to replay in my mind.
"Andrew, please take off those sunglasses for a moment." I ask, my voice trembling.
He slowly removes them. His eyes are soulless...
| I'd suspected it was Irene for some time. At least, someone who looked exactly like Irene. That was why I'd befriended her all those years ago. Not out of some crazy prescience but out of some strange pull that told me she would be important in solving the case of my parents' murders.
It was because of the birthmark, really. A darkened patch of skin on her wrist, forming something of a bracelet. I remembered that bracelet - it was one of the only things I remembered, actually - from the day my parents were killed.
The bracelet, and the blue eyes.
I sat behind her in seventh grade math class. I never would have known her had I not asked her for a pen one day. When she reached back to give it to me I saw the bracelet around her wrist.
She caught me staring at it. "What?" she twisted uncomfortably in her chair. I blinked at her.
Over the years I got to know her. We dated briefly for a time, but both found that it didn't work for us. Time travel was legalized when we were twenty-one. By that time I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Irene was the woman who had killed my parents. She was the woman who had colored my entire life.
But she didn't know it. Despite my confusion, I couldn't blame Irene for something she had not yet done.
We lost touch after college. She just up and disappeared one day. I thought about all the things I could do to her. I thought about killing her parents to get revenge - but it wouldn't really be revenge if she hadn't yet killed mine.
It seemed like some mix of a catch-22 and Schrödinger's box. As long as she hadn't killed my parents no revenge I could think of would have any meaning. After she killed my parents, the revenge wouldn't be of consequence.
Out of the blue when I was 26 I got an email from her.
*Dear Art*
*I wish this letter would find you well, but I don't think it will. I don't know if this letter will find you at all. I've been working for a corporation that it's not safe to name over the mail. They're watching me, Art. They want me to do something bad - I think you already know what. I have to do it. But it's going to start something huge. It's planned for that reason. I can't talk about it now. Meet me at the strawberries. I don't think I can prevent what will happen, but I can explain.*
*I hope this gets to you. Meet me at the strawberries. Tomorrow, at the time that Martin went to the doctor.*
*I've always loved you, Art. I don't know if you knew what the future had. I don't know if you knew who I'm about to become. But know whatever happens, I've always loved you.*
*Tomorrow. Strawberries. Martin.*
*Love,*
*Irene* | 2016-06-13T06:04:16 | 2016-06-13T05:55:44 | 56 | 23 |
[WP]Every intelligent, skilled or rich human has been evacuated from the Earth to avoid the alien invasion. This leaves the dregs, criminals and the poor behind on Earth to fend for themselves. Centuries later, the other return to "liberate" Earth only to find that they have won and prospered. | 'Well, it wasn't water that did it, but good, old fashioned lead. Turns out when you come from a planet without the necessary components for gunpowder, thus forcing you to create electrical weapons which coincidentally don't work quite as well in wetter Earth conditions, you don't develop defenses against bullets. Weird how technological evolution works.
Of course, you couldn't have known that when you pulled your reverse Australia. Left the poor, the tired, the huddled masses, and leapt up into space. Generation ships.
Modern Titanics.
See, you might not have lost everyone out there, but you lost everything.
Because we won.
And you ran.
They didn't want to destroy the planet, they wanted the resources, and they were committed to the fight, but their recon had to be off. Their weapons miss fired, for the most part. They came from a much dryer planet, and Earth's humidity caused them to mis-fire and explode.
Early on, they made massive gains in desert regions. Las Vegas lay in ruins. North Africa and the Middle East fell. Tundra too, anywhere dry. It wasn't enough.
They learned though, started fighting with our weapons, but we've been doing it a hell of a lot longer. Northern Mexico looked like dusty Verdun by the end of 2028, but they never even made it as far as Cortez had.
It took a decade, but we forced them back to their dropzones. Even took some of their transport ships, started to land troops on their ships in orbit. From that point, it was all over but the dying.
Which brings us here, to this moment. You return, flaming sword in hand, eager to defeat your grandfathers' unconquerable enemy. Sons of senators, daughters of queens. Your parents were the best and brightest of their time, literati, rich and powerful.
My grandfather was a car theif, and my dad a mechanic. I lead an assault on an alien ship to defeat the enemy your ancestors scrambled to the stars for.
So who the fuck are you?'
- Cpt. G. Price, UN Space Defense, in response to initial messages from 'Operation' OVERLORD, the 'mission to retake Earth'. | Without you, we were free to do what we wanted to.
Without you, there was no competition, anything we wanted we could pursue.
Without you, every house beautiful was available and ours to choose.
Without you, money didn’t matter anymore only sharing food.
Without you, there was no one who cared to rule.
Without you, there was no need for school.
Now you’re back?
Welcome fool.
We were ready for you.
SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS
Party time!
Welcome back to the united states of the mother fucking world.
Peace came at a cost.
But losing you was no loss.
All your ideologies and bullshit got tossed.
We did it our own way now we the bosses.
Y’all can’t be our friends you just got ROSSED.
| 2018-09-29T05:21:50 | 2018-09-29T03:44:30 | 656 | 28 |
[WP] You ate your last apple almost a full day ago. The second hand on the clock creeps closer and closer to the 24-hour mark. Holed up in a cabin you ready your shotgun. You can feel them out there, waiting, watching. The Doctors. | Only 5 minutes left. It was only a superstition, right? But... if that was true, why was I so scared? Even now, I could hear shuffling around outside, and a strange, low humming sound.
I shook my head and cocked the shotgun in my hands. 2 shots, no more. The survivalist instincts began to kick in when the first, muffled screams came through. There was shouting, screaming and... explosions? Surely not. But there were thuds and whistling noises coming from the town down the hill.
The lights were coming closer now. Cult-like chanting still too muffled to understand. How did they know I was here?!
Suddenly, the thrumming noise grew louder. I wasn’t imagining it?!
The air began to crackle with electric energy in a roughly cuboid form.
Blue panels began to materialise from thin air, first transparent, then fully formed. The loud thrumming wail followed by flashes of blue light was as shocking as it was bizarre...
Then a door opened and 2 people stepped out of the strange blue box.
“Finally!” Exclaimed the first newcomer, a man with a scarf and some strange looking pen or tool in his hand.
“Who...” I began, utterly baffled, as I gazed past these people into the blue contraption which seemed to contain a vast room far beyond its capacity.
“No, just the Doctor”, he interrupted, tossing me pear as he looked down at me.
“For heavens sake, put that away!” He said, pointing at the loaded gun I’d forgotten I was holding, “You’ll have someone’s eye out”
As the two of them unlock the door with a brief flash and whir, the man who called himself the ‘Doctor’ turned back.
“Also, word of warning: lay off the apples. Their seeds are poisonous, and the cores give off a sub space field that makes it difficult to land”.
Then, as quickly as he had appeared, the confusing man left, locking my door behind him as he went running down the hill after his female friend.
I put down the shotgun and eyed the bottle of liquor I kept for special occasions... I shuffle gingerly round the large, blue box in my kitchen and pull the cork. This is going to be a story for the kids when I’m older. | Tick, tick, tick. Every second passing on my watch seemed deafening. I knew it was a mistake to rely on apples. I was bound to forget one day but I hated needles.
The door creaked. Bang. I scrambled to reload, no time to check if it hit. Bang. The door was split in two, someone outside screamed. Bang. The screaming stopped. Hands shaking, I dropped the last shell. Fuck.
The doctor burst through the door, sending splinters flying in an aura around him. Two steps and he was on me, apple in hand. He kicked my chest, propelling me into the wall behind with a crunch.
“Time to take your medicine!” The doctor screeched.
He raised the apple over his head. I closed my eyes and pictured my family. Mum was right, I should’ve been vaccinated. | 2019-09-28T17:13:46 | 2019-09-28T15:36:25 | 50 | 14 |
[WP] A man wants to sell his soul to a demon but the thing he wants in return is so dubious the demon is thrown for a loop. | “So,” said the demon, “You’re offering me your soul plus the souls of anyone else who signs here?”
The demon’s thick-knuckled finger points to a crudely sketched document adorned with syrup and coffee stains. It was at this moment he realizes the contract was hastily drawn on the back of a Denny’s placemat.
“Yes!” exclaimed Henry. “Well… kind of.”
Henry paused for a moment before suspiciously looking from side to side and back at the demon. He leaned in closely. His breath smelled of sausage and waffles.
“You see, You get 10% of my soul. I keep 30%. Then I get 30% of any other soul I sign up, and you get 10% of that soul. Any soul they sign up, I get 10 and you get 5. Now, of course any soul you add, you get 30 and I get 10. It’s all here in this pamphlet.”
Henry hands the demon a glossy tri-fold which reads “GetaSoul” on the cover. The inside shows non-threateningly ugly people standing next to expensive cars with quotes like, “GetaSoul changed my afterlife!” and “I owe my soul to Getasoul!”
The demon looked reluctant.
“Isn’t this one of those multi-level things?” he inquired, “Like a pyramid type business?”
“No. No, no, no.” Henry was quick to respond. “This is a legitimate business. People are really raking in the souls on this deal. Seriously, you’re lucky to get in on the ground floor.”
“Well,” the demon continues,” What happens to the other 60% of your soul?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, if I get 10% and you keep 30%, then that leaves 60% more soul.”
“Yes, I see. Well, 30% goes to my GetaSoul mentor, y’know, the guy who signed me up. Then, of course GetaSoul takes their measly 10% of my soul and every other soul I sign up. Plus 10% of your souls and a starting cost of half of whatever souls you have on you now. Then it’s pretty much like free souls.”
“That doesn’t seem to make sense, though,” the demon argues, “It’s all very confusing, and I’m not sure the math adds up.”
Henry opens the pamphlet. “No. It’s simple,” he says, “Just look here at this pyramid-shaped info graphic. It couldn’t be easier.”
Henry is clearly getting aggravated. The demon has a bad feeling, but he’d really hate to miss this opportunity.
“Do you mind if I talk this over with my wife?” the demon asks.
Henry, feeling defeated, sighs audibly and hands the demon a business card.
*Henry G. Biggles, GetaSoul Management Leader and Specialist, Entrepreneur*
“Think it over. When you’re ready to change your life, call me. We’ll go out for waffles.” | "Woah there cowgirl. Slow it down.".
Ja'rel shook her head in disbelief.
" I'm just a crossroads demon. Sure we can make deals a little bigger than those spirit board idiots, but I think even I need to run that kind of request...downstairs.".
The demon gave the small mortal in front of her another once over. Her soul was pure as the driven snow, no history of abuse, no psychotic tendencies, not even a bad temper. Ja'rel couldn't fathom why the young girl would ask for something so horrendous.
The girl began to speak in a low quiet voice.
"The book said you trade desires for souls. I didn't realize there was paperwork involved.".
This made Ja'rel laugh.
"Normally there isn't, but you aren't exactly asking for a normal deal here. Immortality, riches, fame, revenge, hell even genocide is an easier deal to make than what you're asking for. And besides, there's already four of them! That's kind of their shtick, four horsemen, bringers of the apocalypse, yadda yadda. I can't just ask one to step down."
This time it was the girl who laughed.
"I didn't ask you to. All I need is the same level of power. I can see to the rest myself."
Ja'rel thought on this for a moment.
"Well...I guess that technically is within the bounds of my ability...One apocalyptic power boost, coming right up!" | 2014-05-15T20:53:13 | 2014-05-15T20:05:56 | 104 | 52 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | I am, and always have been, a simple creature with a taste for the simple things. The smell of fresh bread. The tastes of ale and wine. The pleasure of catching an annoying little mouse.
I inherited my current life when someone abducted me. Normally, I’d have ripped the stranger them apart without remorse, but I’d just finished a very tasty hobgoblin, and this person had a curiously pleasant smell about her. One that I now know to be that of a tavern owner. Based on what I’ve heard from various visitors and patrons, she’s what they call a tabaxi, and goes by Estellar. She only found me because she was deep in debt and decided to venture into the old mountain caves that few people frequent in search of treasure.
Either way, I now reside as a chair in her tavern, and have for many years. I’m why her tavern is so nice. I take care of the pests, clean up the messes, and get rid of the garbage. In return, she leaves a plate of food and a mug of ale for me. She doesn’t even realize I’m here, and just leaves offerings to her ”mysterious helper”. Probably thinks I’m a fae or some garbage like that.
Anyways, life has been good. Oh, but who is this? They’re not a regular…
“Gimme an ale wrench, and quick!”
He better watch his tone. Not that I care about that old cat, but still…
“Oh, I’m sorry my friend. That fellow over there just emptied my last keg. Would you like some wine or cider instead? I won’t charge extra.”
“I said ale you stupid harlot! I know you have some!”
This oaf had best stop.
“I’m truly sorry sir, but we have none.”
I hear the soft shink of a dagger being unsheathed.
All right, that’s enough. Nobody threatens my Estellar.
As the ruffian leans forward to swing, he finds himself stuck to his chair. Before he can hit the floor, I’m upon him. Before Estellar can react, I’ve eaten halfway through him. By the time the other patrons turn to see who screamed, all that’s left is a wobbling chair.
Like I said, I’m why her tavern is so nice. I take care of the pests, clean up the messes, and get rid of the garbage. I hope she’ll leave out extra tonight. That slimy hooligan tasted terrible. | Tavern keeper: "Mr. Handy. After all these years you were a mimic in disguise?"
Mimic being translated by a mage: "I am, you took me from a dungeon decades ago. I have stayed here ever since"
Tarvern Keeper: "Why did you change just now?"
Mimic: "I had to, we were in danger"
Tavern Keeper: "We?"
Mimic: "Yes, we. The ones who live in this place, the ones who founded it after all those travels"
Tavern Keeper: "You were watching for us all this time?"
Mimic: "Always. Are you gonna kill me?"
Tavern Keeper with tears down his old cheeks: "No old friend, you were always a part of the team even in the direst moments. Now come, i may have something prepared here that your kind can eat"
Mimic: "Just like the old times..."
End of story | 2021-09-22T08:12:37 | 2021-09-22T07:10:53 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] In a world with no such thing as "The good die young," where you can only get physical ailments from your crimes, your perfectly healthy best friend just got terminal cancer. | Jasper grew up in Pensacola with me. He was always a nice enough boy, never mean, never hurt anybody. He loved animals, and once I saw him cry at the sight of road kill on the side of Route 22.
Jasper was never sick. Never. I had the same low level viruses and infections that every kid our age ended up with, the karmic payback for all the small sins a kid commits.
But not Jasper. Jasper never missed a day of school, he never went to the doctor's office. Jasper went his entire childhood without taking an antibiotic or even needing to use a thermometer. Jasper was just about the most perfect kid you've ever met.
Jasper was a rule following kid who turned into a rule following adult. His healthy streak was confirmed the longest in Pensacola on his twentieth birthday. Twenty years without a single sin, and therefore without a single ailment. That was Jasper in a nutshell. If there was a rule, Jasper would follow it.
Folks loved Jasper. He wasn't a boring guy, despite his lack of rule breaking. He loved talking to people, almost performing for them. He started in the drama club and moved on to debate team in high school. Ended up debating his way through Harvard, which made him the only Harvard grad from Pensacola in 2010s.
By 2020, Jasper was thirty and set his mind to a life in politics. He ran for the local councilperson position and won it handily. The locals voted for him hand over fist. Jasper's healthful streak continued unabated as he began working in elected office.
It was around this foray into politics when something about Jasper began to change. He took on certain regressive positions, increasingly nationalistc and xenophobic. He would bever speak in concrete terms, never say anything unequivocal, but he began to proselytize to voters about the need for sovereign protections and border control.
People ate it all up and Jasper quickly raced up the political totem pole. He was elected as mayor of Pensicola at 32, into the state senate by 34, and became the governor by 38. As he rose up his positions became more extreme and more concrete.
Jasper was the perfect politician. Although his rhetoric became more extreme, he never actually *did* anything wrong. All efforts to find his skeletons turned up nothing at all. He was like teflon, and his political potential seemed limitless.
In 2032 he ran for the presidency, my friend Jasper. His primary campaign promises were the elimination of the dual problems of "economic theft" and "the evils of immigration." He won overwhelmingly. People still loved Jasper. It was almost as if the terrible things he stood for were tempered by his perfect moral record.
Jasper's first year he consolidated power in the senate and house. His second year the round-ups began. Third year, people began to disappear. At first immigrants and, later, citizens and other "dissidents and terrorists." Rumors circulated about government run camps and, eventually, extermination vans. By 2036 most lived in fear of the arbitrary justice of Jasper's secret police.
All the while my friend Jasper denied everything. He gave public service announcements pretending there was no violence being carried out. Every Sunday he did his own equivalent of fire side chats wherein he talked about the problem of immigration in opaque terms, never admitting any wrong doing.
But Jasper never ran for a second term. He did not live long enough. In his final public appearances, in late 2036, he looked gaunt and weak. His skin was pale and his eyes sunk in his skull.
Jasper died in October of that year. An autopsy was done and he was declared in perfect health, or so the public record indicates. But another autopsy report was also leaked onto the internet, as well as the reports of several close confidantes, and these things paint a different picture, of a leader refusing all medical tests or treatment, certain in the morality of his actions, the correctness of his beliefs. Even as his body was overridden with cancer, even as Jasper coughed up more blood than air, he still refused to believe he was ill. Such was the extent of his delusion.
*****
## r/LFTM
| "I--think I might cancer." Chad said. His tone was unremarkable to the point where I almost dismissed his words as nothing more than a joke. It was only when I processed them that I had realized what he had said.
"Come again?" I responded. "Is this a joke?"
"What??????????? No," Chad laughed. He paused, collecting himself. "I'm serious, man. I've feeling off for the past year. I can't shake these feeling like something's wrong."
"Well, uhhh, have you talked to a doctor?" I asked. Doctors were a rare profession. As physical ailments were related to crimes and sins one had done against humanity, most people avoided crimes in general, living by strict principles that allowed them to lead healthy lives. No one was sure how scientists came to that conclusion, but it was very obvious in this world, and well documented throughout history; karma, just desserts, you name it. Murderers lost their minds, Bank robbers had strokes at early ages. Those at the top of the business chain, CEOs, politicians, presidents, either chose to stay good their whole lives and live comfortable lives and be forgotten, or risk it and to die young but establish their name and legacy.
Chad wasn't like this. He was normal. He was good. People liked him well enough, he never did wrong by anyone, and if he did, he was sure to apologize quickly for fear of redemption.
I did the sign to protect me from the consequence of sin, then I asked him.
"What makes you think you have cancer?" I was nervous to ask the question. did Chad do something bad? If so, what did he do? And why?
Chad paused for a good 10 or 15 seconds before he spoke. "I don't know, man. just hurts my head to think, yeah? Like stuff is harder now."
Hm... It was odd to me that I hadn't noticed. I just thought he was always picking his words carefully when speaking. Chad was once a brash person, but he stopped about two years ago, claiming he wanted to be more polite and hurt less feelings. He wanted to cash in on the karma game, so to speak.
"Well, lets find a doctor then, man." I pulled out my phone, and looked up doctors near me. The closest one was 30 miles out. Doctors were not easy to come by, and were judgmental folk who sneered at your disease before they treated you, knowing full well what you had done. But cancer or no cancer, Chad was still my best friend, and I wanted to help him. I was certain he didn't have it any ways. I knew everything about him, and he could never have done something so bad as to get something like cancer.
I didn't realize how badly I'd be proven wrong. | 2018-06-24T12:37:09 | 2018-06-24T12:02:36 | 86 | 13 |
[WP] "There are 2 things you need to know, men: Never underestimate the intelligence of a human, and never underestimate the sheer stupidity of a human. | "Sir! They've taken the eastern bridge!" As bullets flew and shells bombarded, the 706th was getting ready to pull out. But their time was limited.
"Order Alpha and Charlie to stage by the southern bridge! Everybody goes across."
"Sir? We're surrendering the island?"
The captain looked his sergeant in the eye. "Unless you can pull air support out of your ass, Crenshaw! Get on the horn and tell them to move!"
The sergeant ran for the comm and relayed the orders. This island was important and held not only vital information but test projects the military was researching. They were to defend it at all costs. Naturally, when the sergeant relayed the orders, he was met with the same blow back. But, they confirmed and started moving.
Back in the captain's tent, he reported, "Orders relayed, sir. They're on the move."
"Good. Pack up the last bits and let's get going."
The sergeant grabbed the last of the backups. "I don't understand sir. Why are we leaving?"
"Soldier, we didn't have a chance. They launched heavy strikes in more populated areas, pulling in more support. We're isolated and they delayed their attack." They jumped in the back of a vehicle and pounded on the cab, telling the driver to move it. "Bastards planned the feint so they could get this island. The information and tests here will give an edge to their efforts that could costs us the war. Their tactical maneuver was quite simply too much for us to react to."
"We were outsmarted then, sir? We had no chance?"
As they pulled up to and across the southern bridge the captain looked back, watching the enemy occupy the buildings left standing. "Long ago when I was just a private, we were given a speech by a colonel as part of our welcome. He told us that no matter how much we trained, the battlefield will never be the same. You'll have different terrain, different enemies, even different weapons. But there are always going to be two things that are always the same. And he said, 'There are 2 things you need to know, men: Never underestimate the intelligence of a human...'"
The captain pulled out a small box with a red button under a cover. The sergeant realized with wide eyes that it was a remote detonator. There must have been a failsafe!
"'...and never underestimate the sheer stupidity of a human.'" As they crossed the southern bridge, the captain pressed the button with a smile. "I took that lesson to heart." They were far enough from the blasts that they were only slightly deafened. | Humans, an enigmatic race that survived countless disasters caused by their own kind, from their own planet burning, to a disease spreading (and not listening to medical professionals), and even through entering the "furnace", or as they call them stars
I silently watched the human, his hands working masterfully to craft something, the speed and precision displayed without pause or any instructions was a sight to behold, truly a marvel to watch them create something from their mind, and when they finished they held the sphere in their hand
"Hey globgore, catch" said the human, throwing the spherical object but before it could hit me a small part of it extended, using my forehead as a platform and shooting itself back, the human was in a position to catch the sphere, but his hands where misplaced and his forehead was hit, as the "legs" off the sphere where fully extended It hit him instead of bouncing off
"I believe this is what you humans refer as karma" i told the human in a deadpan voice
"Smartass, also I'm Mike with a C, not human" Mice said
"I believe this is what you rodents refer to as karma" I shot back
"HEY" he shouted, although he didn't seem outwardly offended | 2021-04-23T16:54:51 | 2021-04-23T16:50:56 | 36 | 27 |
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight. | “There were some… complications,” the doctor told me. My head spun for a moment, and as my vision blurred with worry, the doctor’s white lab coat disappeared against the white walls of the hospital. I shook my head to bring my vision back.
“With… with the surgery?” I asked. I turned and looked through the glass at the room my friend Melissa was in, asleep in the hospital bed, a bandage still wrapped around her eyes.
“Not with the surgery… we’re… we’re not sure exactly what’s wrong. The procedure was a success; she should be able to see fine… She’s chosen to put the blindfold back on herself,” the doctor said. “It could be the anesthetic that we used, but it appears she's having hallu-”
At this point I tuned the doctor out. I didn’t feel like listening to his dissertation full of complicated medical terms I wouldn’t understand. I put my hand up on the glass, and felt my heart pound in my chest. “I’ll keep my promise,” I whispered to myself as I flexed my fingers against the glass. I was the one who had encouraged her to go through with the process. If something had gone wrong...
“… Sir?” the doctor said, an annoyed fluctuation to his voice.
“Oh, yes, sorry,” I apologized, facing the man.
“You were the only person on her emergency contacts list… does she have any other family we should notify?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Her family was in a bad traffic accident years ago. She was the only survivor. My family took her in after that.”
***BOOM!***
The doctor and I jumped, and looked towards the window. Melissa was standing right in front of the glass, snickering. She had taken the blindfold off, and her blue eyes sparkled as she smiled warmly and waved to me through the glass. The doctor didn’t seem amused. He snorted shortly, and folded his arms. “Well, she suddenly seems in a better mood.”
I didn’t react. I was too busy realizing this was the first time Melissa had ever actually seen me, and a wave of insecurity washed over me. I pushed that aside; this moment’s focus needed to be on her. My best friend who had been blind since her birth could finally see. “You can go in if you’d like,” said the doctor. I turned to him, with a blank expression. “… The doors there. Go on in.” I nodded, and a wide grin spread across my face as I moved to the door and turned the handle. As soon as there was enough space for a body between the door and the door frame, Melissa leapt into me.
“Corey!” she cried happily, greeting me with a hug. I held her tightly for a moment before she stepped back. Then she set her hands against my face and felt the contours of my features. I stood still, patiently. I was used to this. “Yeah… that’s about right,” she remarked as her eyes followed her hands. Then she grinned slyly. “… You’re not as tall as I thought you would be.”
“I’m still taller than you,” I reminded her.
She pouted exaggeratedly for a moment. “I’ll have to get another surgery to fix that at some point.” I rolled my eyes, and was not prepared for Melissa’s reaction to that. “What did you just do!? What was that? Why did your eyes do that?” she questioned, excitement in her voice.
“That’s what ‘rolling your eyes’ is,” I informed her.
“Oh…” she said thoughtfully. Then her brow furrowed. “Hey!” she cried. I just laughed. Then Mellissa looked past me to the doctor. “So when can I get out of here?” she asked.
“Soon,” he said. “I just to finish up the discharge paperwork. You sure you’re alright?”
“Absolutely!” she declared, giving a thumbs-up. “I’m ready to see the world!” Melissa’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.
I couldn’t help but smile, not just with my mouth, but with my entire being. Melissa had always been full of life despite her disability, but the energy that radiated from her was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I couldn’t wait to drive her around town, and show her everything. I couldn’t wait to see her eyes continue to sparkle with awe at everything she had been missing out on for the first 20 years of her life.
But then, a short while later, once we were situated in my car and beginning to pull out of the hospital parking lot, she pulled the blindfold back over her eyes.
“Melissa? What are you doing?” I asked.
“Just go. Take me home,” she said shortly. If I hadn’t been looking at her, I would have thought a different person had spoken.
“What? Why? Don’t you want to-” I started to protest.
“GO,” she said, intensity in her voice. I closed my mouth. “… We need to get away from here before they notice.”
“… They? … The doctors?” I asked.
Melissa shook her head. “Go. Just go. We need to go. Stop talking and go,” she said. She kept her voice calm, but a certain waver in her tone told me she was on the verge of losing her nerve.
“… Melissa… if you’re not feeling well maybe we should stay here and-” I was silenced again as she set her hand on my leg.
“… Corey. Please. Drive me home. It’s not safe here,” she said quietly.
I swallowed, wondering what the right thing to do was, but my gut told me she was serious. I nodded, and pulled out of the parking lot.
https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCornerStories/ | "So, Mr. Crowley, how are you feeling?"
"I feel like... look, I know, I have a whole new planet to explore in front of me. I just don't know... if I can get used to this chaotic atmosphere. Don't get me wrong, I am more than grateful. I cannot thank you enough, Dr. Crowe, it's just extremely unusual... and distracting for me."
"It is perfectly normal to experience anxiety and panic-attack like symptoms. After all, you gained a basic sense. Just take it slow, and enjoy your surroundings. Now, do you have any pain or discomfort?"
"I have a slight headache, nothing more."
"Okay... all tests checked normal, but since curing your blindness is a major operation, I have to ask you some questions concerning your visual capacity."
"Sure, go ahead."
Neville Crowley was sitting in the middle of the white room. Until ten minutes ago, it was a whole different world for him. He had been born blind, and was selected for an experimental blindness treatment six months ago. And today, he had the final operation and the bandages were just recently removed. For the first time in his life, he was seeing. Colours, shapes, glass of a window, edge of a table, shadows, his face, hands, people around him, his girlfriend... It was one hell of an experience, full of surprises.
Interestingly, after years of living without sight, it was easy for him to adapt. His expectations were almost completely fulfilled. He was a perceptive man, after all.
"Is your office always that crowded, Dr. Crowe? No offense, but I would like to have some privacy."
"What do you mean?" Doctor Crowe looked really puzzled.
"Clearly, the girl sitting in front of the window, is she also a patient? Also, the old man near the bed, I never heard any voice, but anyway, I thought that this was a private examination after the-"
"What girls? Old man? Mr. Crowley, there is nobody else here."
"Haha, so funny. Honey, a little support here, would you?" Neville turned to his girlfriend. Her eyes were wide open, she was looking at him with a shocked expression on her face.
"Baby, you are frightening me. There is nobody else here. Doctor, could this be a complication of the surgery?"
"Not possible, we have never touched a single cell concerning the brain or the nerves. However, his brain might be conflicting with the visual stimulants. If this is the case, they will be gone in a short period of time. I need to get some details before the hallucinations disappear, for my report. Mr. Crowley, can you describe me the people that you see?"
"Look, there is a girl sitting in front of the window, blonde, a teenager. With a black skirt and a red t-shirt. Miss, hello? Can you hear me? Old man, Mr, you, can you hear me? Hey!"
They were not answering. Not even looking.
"The old man, wearing glasses, has a yellow mustache. Wearing a shirt with rectangle symbols. Looking in his 80's. Is he... drinking? Oh my god, so you are telling me my mind is creating these people. How delightful."
Doctor was sweating, he quickly sat down on his chair. He looked extremely pale.
"The girl, does she wear a necklace?"
"Are you making fun of me? Why the hell should I-"
"Just check, will you?"
Neville got up and got closer to the teenager. She did not notice Neville. Neville got closer and saw that she was wearing a golden necklace. There was a name hanging from the necklace. Susan. Her name, apparently.
"Yes doctor. My troubled mind created a girl, and put her a necklace, thanks to you. And gave her a name too, Susan. Doctor, when those hallucinations disappear? Because they look incredibly real. I am really nervous, please..."
Doctor Crowe was not listening to him anymore. He was crying. He was crying, because the girl he was describing was his daughter, Susan Crowe, who got killed in a car crash ten years ago by an old man who was drinking and driving. Doctor Crowe had bought her this name-necklace the morning of the accident, but he couldn't give her. They had an argument that morning, and he decided not to give her the necklace. Two days later, he buried the necklace in his daughter's grave, and never told this to anybody.
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[WP] Everyone is born with a special talent that's weak when young, but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30. A kid that's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains. Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action. You? Well, cats just seem to like you...
*civilizations
Edit: WP was more popular than I though. Reading through the stories delayed because I'm traveling. Keep them coming I'm loving them! | "...happy birthday to you!" I blew out the candles on my birthday cake and wished for my talent to shine through this year. All of my friends were blessed with special talents-superhuman strength, blazing speed, inconceivable intelligence- but I seemed average in all aspects.
Now on my 30th birthday, I was reaching the maturation of my talent, and the only thing that seemed interesting about me was the fact that every time I went to the animal shelter, cats sat down and peered at me from their crates. When I left the animal shelter, they all went berserk, hissing and scratching at volunteers and patrons following my departure. I had actually been banned from two animal shelters for this strange and unexplained behavior.
Ever since people had started being born with weak talents that grew stronger until their 30th birthday, the human population saw an all-time high growth rate. We were fascinated by the variety of talents and thought these talents would save the human race. While many pressing issues such as climate change and national debt were seeing improvement, poverty was high and those with less special talents (like myself) struggled to find reasonable employment.
Because I was not a competitive prospective employee, I could hardly afford a place to live and enough food to eat. I was allowed to stay in a bedroom at a friend's place and mostly ate leftovers that were about to be thrown out. I saw less and less handouts these days though, as more special talents arose and more "average" citizens lost their jobs.
One morning, I was scrounging some dumpsters for breakfast, but they were all empty. The homeless and "average" citizens littered the sidewalks while the "specials" walked past to begin their days at work. I was cold, had one week to move out of my friend's house (because he was recently let go from his job and was losing his home), and I had half a can of mandarin oranges in his fridge that I had been trying to make last. Unable to find any food to eat, I ambled back home to eat the last of my mandarin oranges, but still found my stomach growling after the oranges were gone.
I turned my head to the right to look out of the window and try to come up with a plan to survive. Suddenly, a cat I had never seen before leaped onto the windowsill with a hot dog in its mouth. I opened the window, and the cat dropped the hot dog at my feet and climbed back out of the window into the frosty grass. Hungry and unwilling to waste the food, I grilled the hot dog and ate it, finally calming my rumbling belly.
Twice a day, the same cat appeared in the windowsill, dropping food at my feet and leaving immediately after. That last week I had at my friend's house, I was able to eat what the cat brought me and collect other food items out of dumpsters to take with me when I lost my home.
When I finally had to leave home, I knew I would never see the cat again. Much to my surprise, a few days later the cat found me curled up on the sidewalk with my back to an old brick building. I was cold and nearly out of supplies, but the cat rubbed up against me and gave me a knowing look before leaving me.
For the next several months, this cat (along with many others) began bringing me food, socks, blankets, medication, and many other supplies that allowed for my survival. They were bringing me so many things that I was able to help other "averages" out when they were suffering. I still had no place to live but my cats and my newfound friends stayed near and kept me warm at night. Even though sickness and poverty were killing off a growing portion of the human population, I was hopeful that the cats would keep me alive. They made me optimistic for the future and grateful for the present.
Soon enough, the government recognized the harm done by the separation of the "averages" and the "specials". They banned use of our special talents unless an emergency demanded our talents be used. Life began to look more normal, and more of the "averages" were able to find jobs. As for me? I opened my own animal shelter, determined to find homes for all the cats that had kept me alive in my times of hardship. They seemed to trust me to find them the perfect fit, and to this day I continue rehoming abandoned and stray cats. | In the beginning when I was a child stray cats would follow me home almost everyday. My mother would scold me and chase them away with a broom or whip her apron at them. But regardless of her efforts the cats would park their furry tails outside our home and meow endlessly into the night.
The meowing drove our neighbors to near insanity. Jacob the neighbor boy played any instrument beautifully, he would become one of the most incredible musicians the world had ever heard. But the infernal meowing made practice almost impossible, so his parents put their home up for sale and moved away from the "cat house".
One by one each neighbor put their houses up for sale and moved away. Unfortunately those houses never actually sold because no buyer was foolish enough to live near the cat house. Soon I was all alone, every kid my age had moved away and I was avoided like the plague. But, I had my cats. All three hundred and sixty two of them. I used to give them names, but even that became impossible. So now I just numbered them. Dr. Meowsauce the second, third, and so on.
Days passed and I grew older. My mother passed away days before my thirtieth birthday. It nearly broke my heart. She was my rock, my beacon in the storm, my only true human friend. The only attendees at her funeral were myself, the priest, and six hundred and seventy seven cats.
The morning of my birthday I woke up to begin my regular routine. Find and dispose of the hundreds of mice the cats had killed and left for me the night before. Eat breakfast, clean the house a bit and spend time with the cats.
"Daniel. It's time we talked," a small voice said.
I spun around in search for the origin of the voice. Sitting on the kitchen table was Dr. Meowsauce the First. He was old, his fur ratty and matted but he held his head up with pride.
"It's time that you know the truth Daniel," Dr. Meowsauce spoke without moving his thin black lips, he spoke directly into my mind.
"We have been waiting for this day for a long time. Cats have been wandering the Earth for eons waiting for our savior. For you Daniel."
"What are you talking about?"
"The prophecy! One day a human would be born that will lead the felines in battle. To finish our eternal struggle once and for all."
"Battle? Against what?"
A sharp howl interrupted my next question. Then another howl echoed the first. Soon barking and howling came from every direction.
"Prepare yourself Daniel. They've come," Dr. Meowsauce said bitterly and extended his claws.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories! | 2016-12-30T09:33:18 | 2016-12-30T08:26:44 | 250 | 150 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | Ganth stared at Blith for a moment, pondering what he just heard. "The humans, a war species, fight for peace?" Ganth's headspines twitched with confusion, the blue planet slowly spinning peacefully just outside of the ship's window. "Baffling, isn't it? The Leogarn's fight because that's what they've evolved to do. The Subjugator's uh...well that's self-explanatory. But the Humans aren't even a unified race! They're unified by economy, but not by government. One civilization will actively mettle with another's government, to either undermine or support." Blith stated, staring at the planet.
"Ganth, this species isn't space fairing. But could you imagine how our delicate balance in the galaxy would be overturned?" Blith asked, his photoluminescence lines slowed in pulses. "I've read the data blocks. I've studied the crude weaponry they deploy. The Allied Republic outright banned nuclear arsenals...but these Humans have thousands of these massive destructive weapons stockpiled away." Ganth paused for a moment. "It's frightening, knowing there is a race more destructive than the Kargons." The silver console suddenly lit up and projected a hologram of a writhing mass of tentacles. "Sargent Blith, Lance Ganth, status report." Shrieked the mass.
Blith and Ganth immediately stood to attention. "Lieutenant Shilus, we are sending a data block of our findings. Our personal opinion for the Humans is that we do not Uplift them, nor do we announce the Galactic presence to them." Blith stated. The Shilus hologram had received the block and began reading it, Blith's bulletpoints and bookmarks helped Shilus to understand the humans in a quick manner. Silent and tense moments pass, the pair awaiting the verdict they'd carry out for the humans. "Take no further action than to remain cloaked and keep studying the Humans. A detachment is being deployed for more man power and to resupply you." Shilus finally said.
"Roger, Lieutenant Shilus." Blith said. The hologram winked out, signifying the comm channel was closed. "This is the last time we volunteer for any sort of "scouting" mission." Ganth coldly said. "They're the easiest missions to do where we aren't in direct fire! Why won't you volunteer for any more?" questioned Blith. "It's because we end up spending months away from our home galaxy! We see all these alien worlds, but what use is it when a one month scouting mission turns into a two year scouting outpost!?" Ganth's spines now stood up in frustration.
Elsewhere, Shilus now floated before a counsel of various races. The data block being streamed to each of their Slates. "Thanks to the best Scouting party under my command, they've been able o attain all of this important information about the new race that have named themselves "Humans". I do believe this war experienced species would be an excellent addition to spearhead our expedition force into new galaxies."
---------
Trying to get back into writing. What do you guys think? | Humanity.
A weird species.
Instead of opting for an optimal utopian government made of people who have passed standard intelligent tests, they decided to let the people vote despite how bad the choice is.
Now, about war. Humans are supposed to be a subspecies of a warring race that we planted on this planet years ago, but yet, they’ve become... weird.
War happens a lot. Humanity’s incredible capacity of inhuman cruelty far exceeds almost every species on the list. They engineered and devised weapons that is efficient for one specific job, taking life, especially of their own. Swords, guns, grenades, tanks, poison gas, and atomic bombs. These devices were engineered just to slaughter their own species.
Yet it seems we overlooked one thing.
It’s the one thing keeping the humans from going mindless. Something that rivals the incredible capacity they have for cruelty.
And it’s their incredible capacity they have for kindness.
Despite the corporates trying to take over. Despite the allure of taking over and dominating, these humans are also capable of diplomatic relationships, of altruistic behaviors towards their own species. Among the numerous villains throughout history, there were countless heroes who shows an endless capacity of kindness towards their own species despite the morbid situations.
There was ghandi, Who despite getting abused, fought a peaceful war and wish to end things without bloodshed.
There was Martin Luther King, who died a hero for the war he fought for peace despite getting jailed and abused.
In fact, even the warring type holds this capacity for kindness.
Nazi soldiers who secretly let people go free. Killers who care more about their sons then their well beings. And bullies who turned themselves and decide to be kind.
Humanity shall and always will be one of the cruelest species in the galaxy, but will also be the kindest species who fought for peace. | 2018-03-17T04:49:59 | 2018-03-17T04:45:25 | 229 | 65 |
[WP] Humanity as a species has one feature that makes them unique (read terrifying) to the other species in the interstellar council. Whats considered as natural toxin for others is just a spice or a added flavour for humans.
Inspired by this comment,
Coffee: [Produces caffeine as a poison with which to protect itself from other plants.]
Mint: [Produces menthol as a poison with which to protect itself from insects.]
Chilis: [Produce capsaicin as a poison with which to protect themselves from animals.]
Humans: "Hmmmm, yes, very tasty! More, please!" | Capt. Fleex say at his desk, readying the troop listings for the invasion. These humans would be so useful. They were not particularly physically powerful, but they could be clever and had some of the most dexterous digits in this quadrant of the Galaxy. They would make excellent detail or repair workers. And when they no longer served their purpose, they were basically sacks of meat with no natural armors to get in the way of food processing.
The door opened and Fleex's head of intelligence, Corv, entered the room.
"Report." Fleex said.
"Sir, I think we might have to call off the invasion." Corv said. "After careful observation, we believe that although their labor value is still high, their nutritional value is problematic."
"Explain." This was not something he had heard on the initial reports on the planet. But, then again, those initial reports were notorious for either leaving out important details or getting things wrong.
"Their planet, local name Earth, is home to a naturally occurring source of yuival."
Fleex shuddered at the mention of that cursed substance. It was known as one of the most toxic substances in the galaxy, and was illegal just about everywhere. But, it was also strictly an ingested toxin, and could be avoided.
"So, avoid the plants which produce it."
"Well, that's the thing, sir. They, uh, they eat it."
Fleex froze. Eat yuival? Impossible. Maybe as some sort of ritual suicide? When he brought up the possibility, Corv looked nervous.
"Uh, no, sir. They eat it because they enjoy it. They call it capsaicin, and use it as a common food additive. They've even bred plants with higher amounts in them. They have entire rituals dedicated to eating these plants. I have watched visual media consisting of them eating the seed baring bodies of these plants, and then suffering through the resulting pain for the entertainment of others. I have seen these plants used to make sauces and condiments. They have contests to see who can eat more of it. They sell plants with lower amounts of it along their normal fruit and vegetable produce. It is everywhere."
Fleex was having trouble respirating. How could anyone eat such a toxic substance and survive? The humans must indeed have been far more formidable than initially thought.
"I see. Other than that, what's your assessment?"
"Invasion prospects are risky now. While their technology is simple, they are smarter than we give them credit for. They are particularly adept at developing weapons and tools for war. It is only a matter of time before they discover how toxic yuival is for us, and figure out a way to weaponize it. While they are still useful for labor, it could be too risky to take the planet, and they have very strong negative feeling towards forced labor and slavery in general. They will not come quietly, nor will they stay complacent for long."
Fleex closed his eyes and thought. Corv was an excellent intelligence operative, and was rarely wrong about these things. The last time he said something similar about a race, it had ended in disaster for the group who still made the attempt.
"Very well. Send the report to High Command, and tell them that Earth is off limits. At least, until someone finds a way to neutralize yuival." | "Even colloidal Cesium would fail to cause harm?"
Boss Glek stroked his gills for a long, quiet moment. "Somehow, I doubt it," he finally intoned. "But good luck getting your hands on it. And good luck with your task." Boss Glek bulged his eyes politely, and sank into the blue water, leaving Nelgel alone in the visiting chamber.
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Nelgel stroked his gills.
"So, not immune to *everything,* then," he thought. His assignment had been strange to start with: take the eukon berries and leaves of The Third People's diet, and dress them up somehow to impress the alien visitors. Nelgel could appreciate a good leaf, sure, but this type of creativity had never been his strong suit. Now, he understood why he had been chosen: the task, ultimately, was not a creative one, but a clinical one. Find something that would kill one of the aliens, but not any of The Third People who ate with them. Nelgel went to his records pond to contemplate the problem.
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It was the second part that posed the real issue, so Nelgel decided to start there. He scraped some dried algae off the walls with his chitinously scaled fingers, and sprinkled it into the pool. The fish swarmed around the food, and then bobbed quietly, awaiting a command.
"I'd like to view cases of People surviving poisoning." The tiny fish arranged themselves into a series of lines that represented a number: four. "Well, at least we can try everything."
After further review, Nelgel decided to start with the partially decomposed eukon berry juice. Apparently the aliens drank something similar called "wine," so it should be easy to pass off.
He really hoped it would work; the next one was spinefish toxin. | 2021-05-22T08:43:56 | 2021-05-22T08:36:46 | 79 | 31 |
[WP] Some nut job from a joint Japanese-American defense technology company thought that replacing traditional tanks with 80ft tall bipedal robots is a good idea. This pisses you off so much that you're determined to create a tank that can counter them in every way imaginable at 1/10th of the cost. | "Bravo 5, return to your position! He could be anywhere! Formation Phalanx Bravo!"
The remains of the 07th MS squad formed a rough circle, facing outwards in all directions. Peering above the trees of the sparse forest as the light of the day waned, they surveyed the terrain. It should have been a simple exercise: take out a new prototype in a mock battle. The brass even flew them in from their peacekeeping operation in Southeast Asia, along with their custom battle mechs. They were the best MS team available, with multiple successful operations on their decorated record.
Now, only five remained.
Sergeant Chuck squinted at his radar, an old habit he never quite shook, as if narrowing his eyes would somehow improve the resolution of his tactical display. He cycled through thermoptics, then through magnetic resonance. Nothing. Whatever this thing was, it was a sneaky bastard. Probably some composite space-age material. One by one, the last things most members of his squad had seen before falling silent was a rustling in the underbrush, followed by a gyroscope failure warning in each mech.
They were literally dropping like flies, and still no closer to figuring out what the hell they were facing. The sergeant first class in charge was mum on the nature of their opponent; they were to go in blind.
"Movement, 6 o'clock!"
"Delta Formation to 6! Open fire!"
With precision honed from years of warfare, the team took less than five seconds to move from a circle into a wedge formation pointing east, opening fire as each took their place. Mock fire or not, the dummy rounds pummeled the brush into mulch over 50 meters. Every muzzle flash gleamed off the polished metal of the four towering mechs.
"Cease fire!"
It took Chuck a moment to realize what had happened. Mendez was gone; the smooth precision of his team had been turned into a chaotic intercession by whatever monster was stalking them. Squad status this time only indicated a brief integrity failure of the right foot actuator on Mendez's mech before she was swiftly taken down. He hadn't even heard the warning chirp; it had happened under the cover of their own weapons fire.
The remaining light was a glimmer on the horizon now, and it was clear this terrain was going to be a liability. He needed to get them to higher ground, and a nearby cliff would be perfect.
"Squad, fallback to waypoint Tango Charlie Zeta! We need the advantage of height! Double-time!"
The thunder of the mechs echoed through the forest as they made no attempt to hide their movement. As each sped off ahead, Chuck mulled their remaining options. If they could perform tandem sweeps of the surrounding terrain for disturbance-
A chirp disrupted his thoughts. Then another. They were being cut down.
This was it; he unsheathed his mock blade as the last chirp echoed in his cockpit, indicating how alone he was now. He may have failed them, but he would *not* fail the team. Crouching for maximum visibility below the trees, he switched to full optical vision.
He peered through his surrounding monitors with his unflinching gaze. His blade was held in his mechanized hand as if it was an extension of himself in full manual mode, sacrificing the efficiency the machine for the deadly precision of his honed instincts.
Movement. Tall grasses clearly bent as something was pushing through. It looked...rectangular. Basic. With things raised in an orderly fashion on its top. But somehow, this 6-sided shape sent chills through his spine.
Not a man to wait with his quarry in sight, Chuck leaped forward. His powerful mechanized legs flung his mech forward like a clap of thunder, followed by the whistling of air pushing past his airborne frame. One strike.
Seconds before he struck his target, it was gone. As his eyes grew wide, the sound of his metal frame crunching to the ground was met with a shrill integrity alarm. It sounded as if his entire suit was screaming in pain as the sheer volume of red warning text turned his cockpit crimson. The mech's left foot was...gone, followed by a sickening lurch as his gyros lost their way. Cursing to himself, he heard the all clear on the comms.
"*Simulation complete. 7th MS squad: 9 casualties. Dr. Faucet: 0 casualties. Dr. Faucet wins."*
\------
It was supposed to stay classified beyond his pay grade, but in the end Sergeant Chuck had convinced his superiors he deserved to know what had wiped out his team. As he stepped into the hanger bay, Dr. Sarah Faucet honestly couldn't help but shoot him a wry grin. She knew she had won more than just a mock battle. After cordial introductions, she immediately launched into a small tour.
"Sergeant, this is the **L**ogistical **E**lectric **G**e**O**spatial Tank. Hard, battle tested plastics, a nimble all-terrain off-the-shelf omni-directional tread system, and a completely self-contained electrical powertrain that shunts all heat to a radiant capacitor. And the shell can withstand over 80 tons of pressure spread out over the average size of, say, a standard mechanized infantry unit's foot."
He stood silent. He tried to hide how incredulous he was. This didn't mix well with his anger over the loss.
"It's....a *brick. A fucking. plastic. brick.*"
She smiled. "And a cheap one at that. We didn't even send out the variants with armaments. We can make twenty for the cost of a single mech. Think of it this way: we have an entire battlefield of enemy soldiers convinced the bipedal mech is the next generation of warfare, and we can silently exploit its biggest weakness."
Chuck clinched his teeth. "And what, doctor, would that be?"
Sarah tilted her head as she shot him a bemused look. "The same weakness the human foot has: stepping on small, plastic bricks." | General Graves was chewing on his half smoked domestic cigar in anger as he stared at the monitor. The United Japanese Coalition had come up with an abomination to replace the backbone of the Military artillery forces. The M1 tank. The designation BM-452 which was a dubbed the “Samurai Marine” was an 80 ft mech. It was controlled by one person and can be deployed from a C130 anywhere in the world in less then 12 hours. The problem for graves was that it was slow and clunky. Yes it can be deployed fast but getting to the target was another story. Not only was it slow but the armor was not even close to what it needed to be. Especially around its fusion core drive engine. One direct hit and the explosion takes out the entire division. It stood 80 ft when erect and its two 17” canons mounted to its shoulders and 20 mm Gatling gun which took place of what most would be considered a left hand was not nearly enough firepower. The “pilot” was less protected then the drive core. He sat in what would be considered “the head” covered by an experimental polymer plastic dome for 360 degree vision. The HUD was integrated into the dome to allow for better targeting. The armor was again experimental metal called “green metal” . It was supposedly a “living metal” which was developed from a mix tree bark and steel. They “say” that given enough time the metal could actually “heal” itself. Graves never understood how this was the case but the cost just simply didn’t justify it. It all sounded good on paper but the cost just simply didn’t justify it and the last time he saw this armor in action a few years ago it failed miserably. What was going through the brasses heads when this rubber stamped was beyond his comprehension. The fusion drive was probably the best part of the this infernal machine. It was experimental but passed just about every test graves had witnessed. The core itself was small and durable but that being said it had it had one big issue. It needed to be protected because a single 9mm caused a 20ft diameter crater in a concert floor. Still it could power that mech nonstop for 2 months at full power. The mechanics of the power train system though didn’t take advantage of the core’s full potential. It was bipedal system that could only achieve a top speed of 50 mph which was only slightly faster then the M1’s 45 mph. He felt that this project was rushed and if given a little more time the coalition would’ve seen his designs and this “machine” would’ve never been built.
Graves continued to stew as he looked from his monitor down to his desk at the blueprints sitting in front of him. While the US military swooned over the possibly of a mech and the fancy tech that the Japanese government conceived but needed our resources to develop. Graves thought this whole venture was bullshit. He had developed a replacement that was lighter, faster, stronger, and more cost effective . His N1 designed which he named the “Striker Assault Tank” was his ideal up grade from the M1. It did match the 452 with the fusion drive core but it instead of powering the mech for its 2 months, it could power his N1 non stop for over a year without refueling. The N1 would too have one pilot but he was in the center of the tank with an access door at the top and bottom of the vehicle. Armed with two automatically rearming 130mm guns mounted to the top of the tank with 10mm Gatling guns mounted to both the sides and front of the tank. It had carbon titanium armor which light weight durable and cost A LOT less. With the tried and true tread design it achieved a top speed of 60 mph Over all, Graves felt , his design would’ve been better all the way around but no one would listen.
Graves laid his cigar in the ashtray to die as he rolled up his blueprints. He had to make the joint chiefs listen to him. His aid, Lt. Marko, walked in the door. The lean African American Lt. Stood at attention with a smile n his face. Graves met the eager mans gaze.
“What is it Lieutenant?” Graves asked
“General. We received a call from General Perks.” Smiling the whole time he said it.
“and?” He simply replied
“ He wants you to brung your designs to the White House for special meeting with the president and joint chiefs.” He replied
“Finally!” He roared as he grabbed his designs | 2021-08-12T15:08:28 | 2021-08-12T12:15:29 | 45 | 22 |
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins" | *Peter Lowe has joined respawn lobby chat #854393845*
*Server: Earth (pre-Cataclysm)*
*Players in server respawn lobby chat: 38*
Jack Howard: lMAO
Ellie Johnson: wtf dude
Harley Smith: whyyyyyy did u do this
Peter Lowe: WTF is this
Joseph Gabriel: I think it's his first game guys, easy
Peter Lowe: what's going on
Leshawn Okoye: what a fucking n00b
Leshawn Okoye: srsly who the fuck dies to falling down stairs
Leshawn Okoye: STAIRS
Peter Lowe: Where am I? What the hell's going on?
Leshawn Okoye: AT 33 FUCKING YEARS OLD
Joseph Gabriel: this is the Roy: Universe beta
Leshawn Okoye: COMPLETELY SOBER
Leshawn Okoye: HOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
*Bonnie Eilhart has disconnected from chat: respawned*
Ellie Johnson: lol leshawn
Joseph Gabriel: This your first game, Peter?
Harley Smith: obvisouly fuking faggot tripped down some stairs and died apparently
Peter Lowe: help me i'm trapped in this pod I can't see
Cho Zhao: dude's probably got that memory bug
Joseph Gabriel: There's a solution on the forums somewhere, I'd suggest looking there
Cho Zhao: i got that my first time, gave me a hell of a scare when I despawned
Peter Lowe: so
Peter Lowe: i'm dead
Peter Lowe: where's my wife? daughter? are they somewhere here?
Cho Zhao: yeah he's got it for sure
Jack Howard: that bug SUCKS i had to redownload everything about my meatspace life
Jack Howard: took like 20 minutes
Peter Lowe: fuck this I need help and it's not gonna be here
Joseph Gabriel: Try messaging a mod dude, there's no use panicing
Peter Lowe: i need to leave one way or another
*Peter Lowe has disconnected from chat: connection manually terminated*
Jack Howard: o shit
Stephanie Colter: whats going on in this chat
Stephanie Colter: seriously i'm getting so many notifications
Jack Howard: dumbass just hard DC'd after dying for the first time
Jack Howard: and his pre-Roy memories were wiped
Stephanie Colter: lol
Leshawn Okoye: hope the admins can help him before he completely loses it
Stephanie Colter: seriously what's with these respawn timers why are they so long
Leshawn Okoye: idk it's just a beta it'll be patched
Jack Howard: Roy developers have always ben lazy it'll never be patched out
Leshawn Okoye: fuck you dude if you hate them so much why do you play it
Leshawn Okoye: no-life nerd
Jack Howard: fuck you
Leshawn Okoye: fuck you
| It felt strange, really. To feel the AC blast into my eyes once more, after what seemed like decades of "living". My head was swarming with old memories, found deep inside my brain as the new ones i made clashed and toiled.
This damn thing was clearly an addictive...drug, if you will. hastily checking the time, i saw only 2 hours had passed. 76 years of life compressed into 2 damn hours? my brain hurt, along with my body, as it struggled to get a grip on reality again.
"So, did you have fun this time?" said Mira as she walked up to my console.
"Actually, yeah. Got born into the middle class for once. Around the 2000s, too.Not some damn child worker in the 1890s." i replied, soothed by her familiar voice.
"Well, you missed dinner by a long time. Its cold on the table if you want it." she yelled across the house, heading for the bathroom. "for once could you not miss spending some time with me?"
"Hey, this is only the 3rd time." i retorted. "besides, your logged hours still dwarf mine."
i sighed, knowing arguing with her would be the end of my voice. i closed the program down, making sure to unplug my sensor from the computer. Hell, this implant was worth every credit i spent. Mira's, not so much. i glanced at the application one last time, whispering the words to myself as I shut off the screen.
"Life Before Geos, United States of America Edition."
| 2015-11-25T00:31:04 | 2015-11-24T23:03:11 | 1,235 | 737 |
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution" | Hellfire and death fluttered down from the sky. Ashy snowflakes, falling burning. Through the rapidly-heating window of his office building, Federation Commander Korthu watched the foreign spaceships drop fire on the capital city. Below him, people ran, their many-tentacled bodies writhing, as smolding debris crushed them. The screams of his people rose up to find him.
"Well," Korthu said. "This all seems rather unnecessary."
He used a tentacle to pull a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dab at his boneless head. He looked like an squid that decided to climb out of the ocean and walk one day.
Behind him, his military advisor, a lavender-colored cephalopod, said in a stern voice, "They appear to be from the Milky Way sector we routed six solar cycles ago, sir."
"*Six*." He paced in front of his window, shaking his head.
One of those alien ships soared close enough that Korthu could see the bizarre alien driving it. Its horrifying, knobbed limbs clutched the steering as it lifted one arm to hold up a single finger.
The side of the spaceship read *S.S. Retribution*.
"I don't understand these humans." Korthu sighed as the ship trailed up a wall of fire in its wake. "You engage in one friendly act of war and they storm your planet."
"Perhaps we should consider evacuating, sir."
Korthu just shook his head. The city below him was a field of red and orange blooms. How many millions were left dead?
"All we did was crush a few buildings and take their... What is it... That fancy little toy that had in the harbor. The Statue of... Liturgy, something." Korthu squinted through the wreckage. There. He saw it. A huge statue of one of those strange alien women, holding up a burning torch. The humans had chained it to their craft and were lifting it up and up. "Oh that's bloody unfair. We nearly had a complete set!"
Korthu had made it his singular military aim to collect bizarre and multicolored alien statues from around the universe. He'd nearly had a full rainbow--even a few ultraviolets. And now they were taking back the jewel of his collection.
"Sir, we need to leave. *Now*."
"No point. Let them reanimate me." Korthu slumped dramatically against the window. "These humans don't play fair--"
Before he could finish, the window exploded inward. A wall of hot glass rocketed back against both Korthu and his advisor, reducing them to jelly almost instantaneously.
They weren't dead, exactly. They would reconstitute in a day or two, along with whatever citizens hadn't been vaporized altogether. They rebuilt themselves limb by limb from the wreckage.
And when they did, Korthu would look at the spotless sulfur sky and ask his advisor, "Do you think they'll notice if we take it back?"
***
/r/nickofstatic | we thought of them as saviors when they first came they expected immediate surrender on our part. They thought after slaughtering millions of lives we would surrender. they were wrong. We were faced with what could have been our destruction our annihilation but we would not so easily bend into their fold. Nay we rose against our attackers when they struck our cities we reverse engineered their technology and took the fight to the heavens where they came from. We used our own ships our own weapons of mass destruction and we slaughtered them like the dogs they were. They attempted to resist our retribution of course, They fought tooth and nail against us but they underestimated our ferocity as well as unleashing futuristic technology against them we used old tactics boarding ships and engaging in close quarters combat. We fought for years and we chased them down across the galaxy to their homeworld where we brought retribution to their doorstep we invaded their cities burned their capitals glassed their farms. We sent ground troops down to crush any chance they had at resisting our attacks. They came in the thousands but we came in the millions. Millions upon millions of angry and blood thirsty troops ready to revenge their losses back on earth when their cities were destroyed and we were forced to hide underground, Little did these invaders know of our resolve little did they know of our hate. Like striking a hornets nest we came at them as one and we crushed their fleets as one and we slaughtered their troops as one and we burned and glassed their planets and outposts as one. Because of these invaders we became one and we became the most fearsome civilization in the galaxy. | 2019-12-17T12:03:04 | 2019-12-17T11:20:18 | 421 | 21 |
[WP] You are an alien on your way to the SuperMax prison known as Earth, where you will spend the rest of your life as someone's pet. | I smirked as I faced my guard. "Do you seriously think I believe that nonsense about Earth?" I said. "I am by far the most feared creature in this section of the galaxy. There's no way you'll put me in the hands of some backwards hicks who don't even know who I am."
It was my third try at baiting him, but once again he only wagged his tail a little. Finally though, he spoke. "Do you know why we keep the Earthlings in the dark?" He asked, teasingly.
I did not. However, I hadn't gotten as far as I had without a little blustering. "Well, of course we kept them out." I replied, "they're dicks."
My guard nodded sagely, "that they are my friend." The ass sounded like he was giving a sermon. "However," he continued, "they are also unparalleled masters of manipulation."
I actually laughed. Guys will always try to pull something on the big criminals just to say they took a piece out of him, but this one was far and away the worst liar I'd ever seen. "And I suppose they'll convince me to stay?" I said. "Maybe even show me the error of my ways?"
"It is a little unbelievable," he agreed, "however it is very much true. Humans are spectacularly dangerous speakers. A single man is capable of dissolving a dog's sentience at 50 paces."
I snorted as he pulled the lever, ejecting me into my prison. However, I felt just a little anxious as a human approached.
"Who's this cute little fellow?" she crooned, rubbing my face with her paws. Inwardly I snorted at the guard's comments. I'd have this fool in my belly before that asshole was even out of the solar system.
"Who's a good boy?" she continued. I froze. My god. Who was a good boy? What was a good boy?
"You are!" she squealed. "You're a good boy! Yes you are. Yes you are!" She scratched my ears a little.
Oh my god. I was a good boy. I was the best boy. She wouldn't lie about that, would she? Who'd lie about something so important? Who could do that, and give such delightful ear scratchies? With a nearly inaudible clicking sound, I heard my brain unfocus. Hesitantly, I licked her face. I was a good boy. | Zurg stretched and yawned while laying on the couch. Sure, he wished he hadn't gotten caught smuggling narcotics from Alpha Centauri, but this could definitely be worse.
"Hey, kitties! Who's ready for some din-din?"
He could swear that the native Earth cats understood him on some level. He shared a mutual rolling of the eyes with them -- as close as cats could come to rolling their eyes, anyhow -- and they rolled to their feet to trot out to their dinner bowls with tails held high. The good thing about being a cat was that Zurg was allowed to keep his dignity. Mostly. At least the lady had gotten the idea that he wasn't too thrilled about being squeezed that way. Now he just had to tolerate being petted and told things that no sane Trimi would tell anybody else. As fun as it would have been to use that information to blackmail her, well, it wasn't like he could talk in any language that humans were fluent in. | 2016-01-10T13:43:44 | 2016-01-10T09:27:58 | 107 | 24 |
[WP] Two swords of godly origin lay stuck in stone. One is said to be evil the other heroic it is said whoever pulls one of these blades will be the ultimate force of good or evil. As a joke you pull on both however you and everyone around are in shock when both blades come free in your grasp. | A silence fell across the townsfolk as I stood there, the silver sword in my left hand and the gold in my right. I made eye-contact with Jack, who was standing as wide-eyed as everyone else in the crowd.
'This joke was not worth the 2 silver pieces he gave me,' I thought to myself and grimaced. How was I supposed to explain this situation to mother?
I looked down at the weapons in hand, which were strangely warm to the touch. The swords were surprisingly light and extremely detailed. The craftsmanship was evident, with beautifully engraved archaic characters danced across the blades. It was obvious that these swords were trapped in the stone for quite some time, and their newly-exposed blades shone brilliantly in the afternoon sun.
The priest, clearly in shock, regained his composure and proclaimed:
"Rejoice! It has been countless millennia since this has occurred. But finally, FINALLY, today, our very own Adalet has been chosen as a new vessel!"
Woohoo... wait a second... did he just say 'vessel'?
"With this miracle," the priest continued, "we can ensure peace and fairness will spread across the land! No crime will be left unsolved, no evil doer will go unpunished!"
The swords continued to get warmer, and I could feel the heat coursing through my arms, slowly making it's way across my body. I tried to let go of the weapons, but my hands wouldn't budge, as if frozen in time.
"H-Hey! I can't let go of these! Help me!" I desperately cried to the priest. But he ignored me and continued with his proclamation.
"This will be an era of unprecedented prosperity! Our little village will grow ten-fold and with it, bring riches and wealth!"
The heat had spread across my whole body, and was so unbearable that I fell to my knees, my entire body searing with pain. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout in agony, but I could hardly even breathe.
I don't want this. I want to go back home with mother, father, Alexander. Spend the days making bets and dares with Jack. Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? I don't to be some 'vessel,' some sort of freak.
My vision began to blur and everything started to grow dark. I felt the gold blade change shape, and before my vision faded to nothingness, I caught a glimpse of a newly formed golden scale clutched in my right hand.
As the pain finally started to subside, eyes devoid of sight and blind to the world, I heard the priest finish his speech:
"She, who is neither good nor evil, but simply righteous and fair. She, who judges the hearts of all who come before her. Hail to Lady Justice!" | At first I could not even comprehend what had happened. I was drunk and just pulled on them as a joke and did not even notice that I pulled them out. When I saw the faces of my friends, however, it started to become clear what I had done.
I quickly threw the swords on the ground and ran away. I have not seen my friends since that day, I have not returned to the town either. Stories have reached me though. Stories about the demon, or angel, who pulled the swords. The bipolar hero, or villain, who could wield both swords, but chose not to.
I have thought of returning, of course. Returning and picking the swords up again. With that kind of power I could rule the world, and no one could stop me. But I have not returned, I have stayed in the east, in hiding, because I am afraid of my evil side. The side that pulled the other sword. I cannot let that side of me rule anything, not even myself.
I hear footsteps outside, heavy, clanking, footsteps from feet clad in royal armour. They must have gone from village to village, searching for the master of both evil and good, and now they are here to take me away. I do not know how I managed to pull both swords, nor do I know what the soldiers will do to me. However, what I do know is that, whatever is to befall me, I deserve it. | 2020-07-27T03:24:19 | 2020-07-27T02:42:32 | 96 | 27 |
[WP] Last night, you made a wish to turn into your crush's ideal mate. This is NOT what you expected. | There she was again. God, I knew she would never even look in my direction being the scrawny nerd I was. She was always beaming up into the face of some muscle-headed idiot.
&nbsp;
Once, last summer, I managed to make eye contact for an eternity of a split second. Her eyes were limpid pools of raw sexuality and my face invented a new shade of red.
&nbsp;
Sighing, I moved through the crowds of students, blindly following her perfume trail from a safe distance. I found myself thinking the same thought that had been haunting my mind for some time: *Why the hell couldn't I have been better looking, more muscular, or at least funny?*
&nbsp;
Suddenly something was slipped into my hand. Startled out of my reverie, I looked around to determine who had given me the slip of paper and what felt like a lighter. Unable to discern a culprit, I quickly read the note:
**Use this when you are safe**
The day passed in a vague cloud of excited nervousness. I waited until the house was quiet and dark before pressing the lighter contraption. Nothing happened. At first.
&nbsp;
I could hear every heartbeat. I could almost pick out individual blood cells that were zipping through me. I waited. And waited. And...
**ONE WISH. NO MORE. THINK QUICKLY**
It popped into my head without even meaning it to. *I wish I could be who she really wants. The one she dreams of*
&nbsp;
I passed out immediately. I remember dreaming weird things. I opened my eyes groggily and rolled over. I felt...different. I yawned and stretched, and then it hit me like a lightning bolt; I had made a wish. I jumped up to look at myself in the mirror in my room, barely daring to hope. I passed out.
&nbsp;
I had to accept my new reality. It took some time, but I was finally starting to get a hang of it. The best moment came the following Monday at school when she came up to me and actually spoke directly to me, asking my name.
"Oh," I said, "My name is Joanna." | She was a mysterious girl, that's for sure. I hadn't known her very well, but we had gone through several years of school before I was at a mature age. She was polite, nice, but I'd never seen her talk. One night while thinking of her, I threw away the tissues and laid back in bed.
"I wish I was her perfect mate"
-
When I woke up the next morning, I felt a strong contrast. There was hair on my chest, hair all over me. My body was bigger, much bigger, almost occupying the entire bed. Still groggy, I got out of bed to look in a mirror, and a soft neigh escaped my lips.
I always knew she was a "horse girl". | 2015-12-18T12:50:28 | 2015-12-18T11:52:26 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] Getting tired of always being called upon when the police deem a case un-solvable, you take up a 9 to 5 job. You use your brilliant deductive skills to attempt to make sales and upset almost every customer who speaks to you. You are Sherlock Holmes, used car salesman.
Edit: This sub never ceases to amaze me! I've read every contribution so far and they have exceeded what I ever expected to read! Keep em coming!
Edit 2: The stories have kept coming and they are all very consistently amazing. All your plotlines have brightened my day and not a single one has failed to make me smile. | "You're here for a sports car. A convertible, I'm sure. Something with enough horsepower to blow that toupee straight off your head."
The man fidgeted with his fake hair uncomfortably and tried to brush a few strands over his sunburnt forehead. "Err, who are you?"
"Sherlock Holmes." The man stuck his pudgy hand out for a shake, but Sherlock just looked at it with a glance of disdain and kept his own hands clasped behind his back. "You're going to want the 2003 Mustang." he nodded to the back of the parking lot.
The man finally took the hint and let his hand drop back down to his side. "Well, I'm really just here to browse..." he answered.
"Of course you are," Sherlock said. "Come, I'll get the keys and show you the vehicle I have in mind." Without waiting for a confirmation from the customer, he turned back to the office and marched briskly away.
"I'm not sure if..." the man huffed, trying to keep up as they crossed the sea of black asphalt baking in the summer sun.
"If you're in the market for a sports car," Sherlock finished for him. "Of course you are."
"What makes you..."
"You're in your late fifties," Sherlock stopped mid-stride and turned to the man, boring into him with his piercing, commanding gaze. "You've had an affair recently as part of your mid-life crisis. Resentment had been building up in your marriage for a long time and you finally allowed your animal lust to take over. With your secretary, yes?"
The man gaped like a fish.
"Your wife found out, naturally. Part of you wanted to get caught. The divorce has certainly been messy, and she has hired a top-notch lawyer to milk you for every cent you've got. You, on the other hand, have decided to embrace the single life. You've been going out to bars and clubs, trying to meet women only to realize that it's much more difficult than in your youthful college days when all you had to do was press a fruity drink into a young lady's hand and tell her your name. Being an accountant isn't quite as sexy as you'd thought, is it? You've realized that your age and comfortable lifestyle have caught up with you, and you go home alone every night. And you've come here hoping that a flashy new car will be able to show these girls the perks of being with a *much* older man. But you don't have a lot of money, due to the aforementioned divorce. So you're looking for something that *seems* expensive, at a discounted price. *That* is why you're going to buy the blue Mustang in the corner."
"How did you..."
"Oh, please," Sherlock sneered. "You might as well buy a neon sign to carry around on your back with all of this information listed out. It's plain as day. You have a pile of work documents in your car, a 1996 Mercedes from back when you still had money. You have a smudge of lipstick on your collar, which would *appear* to indicate that the affair with your secretary is still ongoing, except for the fact that it appears to be at least two weeks old and the shirt has not been washed. You smell faintly of gin. You've got two faded entrance stamps on your hand. There are circles under your eyes and a tan line where your wedding ring used to be. And that toupee looks more like a piece of carpeting than a natural hairstyle. Now please stop wasting time so that I can go fetch the keys and get this damnable transaction over with."
The bell chimed as Sherlock entered the office and left the customer standing in shock on the pavement.
----
Sherlock returned to the office 45 minutes later and sat down at his desk with a sigh.
His boss looked down from his newspaper. "You make the sale?"
Sherlock put his feet up on the desk. "Yep."
"Good." The boss went back to reading, then paused.
"You make this one cry, too?"
Sherlock shrugged. "Yep." | "I just can't seem to get this job out of the ground, Watson."
"Gee, no shit Sherlock."
"Do people just not appreciate having the barest of facts laid about them? I'd pay a good sum to have someone 'dish the truth' about me."
"People don't exactly like being told their mums died painfully in cancer-filled sleep."
"It was a seventeen-year old girl, John. She'll get over it."
"Oh yeah, get over cancer! Pfft. And how much did you make on that sale, exactly? Two-thousand quid?"
"Err. She poured iced water on me and walked away."
"So you got off easy then, didn't you?"
"Screw you John, at least my wife didn't take my house in the divorce."
"Oh bugger off you deep-voiced, curly-haired prick."
"Ooh, funny story about curly-haired prick. See, there were these two men. Two lovely gentlemen, who wanted to buy this American motorcycle. A Harley."
"How'd you piss them off."
"See, I could deduce from the way one of them, Andy, was looking at the other, that he felt a strong sense of intimacy based on eye-contact and distance of standing."
"I see. And the other one?"
"The other one, Joseph, was feeling a bit nervous for some reason. He was fiddling around with his thumbs and didn't seem at all interested on my brief speech about the Harley's... car-bits. Kept looking at Andy in these weird half-glances and stammered when they spoke."
"Car-bits."
"Shut up. So, I'd thought I helped Joseph get over his little hurdle so I can bump the price up a tad bit for good measure. I told him that we were accepting of his reluctance and that we were all friends here..."
"You did not."
"... And that whatever choice in sexual partners he'd like to have, he would not be judged by any of the twenty-other potential buyers, including myself and ESPECIALLY Andy, in the lot that day, nor his family when he has the gall to tell them."
"Oh my god."
"Whoops."
"You fucking outed a homosexual."
"Two. I outed two. Also, Andy was actually bisexual based on the way he was eyeing an Essex girl's bum while I was off with some old boring fart."
"Jesus- HOW ARE YOU NOT SACKED YET?!"
"Because I'm Sherlock Fucking Holmes and the world revolves around me. Elementary, my dear Watson!"
"... Fuck my life, I'm rooming with a moron."
"Yes, a moron who just happens to be the smartest man who's ever lived."
"I didn't know Mycroft was moving in." | 2015-07-30T10:49:03 | 2015-07-30T09:34:25 | 470 | 46 |
[WP] It was saddening enough to kill the villain. Reveal that the "villain" wasn't even a villain in the first place and was actually trying to help the heroes. | It wasn't the heat. It was the humidity. A vicious mid-July sun baked the courtyard around me while the sticky, wet air soaked my pores and melded my uniform and skin into a syrupy mess. I felt like a literal fish out of water, and probably looked even worse.
I hated private security. It wasn't the mediocre pay, lackluster benefits, or even the long hours and calloused soles. Well, those were certainly *part* of my beef. Moreover though, it was the general feeling of worthlessness that came with every shift. The job had none of the clout or importance of actual police officers. Hell, even accountants and paper-pushers could argue that they made some difference in the world, that *some* minor cog in the giant machine was moved because of them. I was a glorified piece of furniture, and I couldn't shake that fact, no matter how many pep talks of 'the importance of physical deterrents' that our supervisor gave us.
I sighed heavily and began another lackadaisical patrol of the Smithsonian grounds. At least one full rotation every 60 minutes - that was the rule. 4 made, 4 more to go. I'd be off in 8 hours sharp without a speck of overtime. It was a slow time for the museum. Not many art aficionados were out at 1 p.m. on a Tuesday. I smiled absently at a group of 3 young women politely arguing over an illustrated map of the museum. They sounded Russian, but most eastern European languages sounded the same to me.
I turned around as I reached the end of the courtyard, near the outer gate leading onto the streets. The moonshines were in full bloom, the noonday sun illuminating them in a bright wash of yellow and gold. *This isn't so bad,* I thought, *would I really rather be stuck in an office?*
A piercing scream broke my reverie. I jerked my head and saw a female figure in a bright green coat running desperately toward me. Behind her, two men trailed at a short distance with guns drawn at their sides. "Oh god, please help me!" she screamed, "they're going to kill me!"
My heart was an explosive rhythm as I felt surges of adrenaline rush through me. I withdrew my sidearm with a shaky, graceless jerk. *Shit*, I thought, *Shit, shit shit*. I had never shot anyone. Hell, I had never even fired my gun except for the mandatory training that had been required. The woman in green was getting closer, but so were the men following her.
I took several deep breaths and thought back to my basic firearms class. *Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, body grounded*. I raised my pistol. *Firm grip, support the base, finger below the trigger guard*. "Stop!" I yelled at her pursuers. "Stop and drop your weapons!" They ignored me completely.
The woman was almost at the open center gate. I could begin to see the utter panic sprawled across her face. The image of a wounded gazelle being chased by a lion flitted through my mind. *Align your sights, steady your hands*. The men behind her came to a sudden stop and raised their weapons.
I fired. My ears rang with a cacophony of explosions as I pulled the trigger with a mixture of deliberation and desperation. I didn't realize that my clip was spent until several seconds after I heard the "click, click" of an empty chamber. The two men were laying on the pavement, motionless.
I looked around for the woman in green. I found her standing a few feet behind me, her jaw agape with a look of surprised horror on her face. In true traumatized fashion, the first thing I thought was, *the yellow bouquets really compliment her coat*. "Are you okay?" I managed to croak. She nodded twice, slowly. "Can I...we should get you inside where it's safe. I'll call the police, though I'm sure someone has already." My wits began to return as I spoke.
She nodded again and allowed me to take her arm. I led her slowly across the courtyard gardens toward the museum entrance. Neither of us said anything. The shock was still reverberating. As we approached the stairs leading toward the lobby, I stopped to regain my composure. My legs had begun to shake spasmodically, and I felt like my heart was about to beat itself out of my chest. "Sorry," I said, "it must be the adrenaline wearing off." She nodded in understanding. *I don't imagine I'd be much for conversation in her position either*, I thought.
She motioned me gently up the stairs. We took them slowly, ploddingly, as if on a lazy Sunday stroll and not the aftermath of a surreal and absurd series of events. As we reached the threshold of the lobby, the woman in green paused and turn toward me. She smiled slightly and unbuttoned her coat, revealing a cache of explosives tightly pulled around her waist. She laughed. I screamed. | ***"And now our hero bows his head***
***To beg God's pardon and request his grace***
***The quarrel now most justly ended***
***When our hero caved in this villain's face"***
"Most excellent, Bard Elyan. Do continue to celebrate this most momentous occasion." Lanval the Resolute stuck out his chest and held his chin high as he sheathed his sword, mindful of how he would appear in whatever paintings that would mark this day.
"Sir Lanval, I must say that I don't-" A voice from the back of the crowd was no match for Lanval's booming tenor.
"On, then, bard! Regale the gathered masses with more of your captivating quatrains!"
The bard cleared his throat. "Most certainly, sir..
*The wicked beast had laid its plans*
*To slay our hero and take our town*
*Whereon he'd grope our women chaste*
*And gobble our young children down."*
"IT WAS A HORSE, YOU IDIOTS," a most exasperated voice shouted from the crowd.
"Ay, naysayer. And a fierce one at that! You saw not his sinister gaze; a lust for innocent meat and virtuous flesh did flicker 'neath his eyes." Our hero looked past the crowd and upon the now-saved village.
"HORSES DON'T EAT CHILDREN. AND THEY AREN'T PHYSICALLY CAPABLE OF GROPING ANYTHING."
"IT WAS JUST TRYING TO TAKE A REST BY THE POND. YOU HAD BEEN JOUSTING AGAINST THAT SACK OF POTATOES FOR AT LEAST THREE HOURS."
"THERE WAS NO NEED TO DISEMBOWEL IT. WHO IS GOING TO CLEAN THAT UP?"
Bard Elyan raised his hand to quell their misinformed protests. "I am reminded of an old saying by the great Marbane the Dauntless, father to our present hero." The crowd's murmurs did soften. "He once remarked that you can lead a horse to water, but you must slice open its underside and pull out its intestines if it will not drink. Also, you must beat its face with the pommel of your sword, and perhaps kick it a few times to ensure it is fully slayed."
The villagers whispered amongst themselves, knowing that Marbane the Dauntless would have never dispensed false wisdom.
Patria, wife of Hormal the grainmiller, finally spoke up. "Ay, just yesterday that horse did sneer at my young daughter! I doubt not that he would have returned to eat her presently had our hero Lanval not vanquished him most heroically."
"Hear, hear!" cried another villager. "The beast did reveal his disgusting member to my wife a fortnight ago. I shudder to think what he was planning."
The crowd chattered in agreement. "GREAT BARD, TELL US MORE OF LANVAL'S DEED!"
*The equine beast, with its claws so sharp*
*Did kick and scratch and hiss*
*And when it moved to breathe its fire*
*Our hero filled its mouth with piss*
---
Our great Lanval saves the day again
And Elyan speaks most poetically
So come read more stories and subscribe
At [r/highpothetically](https://www.reddit.com/r/highpothetically/)
(Also, if you wanted to read another story with these characters, I offer you the tale of [Claudin's Shitty Legacy](https://www.reddit.com/r/highpothetically/comments/4dilzc/claudins_shitty_legacy_from_the_prompt_i_thought/).)
| 2016-04-17T13:34:42 | 2016-04-17T10:45:05 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me." | Nobody took his disappearance seriously. "He's an adult. He can leave if he wants to." It wouldn't have been the first time Danny had run away.
The first time was when he was ten and Cara was eight. Nothing serious had provoked him. He was just sick of the same house, the same neighborhood, the same boring reality, and he wanted to find something different. He came back thirteen hours later under their father's strong grip. Danny was grounded for a month.
"I'm always grounded," Danny sulked.
The second time was when he was thirteen. He wanted to go to the new theme park that had just opened upstate, but his parents said no. He went anyway, without them. The police were called, and they tracked him down easily enough. That time, he was grounded for the whole summer.
Cara had to admit she was not entirely surprised that Danny had taken off the day after graduation. She just hoped that now that he was an officially an adult, her parents would stop arguing over what to do with him. It sometimes hurt that they were so occupied with Danny's wanderlust problem that they didn't really notice her. The only thing about her that they approved of was that she stayed home.
And stay home she did. Instead of going off to a university, she went to community college and worked at a cafe that was mere blocks from their home. She was not sure she was smart enough for a real university anyway and she didn't have Danny's daring impulsiveness in her. She played it safe.
She was at work one night when Danny strode in seven minutes before closing. "Hey," he greeted. He picked up one of the juice boxes at the front of the counter for purchase. At least he wasn't going to force her to make something for him, Cara thought as he rang it up.
"Where were you?" she asked, trying to pretend that she wasn't that curious about it.
"Home."
"Just now?"
"Not that home."
What other home could he possibly mean? Cara thought irritably. She did not want to deal with riddles. Couldn't Danny give her a straight answer for once?
She heard her phone ping. "Hold on."
Danny's name popped up on the text. He never texted her. She only kept his name on in case she had to tell him about some emergency.
<That's not me.>
If it was a game, it was unlike him.
She dropped her phone back in her pocket. "So why did you come here?"
"I just wanted to see what was going on in your life."
"Nothing interesting. My life is very ordinary," she said. "You hated it, remember? Ordinary life."
"Do you like it?"
Cara hesitated to answer. She worried about what would follow if she gave an honest answer. If she said "yes," like Danny must have said "yes" that first time he ran away.
"I'm fine with it," she said.
"Always playing it safe." Danny grinned. "You aren't even going to ask the question I know is on your mind." With that he walked to the door. "Good night, Cara."
As soon as he was out of sight, Cara ducked behind the counter and took out her phone.
<Where are you?> | "What?!...wait..." I turn the phone to show David, but stop seeing the doorway empty - now framing only the front lawn where he was stood only moments ago.
"D...David..." I croak stepping tentatively onto the front porch, a hand held tight to the door frame. Gone.
Turning back inside, pressing the door closed tight behind me as the sound of the screen door slowly swings closed on its old rusted hinges permeates the silence.
The message!
Opening the phone and scanning the text again - "That isn't me..."
"so...so he was there..." Reading it again. "That isn't me..." Why would he just run off?
My hand reaches for the door knob then stops abruptly.
"That isn't me..." - message dated
02:02 Thursday 24th March 1996.
Scrolling back up through the messages:
17:30 - "I saw you David! Outside school! You know mom will kill you if you're arrested again!"
17:36 -"Bro relax. Thats not even me!"
17:37 -"I'm serious David, mom will kick you out if you're selling drugs again!"
17:44 -"calm down little brother she won't kick me out and I'm not doing anything illegal"
17:45 - "Stephen McEldray is telling people you sold him pills for a party. I'm telling mom!"
19:00 -"David I didn't tell mom. Please come home"
19:28 - "David call me back!!"
20:02 - "Answer our calls asshole!!"
23:12 - "David the cops have just turned up looking for you! 3people have gone to the ER because of some fake ecstasy tablets! They've got security footage of you selling drugs outside a club!"
01:04 - "ASSHOLE PICK UP YOUR PHONE!!"
02:02 -"That isn't me..."
They pulled his body from the canal 3weeks after... | 2020-07-23T13:00:47 | 2020-07-23T11:56:21 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] A group of plucky rebels attempts to overthrow a dystopian government. Wait... *checks notes* Sorry, utopian, a utopian government. | Jimmy ‘Neverclean’ Dean was the type of man even the laziest, fluffy kitten would scratch. His braided dreadlocks swung like whips as he headbanged to heavy-metal music. He banged away at his drum set at odd hours of the night—filling the neighborhood with a sweet symphony of bangs and thuds —from his open garage.
He also wrote poetry.
Most importantly, he crushed hard on this one girl from Obedience 101. To Jimmy, the prospect of asking Clarita to prom was the holy-grail of achievements in his already wonder-filled life. There was just one problem:
Clarita was an Alpha-blood.
Jimmy was a Beta-blood.
The two classifications, while genetically similar and indistinguishable in almost every way, don’t mix. Everyone knew that. It was the rule of law for as many thousands of years as humanity had crash-landed on Planet 5309-X, also known as NewEarth.
This presented a few obstacles for Jimmy, the most important being that, in order to ask Clarita out to prom, he needed to overthrow the idyllic and peaceful community, abolish thousands of years of tradition and culture, rally the masses, fall in love with some other girl, and create a worse situation than before he started.
Easy as cake.
Jimmy woke on the morning of his seventeenth birthday (which was culturally relevant; because, when you turned seventeen, the government sent you a gift basket) and walked to the shower. As soon as he started the water—*Egad!*
Location coordinates were written in the fog of his mirror!
A cryptic message appeared, “Jimmy, you’re an idiom. There’s no message. This is your mind playing tricks on you—you’re stuck in a coma—please wake up! We miss you!”
“Whoa! That’s probably significant to the plot!” Jimmy said, cringing at how awkward that sounded.
The first thing to do was track down the secretive and rebellious group known as the Maize-Runners. These were the children of the corn-farmers. They ran through the fields of corn and did other, presumably dangerous things.
Jimmy ran downstairs. His mother waited in the kitchen.
“Can you sit down for a minute?” she asked.
“No time! I’ve got a school to blow off for a dangerous quest!”
“Jimmy, this is serious,” she said.
“What? Come on, mom!”
Jimmy’s mother slid him a photograph. “Do you recognize this man?”
“That’s Dr. Evil, leader of the rebellion,” Jimmy said. “He monologues and is unreasonably cruel for no particular reason.”
“He’s your father, Jimmy.”
“Snapdragons!”
Jimmy’s mother pursed her lips. “You’re adopted.”
Jimmy already knew this. It was pretty obvious because, as everyone knows, Alpha-bloods only give birth to other Alpha-bloods, and Jimmy’s mother was a Beta-blood.
“Mom, can I meet dad one day?”
“No, because also, he’s dead. I’m the leader of the rebellion now.”
Jimmy raised vigorous jazz-hands in wonder. “Whoa.”
“Yep. Look, you want to overthrow this government?”
“Absolutely! Even though I’m too young to be making big decisions, I’m sure Clarita is the love of my life and nothing will ever change that, so I’m willing to take drastic measures.”
“Ok son, but listen, this is going to sound strange, but”—she slammed a crossbow down on the table—“you gotta learn to shoot this.”
***
I apologize in advance for how bad this was. r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | A surplus of crops meant nobody starved. Breakthroughs in medical technology meant no one got sick. Being isolated in a fertile valley surrounded by treacherous lands meant no enemies, no war. Our society was perfect, flawless.
And that scared me.
I was young when I first felt it. The… softness of it all, like the world was made marshmallows. It made me feel vulnerable, weak even. I knew there was a world outside ours, and I knew that someday, it would come. In school we learned again and again of the atrocities we were capable of. We learned of the horrors humans inflicted upon each other in the name of peace, progress, and profit. We were taught so that we would be different, and we were, but that didn’t mean the rest of the world was.
When the folly of man came knocking at our door, I wanted to be ready, and yet it seemed like I was the only one who considered this eventuality. My friends and family grew fat and healthy and complacent, as did most of the population. The only people that remained able bodied were the ones who worked in the fields. Despite all the technological advances we’d made, we’d done away with mechanized farming; too unhealthy. Our vegan utopia demanded non-GMO, pesticide free, hand-grown-hand-picked fruits, wheats, and vegetables.
I was born into a family that ran a mechanic shop. You’d think that would be a pretty active occupation, but with the birth of nanotechnology and neurological interfaces, Pa could stay in bed, don a mechanical headband and do all his work from the comfort of his room.
I had volunteered to work in the fields. I needed to keep my body strong.
One day I would change things. I would fix our stagnant, complacent society. I would get us ready for the world outside our fertile valley, and harden our soft, idealistic existence. When the outside world arrived, and became aware of our fertile little valley, we would not be seen as a defenseless fruit, ripe for the picking.
We would be feared. | 2019-05-14T06:17:09 | 2019-05-14T06:09:23 | 66 | 25 |
[WP]Sometimes children get born with weird diseases like vampirism or lycantrophy. The effects of these uncurable illnesses only get detectable when the kid is around 8 years old. Many parents then abandon their child. You run an orphanage for these children. | "Dammit, Jimmy!" I snapped my head around in several directions, making sure no one had heard. I was alone: a rare event.
I turned back to the mess I had just discovered. There, in a pile still steaming, were the unmistakable remnants of this evening's dinner, eaten with a fork and spoon by an affable 10 year-old bou but then passed through a canine digestive tract. You'd be forgiven for thinking we had an untrained labrador roaming the grounds but that's not quite the case.
Lycanthropy was a difficult adjustment for those afflicted but it was just as trying, if not moreso, for the parents and siblings of these kids. Imagine putting your son or daughter to bed one evening and in the middle of the night their room is suddenly destroyed by a scared, confused and most likely very hostile wolf creature. The most tragic incidents end with the parent grabbing a gun to rush to the defense of their child they haven't realized isn't still in the room. I can't begin to imagine their pain but in some cases they do end up rescuing a sibling that shared the room. Small comfort, I'm sure.
I grabbed a mop and filled a bucket in the utility closet. Cleaning these types of messes wasn't an uncommon event but Jimmy should know better. He had been here for six months and had not been housebroken yet. It seemed his wolf side would rather mark territory than do anything else. Whatever. At least he wasn't challenging for dominance of the pack.
Enzyme solution applied and the hallway sparkling once again I went back to my office. I had some preparation to do. This lovely couple was coming in for an adoption interview. They seemed lovely at least. I had to be sure.
I run this facility, you see. These kids are my responsibility and I take that responsibility VERY seriously. They come usually around the same age, between 8 and 11. It's a little like puberty with some exhibiting earlier than others but that's where the similarities stop. They're brought here crying, confused, and convinced they must have done something wrong but they haven't and that's what's so heartbreaking.
It's the rare family that has both the will and the means to care for a lycanthrope. Assuming everyone survives that first moon when the condition becomes known many things will need to happen.
The child will have no memory of the events so usually a therapist or social worker is brought in to help them understand the cage being installed over their bed and to help the family cope with the changes to their lives.
Canine behavioral consultants (dog trainers) are usually hired to handle the training. Only the most expensive ones are actually certified to deal with lupine behavior but there is no shortage of pretenders and no parent wants to be seen not doing everything they can for their child.
The ones who end up here are the best, worst case scenarios. They may have killed a sibling or other family member and been sent here not knowing for sure why their loved one is dead and the rest of their family can't bear to look at them. They may have exhibited to a religious family who shunned them. They may have just committed the crime of belonging to a family too poor to afford their care. These can be the most heartbreaking because all too often it starts with regular visits and new moon weekend trips but eventually the excuses start and the visits slow. And then stop.
Whatever the reason, I consider it my duty to make sure these kids are not only cared FOR but know that they are cared ABOUT.
Back in my office I shuffled through a stack of files regarding my prospective adoptive parents. Their finances were well organized, their family history was virtually blemish free. A distant cousin had been a lycanthrope and the husband's father had been treated for some PTSD after serving overseas but nothing eyebrow raising. All in all good candidates for adoption. So why here?
Adoption is a noble pursuit in the majority of circumstances but adopting a child with a known medical condition that will become psychological problems as their developing brains reconcile their dual natures into a single consciousness is an undertaking for none but the most altruistic, desperate or nefarious. Which one were they?
I could rule out desperate. You would think my kids being special needs would make them harder to adopt but unfortunately the problem is relatively new and society's conscience and, by extension, the politics governing the policies have yet to sufficiently evolve so legally speaking one needs little more than what it would take to get a schnauzer out of the shelter to get a child afflicted with this condition. But there was nothing in the extensive digging I had had done that suggested they were anything but what they appeared to be and what they appeared to be was an ideal candidate for conventional adoption. I can't imagine they would have had any issues being approved for a healthy child in the main system but there was no record of them having even applied so that meant they wanted one of MY kids.
Make no mistake, they are MY kids. When they come here I am legally responsible for their wellbeing and although that comes with certain protections afforded civil servants in similar positions I hold myself to the standard I would hold any flesh and blood parent. And so despite my having few resources and no directive to do so I conduct thorough background checks on every potential employee, every volunteer and especially every well meaning couple inquiring about adoption.
Often it doesn't get that far. They come in, tell me about how much they love the idea of showing one of my poor little waifs a loving and stable home and how they've read extensively on the hurdles and difficulties associated with it and think they are the right couple to do it. The reading they've done is all about taming wolves and government mandated home equipment that must be installed for lycanthrope residency. They mean well, they really do but then I educate them on the reality. There's no literature available to tell them how to deal with a sixteen year-old girl in the middle of her monthly cycle who suddenly attacks a stranger in the park because he got too close and she's rejecting him as a mate or an adolescent male marking territory in the middle of the hallway at school.
They say they may need to talk it over first and then I don't hear from them again.
When it does get as far as me doing my due diligence I go deep. I've been working in this or that government office for almost 40 years and I have friends. I can get tax returns, criminal records, medical histories, you name it. Most don't expect that sort of scrutiny and don't worry about attempting to obfuscate or bury anything alarming. I find out, though.
The biggest red flags are charitable donations to organizations with fundamentalist ties. These types think they can pray it out the child or exorcise it or, in extreme and as yet unsubstantiated cases be sacrificed to some perversion of a divinity. I can't prove it but I won't take the chance either and the upside of an unfeeling bureaucracy is that I generally don't have to justify my denials to anyone.
Altruistic or sinister? I hoped for the former because as much as I cared for each of my kids and would feel their absence, I knew that what I provided here was not a home and it was my duty to find homes when I could for these kids. My digging and my favors and my legwork had produced nothing to tell me there was anything not above board with this couple so that just left the smell test.
And I have a very good sense of smell.
There was a knock at the door and I glanced at my watch. 9:00? Time flies... | "What's your name, sweetheart?" Matron Silver asked. The officer that dropped off the scrawny, pink-haired 8 year old girl left in a hurry. The older woman closed the door and leaned against the edge of her desk to address her new arrival. The girl looked up to meet the woman's brown eyes.
"Justice," she said. The woman placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and leaned forward with a polite, sad smile.
"What a beautiful name they left you with." Justice was one of the rare kids that ended up at the orphanage by accident. Her parent's car accident would have left all three of them dead if Justice's lycanthropy didn't save her life. "How bad are your changes?" Matron Silver asked. The girl shook her head.
"I can control it already."
"Really?" Matron Silver raised a grey eyebrow. Justice bit her lower lip.
"Almost," she admitted. The Matron nodded, smiled, then walked around the desk to sit down across from Justice. She pulled open a drawer and grabbed a folder from inside.
"We'll find out tonight." Matron Silver dropped the folder on the desk, and gave Justice a somber, sympathetic look. "When I was your age, I hated when people didn't explain things to me. I'm sorry about your parents, Justice. The accident only happened a couple of hours ago," the Matron sighed. "...and here you are. I'm sure you feel that things are happening too fast. I want you to know you can slow down and ask any question you want okay?"
"Okay," Justice nodded. The woman gave her almost half a minute to ask a question, but the girl seemed impatient to keep things moving.
"You don't have any questions then?" Justice shook her head.
"I know why I'm here," she tilted her head at the sunset outside the window. "I'd rather be here than a jail cell anyway."
"Smart girl," the Matron smiled. "So, when you say, 'almost' what does that mean? How much can you control it?" The woman opened the folder and readied a pen.
"If I'm alone and it's quiet, I can stay in control. My wolf doesn't like noise though," Justice said. Matron Silver filled in the top sheet of Justice's file while she nodded at the girl to keep her talking. "If I lose control my wolf likes to go to the park. I've never killed anyone and my parents said that my wolf will anything for cheese."
"Your wolf sounds easy to manage," the Matron smiled. "Of course this is your first change here...." she pressed a red button on one corner of her desk. "...you'll understand that we need to see how well you do for ourselves." The door opened. A tall, pale teenager with a widow's peak walked into the room through a sunbeam. "This is Oren, he'll help you to your room, and stand guard for the night." Justice nodded and smiled politely at the matron, then stood up. Oren walked out the door first and Justice followed.
"You're not a vampire," Justice said the moment they were in the narrow hall. "Sorry, that's a question. What are you?" Oren stopped walking, then turned to size Justice up. He looked her up and down.
"What?" he asked. Justice stared into his translucent grey eyes.
"You look like a vampire, but you're not one," she said. "You're not a werewolf, fairy, or human either. You're something I've never smelled. Oren's lips stretched into a small grin.
"You're interesting too. I'll explain in your room," he said, then walked forward again. After navigating the maze of halls Oren stopped in front of one of the steel reinforced doors.
"This is your changing room," he opened the door. "You'll get your living room tomorrow," he said almost apologetically. Justice could see why, the changing room was slightly less than a prison cell. Bare floor, bare walls and a set of filled food and water bowls.
"So what are you?" She asked. Oren stepped into the room and closed the door.
"I'm bored," Oren said. He smiled and made a sweeping gesture at the air with his hand. A black hole, darker than anything Justice had ever seen, opened in the middle of the room. She noted it was tall enough for Oren to step through. "I know where we can play an awesome game though. Wanna come?" Justice did not waste time nodding; she bolted through the hole without a second thought.
The over-enthusiastic young girl was surprised when she saw light on the other side of the hole. It surprised her even more when she ran head first into a woman. Justice barely had time to register the woman's white suit before they collided.
"So-" Justice tried apologizing as she collected herself, but a hand around her throat interrupted the word.
"Who are you!?" A shorter woman in a dark suit lifted Justice off the ground by her neck.
"Chill Melody!" Oren shouted behind Justice. "She's from the orphanage." Justice was able to breathe again, and she felt the ground under her feet again.
"I'm sorry," Melody apologized to Justice, then she stood and glared at Oren. Justice did not see the woman she ran into anywhere. “Normally our visitors don't come down here.” Oren put a hand on Justice's shoulder.
“She said I was something that she'd never smelled before,” Oren said. “I thought I'd introduce her to the AlterNet.” Melody looked down at Justice and smiled.
“What's your name, Sweetheart?”
“Justice,” she replied.
“Just Justice?”
“Justice Knight.”
***
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, day #17. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit (r/hugoverse) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
| 2019-01-17T08:37:44 | 2019-01-17T08:04:49 | 45 | 22 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | It really sounds good on paper. Everyone gets a superpower. Oh, there are people with awesome powers. Eki Magnusson, the current president of the great and bountiful human empire has the gift of luck; whatever choice he makes will turn out for the best. Since he was eighteen, his ambition to find challenges pushed humanity centuries into the future within a decade. He was the first of us; he gave us the gifts, and since, humanity has become the center of the Milky Way's coalition of species.
Ten minutes until my eighteenth birthday, when my gift will come. I always wanted something flashy, like matter manipulation, where I could build skyscrapers with my mind. Or perhaps something interesting, like the aura readers, able to help those in need in just the way that can fix them in truth (and also, they know which girl is right for them at a glance, that's pretty sweet). The mathemagicians were kinda scary though, being one of them seems tough.
My best mate, Jerry, killed himself. It's rare, but it happens. He got telepathy, the poor sod. While very handy, and help greatly in things like assessing who would be a proper ambassador to which alien species, first contact missions, and so on... it's just. Well, he was always a gentle guy, and those are the type to suffer from telepathy most. It sucked. He'd be awesome with anything that could use creativity and intelligence, but sometimes people just get unlucky.
It's two minutes until it starts. My mom and dad are in the living room. They don't want to intrude, but they're waiting. They'll want to help me figure out what power I have. Dad's an empath, so he'll help me get through it, after all, he always helps his patients. Mom's invulnerable, so even if I freak out she'll be able to handle it... she took a vacation day for this. My big brother is an illusionist, far too rare a power, and he can't be home for this. All of my family has extremely rare powers, my uncle is the first person who could create gateways for instantaneous travel between locations. Maybe I'll be fabulously rich and famous like him.
Oh hey, it's a minute past. Nothing happened, so I suppose I'm safe. Time to bite the bullet and go see the parents.
I walked towards the living room, and looked at my dad. Instantly, I saw a vision of my mom, crying as she stabs him over and over. Then it was just him again. I ran away. What else could I do? My mom popped up on my left, and I saw her in a padded cell, age upon her, as she stopped breathing. Out of the house, just needed to get out.
People were walking in the street. I could see how each and every one of them died. One in a car accident. Two on operating tables. I shut my eyes, but the visions kept coming. I screamed. | A friend of mine got the power of flight on his 18th birthday. A girl I used to date could suddenly control bugs of every type - centipedes and ants, mostly. I went to sleep just before midnight on the eve of my 18th birthday, excited to wake up and find out what my power was going to be. Staying awake didn't do the trick. You actually had to sleep to attain the power. People thought your body reset and loaded your power, somehow.
I woke up to find both of my hands glowing white hot, dripping what looked like molten rock all over my bed. Two huge holes were burnt into the top of my mattress, and my cover was on fire. It was a good thing I fell asleep with my hands above my head, and not on my chest.
It was like having the Midas Touch, if everything King Midas touched was instantly melted into slag.
Life quickly became almost impossible. I couldn't brush my teeth, couldn't go on dates, couldn't even feed myself. I became pretty good at using my feet to do things, and thought about having my hands amputated, but what if my stumps started leaking magma? What then?
I did the only thing I could do, unless I wanted a life as a demolitions expert. I joined a super villain team, mostly other people who woke up with powers that made normal life impossible. My dad suggested I call myself Lava Lad, but I went with Ruin.
Still, Lava Lad wasn’t a bad suggestion. | 2015-03-28T06:27:10 | 2015-03-28T06:07:34 | 70 | 10 |
[WP] You are hunted by a pale and faceless man that only you can see. The man moves in slow motion. When you sleep at night, you do not dream. Instead you see through his perspective. | Every night, sleeping soundly, I saw me in my sleep. Through the gap in my window drapes, laying on my bed, as if watching from the hedges. Or through the creaking-open door of my bedroom, gazing with stoic patience. Or sometimes, I saw me from directly above myself, as if hovering, secured from the ceiling by rock-climbing belays.
It was him. The pale man, the faceless man, of whom I caught glimpses in crowded malls, just before he faded away. I saw him every day in snatched, phantasmagoric moments, following without walking, as if gliding, like his gait was frictionless, weightless, and right.
He watched me, always. When I walked to work—
Or from the back kitchen of our office cafe, glaring eyelessly as I placed my order—
Or floating sailing beside my car sideways, feet unmoving, as I drove home each night—
He watched me. Always, he watched.
And after realizing it was him in the dreams, I understood I had to take control. I had tried to face him before, challenging him where he followed me, in the breathless moments before he disappeared. I’d chased him, only for him to dispel himself in the crowds or circumstances he had carefully chosen for our meetings. He controlled our encounters. He picked the when, the where, and the how. I was slave to his hunter’s want.
Perhaps night was the better opportunity for a confrontation. I tried the simplest ideas first. I set an alarm for midnight, not with a plan so much as a desire. I’d grab him by the strange pajamas he always wore, I thought. I’d shake the hell of him and demand, like in a ‘80s soap opera, “Why? *Why?”*
The next morning, I woke with my phone on the floor, the alarm timing switched to 54:32. The glitch disappeared as soon as I touched my phone.
I decided to take a page from Home Alone, setting medieval traps with modern appliances. In the morning I found them disassembled, hanging from the ceiling, dropping to the floor when I took my first breath.
Fine. I would confront him in my dreams, then. A friend told me about lucid dreaming. After weeks of patient study and practice, I began to gain control over my sleeping consciousness. All this while, our encounters grew more and more frequent, the faceless man more and more fearless. He was desperate, I thought. As if he wanted the attention. As if, too, he wanted the confrontation.
The progress was inch-by-inch. My sleeping journals thickened. My days grew wearier.
Then, without warning, it happened. I slipped from my waking state into my sleeping state one night, surrendering control of my body without losing control of my thoughts. It felt like being ejected from submarine’s torpedo port, from safe surety into the crushing depths of oblivion.
Just like that, I was him. Easing the front door of my apartment open, gliding soundlessly, motionlessly across my living room, ignoring my sleeping dog. The kitchen floated by, and then the corridor, and before I knew it, I was standing over my bed. I stared at the lump of myself, insensate, canting my head the way a scientist at work might. I’m not sure why I did this. I was the one in control, after all. In a way, I felt like I was fulfilling my own prophecy. Like I was carrying out the parts I was supposed to, on stage, in a play.
The thought struck me: what might happen if I looked at myself in the mirror? What do the eyes of the faceless man see when he looks himself in the mirror?
I glided back through the corridor, down the hall, to the left. I willed myself to turn the light on, but couldn’t. I couldn’t interact with anything, in fact—which explained much about our previous encounters.
Thankful, the ambient glow from the streets without was enough to see by. I floated before the mirror. And what I saw—
What I *saw—*
Ended me.
Because I was *him.* Standing there, before the mirror, faceless and wan. Seeing it woke an unknown terror I hadn’t felt before. It was my final line, before the curtains would be drawn.
With a rising sense of undulating horror, I glanced to the doorway. I saw him. In my clothes, with my face—but him, the same as this faceless man now being *me.*
He was there. I was here.
Stuck.
I tried to scream. I didn’t make a sound. He closed the door, a sick grin on his face. Through the walls, with my feet, I heard him walk away.
/u/AdeptnessPrize | Slowly I crept, dragging my legs as if they were strapped with heavy chains. My surrounding suddenly strike me with familiarity. It was my living room, my own house. I looked down at my arms....no, no, this was not me. My arms were long and pale, with sharp dirty claws as hands. This creature I was occupying was mindless, slowly walking towards a door...my bedroom door. I could see myself sleeping inside though the slightly open door. My heart raced of fear...this couldn't be real...this must be a dream. Wake up, wake up!
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My alarm jolted my awake, my chest was still pounding from the nightmare. I looked at my open door, unsure whether what I saw in my dream was real. I convinced myself it was not despite it felt so real. I tried to forget it and went about my day. I was a bit groggy which my mom noticed, but I convinced her I was fine as I ran out to school.
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I stared at a closed door now, not thinking of anything. It seemed like I acted only on instinct. Slowly I turned my neck, cracking sound accompanying its movement to another slightly open door and dragged my heavy legs once again. This time I could see my mom sleeping inside her room. I was frightened even more than before. With so much effort I tried stopping myself but to no avail. I was but a spectator looking through this creature's eyes. Although I didn't know its intent, I knew it wasn't a good one.
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Again saved by the bell as my alarm jolted me up. It was just a stupid dream I knew it, but I couldn't help but feel that she was in grave danger. I decided to ignore all common sense and stayed awake in front of her room came night time. I must protect her, I must!
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Once again I saw the slightly open door in front of me. Inside was my mom sleeping. Slowly I crept inside and I stood by her sleeping body, coldly staring, mindlessly unfeeling. Acting on my instinct I grabbed her neck and squeezed as hard as I could. As if possessed by something inhuman her struggling was not long. As the last breath left her body she limped weakly to her bed, dead. I saw my vision darkened and I fell onto the floor losing all strength in my body.
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I saw once again the open door in front of me....what? What's going on? I looked down at my arms...to my horror it was a pair of pale long arms. Slowly I stepped inside, seeing on the floor my own body now sleeping and my mother with her mouth agape on the bed, lifeless. No, no, no.....it can't be! Did the creature got in my head before? No, no, no! I saw the pale arms raised as I kneeled down to reach the neck of my sleeping body. With ease I grabbed it and pulled it apart from the shoulders, splattering blood everywhere.
I stared in horror, I just saw my own murder by this...thing. I tried to scream. I tried and I tried but to no avail as the creature had no mouth for the sound to escape. I wanted to wake up, but I resisted the urge to because if I woke up...I knew what awaited me on that other end. | 2020-12-26T03:30:45 | 2020-12-26T02:59:21 | 188 | 29 |
[WP] World's worst sausage salesman. Always ends up Sexualizing the sasuage and losing the sale. | Hernandez walks up to the stand. 'Gregory's Sausages' it said in big letters for everyone to see. Just under that it had the price. One dollar fifty. Cheap. Hernandez loves cheap.
"Uh, hey?" Hernandez says as he tries to get the attention of the man he assumed was Gregory.
Gregory pulls down his newspaper and stares for a second.
"Can I get a sausage?" Hernandez asks.
Gregory's eyes grow two times their size. Finally, a customer.
"Oh yes, yes you definitely can have a sausage. Which one were you after?"
"Uh, what you got?"
"I've got different sizes. A small limp one. It's cheaper than the regular price but once you get that inside you it ain't going to make you feel much. Not very satisfying but definitely worth the price."
"Uh..."
"What I recommend though is the big hard thick Gregory's Special. Trust me, once you have this bad boy in your hand you'll want to rub it as if it were a lamp."
"What?"
"You don't get it? Like the lamp from Aladdin. With the genie and all that jazz. Yeah, yeah, that. It's like that because the Gregory's Special feels magical in your hand. Just like the lamp."
"Okaaaay...."
"Seriously man, it almost feels alive, you can feel it bulging in your hand. Real good stuff. What sausages do you know that feel like that?"
"None."
"Exactly."
"That's not a good thing."
"Oh are you the sausage expert now?"
"No I uh guess-"
"Yeah you see. I know a good sausage when I see one. Trust me. Shove this down your throat and it will explode with meaty goodness."
"I think I'd rather not."
"Not feeling the Gregory's Special? Ah, that's okay, I got something better." Gregory drops behind his stand out of sight, a few moments pass before he appears with a giant sausage.
Hernandez stares in awe, "Whoa."
"Whoa is right. I call this beast the Black Cock."
"The what?"
"You ask a lot of questions. Is there something wrong with your hearing or what?"
"No I just.... did you say you called it the Black Cock?"
"Yes. It's the biggest sausage you'll ever find. You're gonna have some trouble getting this meat inside you."
"I think I'll just go."
"What? No! Come on man. You'll never find another like this one. I found an actual giant black cock and had it cooked into a sausage. Do you know how rare that is?"
"That's disgusting!"
"Oh, are you a vegetarian now?"
"No, I'm just not a cannibal!"
"What?" Gregory stands there until a light goes off in his head and he realises what's wrong. "Oh no. No no no. I mean rooster. You know? A cock. Rooster. Cock. I found a black rooster and made this giant chicken sausage out of it."
"Oh." Hernandez stands there slightly embarrassed. A long awkward silence takes place. And then laughter. Hernandez and Gregory both fall into fits of laughter.
Hernandez's laughter slowly dies down, his sides now aching, "Ah sorry for the misunderstanding. I'll take it."
Gregory lights up. Finally a sale! "Awesome. That'll be tree fiddy."
Just then Hernandez realises that Gregory was actually an eight stories tall crustacean from the paleolithic era. Hernandez shakes his fist angrily, "I ain't giving you no tree fiddy you goddamn Loch Ness Monster!" And with that he stormed off. | This was it, the final house on the block. Alfred rung the doorbell: if he didn't make this sale, he was out of a job. He couldn't afford to make a mistake this time. No mentioning the length and girth of the sausage. No talking about how snugly it fit in between a pair of buns. No winking.
"Hi, can I help you?" A girl in a school uniform had answered the door. Alfred gulped: if he even thought about an innuendo, he would be in *deep*—no, *big*—no, an inordinate amount of trouble.
"Hi there." Alfred dabbed at the sweat beading across his forehead with a sausage-patterned handkerchief. "I was wondering if you might be interested in my scrumptious sau-sausages." He licked his lips nervously.
The girl looked around nervously. "Maybe you should come back when my parents are home." As she moved to close the door, Alfred stuck his foot out to stop it from shutting.
"Wait! I really need to make a sale. At least try my sausage first!" He shoved his trolley through the gap between the door and the frame. The boxes almost went tumbling as it bumped over the doorstoop. For a moment, Alfred envisioned the image of sausages flying everywhere, smacking the little girl in the face—that would've been disastrous.
The girl took a few steps backward as Alfred entered the house. He sighed. He had to stop talking and cut to the chase, or else he'd just mess up again. "Look, I'll be fired if I don't sell these sausages. Just have a look at them, and tell me if you're interested in them. They're really cheap. I'll leave you alone afterwards. Promise."
She stared at him for a moment before nodding. Alfred sighed. Finally, he had managed to get through the entire pitch for the first time in his sausage-selling career. All it had taken was a bit of heartfelt honesty. He'd have to try this more often in the future.
He grabbed a box from the top of his trolley and opened it. Inside was a set of disembodied penises. | 2016-06-28T05:47:00 | 2016-06-27T21:52:18 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] You've accidentally killed the Devil. God makes you the new Devil to replace the one you killed. | "Put on the suit."
"You're kidding me, right?" I said as I looked at the business card God had just handed me. His face hadn't changed from the moment I told him I had killed the Devil to the moment he had walked me through every layer of Hell there was. He remained stoic, cold, and almost, happy. "This is exactly like *The Santa Clause*."
"I'm not familiar with it," God said, but I heard him snicker under his breath.
"I put on the suit and I become the Devil right? Lucifer, the big guy downstairs."
"I prefer the Fallen Angel," he corrected, but nodded. "That about sums it up though. You killed him, and as much as *Death* wanted that job, you beat him to it."
"Oh, great, so Death is going to spite me for eternity?"
"Well Death hates everyone. You might have more issues with Love and Hope, they had a semi-working relationship with him." God shrugged, "Listen, I don't normally get my hands involved in the Demi-God business, but when a mortal kills one of 'em, I have to step in."
God wasn't who I expected him to be. At all. You always hear the stories that He's some great man, or woman, with a heart of gold and a loving attitude. But God really wasn't any of that. Instead, He was lumbering and didn't seem to care about anything involving us, the mortals. In fact, I'm pretty sure He excused himself in the first few minutes of our conversation to laugh about how I killed the Devil.
I guess it was kind of funny. "But, how could I become the Devil?"
"You put on the suit."
"No, no, that's not what I mean. I'm just a regular woman, I don't have any special talents or--"
"Yet you managed to kill the Devil."
"In a drinking contest! Not a contest of who-can-control-hell-better-than-the-other-one!"
God smirked. "Man, I can't believe he lost. He always bragged about how well he held his liquor. What did him in again?"
I shrugged and tried to remember the past 24 hours. At the beginning, I met a man at a bar. We got to talking, it turned into a drinking contest, he confessed that he was the Devil and I laughed. Then I woke up with God standing above me and a dead-Lucifer next to me in my apartment. According to God, we never did the, well as God put it, "the thing you do when you marry someone."
"I think it was moonshine."
"Ha!" God laughed, "What an idiot." He shook his head and pushed the suit out towards me, "Not important. What is important is your new job. You'll reside in Hell with your own mansion, control about 50,000 demons and archangels, and you'll get to visit the mortal plane whenever you wish."
"Listen, God, I just don't think I'm the best fit for the job."
"Why?"
"Well, I'm a woman to start off."
"Nonsense, Death was a woman for a brief stint in the 30's, 40's, and 50's. Hope's been a woman for sixty years. Gender doesn't mean shit to us. You think I created Eve to beckon to Adam?"
I smirked.
"I created Eve to kick Adam's ass into gear," he sighed, "he was the fucking worst."
Then I laughed.
"Listen, it's not an easy job. Eternal damnation and all that isn't something people *sign* up for, but it's the one you got. Plus, you have 50,000 people to do your bidding, you get a sweet-ass mansion, all the mortal money you can ask for. And your rule is the begin-all-end-all in Hell."
"Yeah, but don't I have to like, torture people and commit them to an eternity of suffering and all that?"
God shrugged, "Half of their lives is suffering. What's an extra eternity going to do?" He threw his arm around my shoulder, his white robe flew behind him. "It's not an easy job, not by a long shot, but it can be fun."
"Fun?"
"You're telling me you didn't enjoy drinking the Devil to death?"
I smiled, He was right. I did rather enjoy the parts of the night I remembered.
"You get a lot of power, too. Torture, suffering, all that shit is just one part of the job. There's plenty more to it."
"Like what?"
"Well, let's call it creative freedom. The Lucifer you killed, he used to hit the Mortal plane every week or so and cause mayhem. I think his best work was back in Ancient times, split the Alexander Empire up perfectly."
"He caused that?"
"Can't have a mortal rising to power like a God, now can we?"
I shrugged. "Well, you're letting me, and I'm nothing compared to Alexander the Great."
God laughed, "That may be true. But you did something no one in human history has ever done."
"And that is?"
"Kill the Devil with his own creation."
_____________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more!* | Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I didn't actually *kill* the Devil. He killed himself. Was I involved? Marginally. There was a wager, of course - the Devil is nothing if not a gambler - involving a guitar and my soul, which turned entirely on the fact that the Devil mistakenly believed Jimmy Page to be dead. Jimmy Page is not dead, but now the Devil is.
I was pretty pleased with myself for defeating the Devil and ending up in possession of Jimmy Page's hands (which are a bit spotted, but still quite deft). I didn't actually learn about the Devil's ultimate demise until the reports began coming in about all those souls of the damned wandering the Earth, tearing up flower beds and possessing school children and the like. It turned out that the Gates of Hell had been opened and now all the most wicked men and women and horses to have ever lived were free to do their worst once again (limited, of course, by their lack of a physical body).
I felt less good about all the evil spirits, but things only got worse when God came to visit.
Now, because I know the question will come up eventually, God is not a man. Or a woman. God is a being of pure light, formed roughly into the shape of an alpaca. God also prefers to be called Karl, but I think that may be confusing, so I'll continue to call God God.
God explained to me that the Devil's death was my fault (I would have argued this point, but God speaks very quickly and loudly, which is really a rather clever strategy, you must admit). God was quite clear on three points: 1) that Hell is a very necessary place, which God would gladly close should it ever become unnecessary, but we don't really seem to be trending in that direction; 2) that Hell needs a Master to guard the gates, administer the requisite tortures, and plan birthday parties; and 3) I would be that Master.
It was not a request. I have gathered that God does not make requests, and even when it appears that God is making a request it is actually a demand dressed up like a request. So off to Hell I went. With great sadness, I was forced to rehome my dog Pebbles with my sister, as dogs are not allowed in Hell. My cat, however, was welcomed readily.
So far - and it hasn't been all that long - I don't especially like Hell. The heat is unpleasant and while many Hell-bound led interesting lives prior to their damnation, they downplay and demure at every turn, hoping - I believe - that Hell may someday institute a parole system.
Worse still are the demons, all quite loyal to the original Devil, who do my bidding in the most lethargic and uninspired manner possible. I often hear them speaking behind my back, plotting my doom, hoping to install a Devil more to their liking. This is fine. I was unpopular in high school, also. Eventually they will come to respect me. Or they will tie me to a poll and take turns brushing their genitals across my face. One or the other.
My throne of skulls is uncomfortable. Ms. Meow-Meow finds the cat treats here unappealing. No one seems all that impressed with my flawless rendition of *Ramble On*. Hell, my friends, is truly hell.
So I would implore you to consider your choices there on Earth. Be good. Be kind. Be a dog, if at all possible. Avoid stabbing or strangling or wearing your ex-husband's rib cage as a vest. Hell is not for you. Unless, of course, you enjoy balmy temperatures and above average Led Zeppelin covers. And if that is the case, I would suggest you do your best to die before Sunday night, when I'll be doing the entirety of *Physical Graffiti*. Should be a good show. Maybe I'll see you then. | 2016-12-09T09:01:17 | 2016-12-09T08:22:15 | 397 | 56 |
[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. | My Biggest Mistake
I once did have a lamp,
which my Grand Pappy gave to me.
He said it granted wishes,
And that I should'na ask for kisses.
I took it from the shelf,
and rubbed it to a shine.
Thinking it was a tall tale.
That my Grand Pappy did design.
No sooner than I set it down,
Smoke rose from the end.
Slowly forming into a cloud,
It turned right into a D'jinn.
"Ho! What is that?," said I.
As my Grand Pappy grinned.
"See I told you was no lie,
"Don't look quite so surprised."
The great D'jinn bowed before me,
As I in shock just stared.
He stood a good head taller,
And had the size of a small bear.
"If you could have one wish,
to fulfill your strongest need,
What would that wish be?"
The D'jinn asked of me.
Should I wish for world peace?
Or should I ask for True Love?
Or be selfish and wish for money,
Or all of the above?
No I had but one wish,
One route I could but take.
To use my wish wisely,
And fix my biggest mistake.
I asked of him, my simple request.
He nodded his head and said,
"I shall do as you ask, Master.
Your wish is my command."
There was a loud whoosh,
As if the air had all suddenly left.
It did not take me long to deduce.
I had been returned.
Time had been rewound,
To the moment before my wish.
I had but a second,
To take it all in.
The lamp in hand,
My Grand Pappy's grin.
The D'Jinn stood before me.
And he asked me again.
"If you could have one wish,
to fulfill your strongest need,
What would that wish be?"
The D'jinn said to me.
I knew right then,
My biggest mistake had been,
Requesting a wish,
Of this powerful D'jinn.
I smiled at him and said,
I wish you to be free,
And have to give no more wishes.
To the likes of me. | I knew what he meant after the third time I was sent back, knew that my biggest mistake would be this wish.
But I pretended not to.
I asked over and over. The same minute-long exchange etched into my mind until I could recite it without a pause, without a second thought. For hundreds, maybe thousands of times this went on and each time the genie would grant my wish and I would be standing beneath his questioning gaze, demanding him to let me fix my greatest mistake
And there I was again.
Maybe I am wrong, maybe I just need to be told I am. Maybe that's why I keep asking for the same thing over and over.
But I'll keep asking.
Because I need my daughter back. | 2016-09-25T08:48:42 | 2016-09-25T08:07:11 | 57 | 23 |
[WP]When you became the first human to go to an alien college, you decided to enroll in "human studies 101". Talk about your first day.
Here is a continuation of the prompt:
[WP] While at the alien college, you decide to introduce some friends you made in Human Studies 101 to human music.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/55gno1/wp_while_at_the_alien_college_you_decide_to/ | "*Just talk about your day so far*." The voice was faint and probably originated from behind the camera that was still finding it's focus.
"My day?" The young woman sitting in front of them, dressed in some sort of retro fashion, responded. The words came through very clear, a testament of the boom mic that was still finding it's way into the shot somehow.
"Well it doesn't feel that much different from normal college so far, if i'm being honest, except for the students of course" The camera zoomed in on her face, unsteady hands trying their best to stabilize.
"*Okay then tell us about that*." the faint voice asked once again.
"Oh It's been great!" she answered, much more energetic than before. "I've already met so many nice people who've helped me get around, and everyone made me feel super welcome!"
"Also." she said, looking into the camera. "Special thanks to my friend Hannah who convinced me to come here. Miss you!" She waved and blew kisses at the screen after that.
"*Right*." The voice said again. "*Why don't you tell me what you are studying*"
"Oh." She said, refocusing on something slightly to the left of the camera. "I'm taking human studies 101."
"*And what's that been like?*"
"Well." She said, pausing to think it over. "It's only been one day, but it was still very enlightening."
"*Oh really?*" the voice sounded invested for the first time "*How so?*"
"It's just been cool to see things from an outsiders perspective. Like take, for instance, the old religions. On most other planets, a world religion was formed and sustained for long periods of time." She was gesticulating with her hands excitedly "On Earth however, once worldwide communication was established, we stuck to having multiple religions to choose from. We were, in a sense, a planet of choices."
"*And was that a good thing?*" The voice interjected.
"Well, not always." She answered, eyes now fixed on the floor "Most of the time, we would not make the right ones. And a lot of innocent people would pay for the choices of a few."
But before the voice could interject, she spoke up, and the camera zoomed out. "But that doesn't mean it was wrong! It was just unfair, and that's not the same thing." she gestured to somewhere behind the camera "Take EY-872 for instance. Their world government had no opposition, and has had some major errors in judgement over the years. On earth, another government would have opposed them."
"*So you are saying humans have a better system?*" the voice asked while the camera focused on her face again.
"No." she said fiercely "I did not say that. I'm just saying that every system is flawed in some way, and that's fine. In a world without flaws black is always white and vice versa."
"*Is the idea of a violence free society like EY-872 completely out of the question for earth?*"
She let out a sigh, searching for the right words knowing she was being recorded. Finally she spoke up. "In my experience" She said, pausing to steel her gaze. "Humans would make the wrong choice a thousand times rather than have someone else make it for them."
The image projected at the base of the room froze, hundreds of students eagerly taking notes or dozing off respectively, as the speaker addressed the room. "This." He said, savoring every word like a mint. "Is one of the very few records of humanity we managed to salvage after the collapse."
He scanned the class with his eye in an effort to enforce the importance of what he was telling them. "Study this video as much as possible, because it will tell you more about humans than anything you read in theory books." He paused for effect. "It will also be the topic of our seminar two cycles from now. "
A loud groan could be heard from the back row in response. | Good day class. This might be a little awkward, seeing as we have one of our subject matter here today, but I've been instructed to just continue as normal. Before I start - let me offer my condolences.
Humans are, quite undoubtedly, the galaxy's biggest fuckups. No amount of time can adequately explain just how much of a goddamn joke these people are. Countless wars, avoidable famines and plagues, infuriating religions and beliefs. They are surprisingly hardy; a likely result of millennia of doing their very best to end each other.
They find such creative ways to hate one another. Race, gender, belief, culture - all potential platforms for loathing and antagonism. They teach their kids from a young age - far too young an age for any rational discourse - to hate anything that is different to them. All this, while further entrenching their own misguided beliefs into their young minds. It's impressive, really; the sickness it breeds is astounding.
Victims of their own desires, they even find ways to deny themselves the simple pleasures of life. Lust is shunned, while violence is encouraged. Death and senseless killing abounds throughout their media, while their own sexuality is treated as sinful.
They are capable of symbiotic relationships with select animals - dogs and cats being most common - but they will happily devour most any other species, with little regard for their prior wellbeing. The few that do abstain from meat are mocked and ostracised - although, admittedly, they're usually cunts about the whole affair, to be honest.
Rampant inequality leads to xenophobia, not altruism. They are told not to trust each other, and they do very well in that regard.
Truly, they are the most astoundingly violent, warring and self-loathing creatures we've ever encountered.
And that is also their tragedy, my dear students. Because they are also capable of such love, of such incredible acts of goodness and grace, of art and music and everything that makes this fickle thing we call life worth *living*.
Potential to far exceed even that of our own.
They hold all of that in their capacity - more so, I dare say, than anything you or I have ever experienced - and instead choose to squander it on hate and ignorance.
And their youth are unwittingly thrust into that world and taught the same misguided beliefs again, and again, and again.
And it breaks my heart - all our hearts, I'm sure - how all that panned out.
So let me reiterate, human. For all your faults, for all your imperfections and flaws - *I envy you.*
And once again, my condolences for your species; what little of them remain. | 2016-09-27T16:40:47 | 2016-09-27T14:14:46 | 412 | 134 |
[WP] A person's superpowers emerge during- and relate to- a highly stressful moment in their life. Your brother nearly drowned, and as a result could shape water to his will. A classmate fell from a high balcony, and ended up learning to fly. You? You just got your powers last night. | As i emerge from a sort of sleep, I’m standing in my school hall, and there is a bunch of people standing in front of me.
“Umm, what happened”, i ask my self, as one of the people staring at me asks, “you are back, is everything’s alright?”
I start to feel anxious, it’s too much attention, i utter under my nose “what do you mean, what happened”, “do you not remember what happened?” One of the teachers asks.
“No...”
“You were just stuck there in the hallway, you didn’t move and we couldn’t move you, it’s been an hour now”
“What? I don’t remember that, all I remember is...”
Memories start to seep in, i can see josh, the school bully talking to me, thats the last memory i have.
“Dude you were like a statue, we couldn’t move you even if ten of us tried pushing you” one of the students said.
As i stud there my legs started shaking. All i can think of is that this is too much attention, i just want to get out of here, and as one of the students slap me on the shoulder. “Don’t wor...”
I wake up in the same hallway. No one around. It’s the middle of the night. The walls seemed a bit torn up, the paint worn of, trash around the corners. “What happened again?”, i look down, and in a circle around me says, “The statue boy”.
As i look through the window, the first thing that caught my eye, was that all the trees seemed a lot bigger. Twice the size actually.
As i walk toward the exit, the door is nailed with wooden planks. There is trash everywhere. It looks abandoned.
As i crawl through between planks. I notice all the houses seem similar but a bit different, and i finally asked myself the question that has been sitting on the back of my mind as i realise my powers “what year am i in?”.
——————————————
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/user/pie_jesu/comments/mi3v09/part_2_super_power_of_escape/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) | I began to fall from the building, I didn't remember climbing it though.
That didn't matter. As I felt myself begin to topple and become truly weightless in the plunge a jolt ran though my body, and it jolted me awake.
The fall had been a dream, but the adrenaline was real.
As I sat up in bed breathing rapidly my phone rang which startled me, and on answering it was my buddy Steve.
'Holy shit man are you ok? We all saw you go over the edge and now we can't see you at all! How did you survive that and where the hell are you?!'
The assent to the roof began to clear in my mind. The opposite of what usually happens as dreams fade, this became more vivid. | 2021-04-01T03:47:34 | 2021-03-31T23:16:32 | 58 | 23 |
[WP] A sharp blade at your neck, you look up at the hero. “So I’ve finally been defeated. Go ahead, finish it.” The hero paused, shuffling on their feet. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.” You laughed, coughing. “What?” The hero bit their lip. “Do you wanna go on a date sometime?” | My blade crashed against my masked opponent's, the impact sending tingles up my arm. We'd been locked in combat for nearly an hour, and my strength was beginning to wain.
Then, I tripped. To think I would be defeated by such a simple mistake.
Before I could catch myself my opponent slammed me against the nearby wall, pressing the tip of their sword against my neck. The cool steel sent a shiver down my spine. I dared not move. "Do it," I growled as I lifted my gaze. Part of me felt a pang of sorrow. I was going to die without ever having even seen the face of the one who would defeat me. They, whoever they were, always wore a disguise. Dressed in all gray clothing they had a featureless cowl covering their face. "Finish it." I choked out, a trickle of blood running down my neck where the blade pierced my skin.
They didn't move, they didn't even speak. They simply stood there, their body pressing against mine.
"Actually, I'd rather ask you something."
Their words surprised me, their voice sounding different than I had imagined.
"Excuse me?"
"Can I ask you something?"
I didn't know what to say. What did they expect me to say?
They shifted and then released their grip from my shirt. They lifted their hand up to remove their cowl, revealing their face.
"Oh." I breathed.
He was handsome, more so than I had expected. His brow was furrowed and his lips were parted as he looked at me. If I hadn't known better I would have thought he was nervous.
He bit his lip, and then removed the tip of his blade from my throat. "Would you like to go out sometime?"
"Surely you're joking," I replied dumbly, very aware of the fact he was still pinning me against the wall.
"Not remotely." He responded, staring at me as if he were afraid I would disappear once he blinked. His eyes were a stunning shade of blue, and his eyelashes were so long, how were his eyelashes so long? Even with mascara, my lashes weren't that long.
I couldn't help but squirm beneath his scrutinizing gaze. I knew I wasn't confusing this man for someone else. His telltale gray tunic and trousers, the featureless cowl. He was one and the same as the person who had been making my life a literal hell for the last six months.
"To clarify, are you asking me on a date right now?"
He blinked, unmoving. "Yes."
"So... You're not going to kill me?"
"I'd like not to." he took a step back, as if only now remembering he had me pinned to the wall this entire time.
I nodded, tugged my shirt down, and smoothed the hair away from my face before tucking it behind my ear. "I think that a date sounds far more pleasing than another battle to the death, don't you?"
He grinned, and my heart stilled. "Good, it was starting to get a little old."
He was radiant. How hadn't I seen it before? I supposed it was because I had literally never seen his face before. "Old?"
"Yeah" he shrugged as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You can only swing a sword at a person's neck so many times before it starts to get boring."
I wasn't sure I understood, but I wasn't about to disagree either. Rather than speaking I took a step forward and cupped his cheek in my hand. His eyes widened in surprise as my breath tickled his nose. He didn't stop me as I tugged him down and pressed my lips against his. Instead, he softened and leaned into my embrace. He didn't even notice as I retrieved a knife from my waist.
Swift as an arrow, I plunged the blade deep into his back, piercing his lungs. I swallowed his shout as he began to struggle, my arms tightening around him. It didn't take long before he sagged, and I let his body drop to the floor.
I casually wiped the blood on my sleeve before tucking my knife away. He may have been getting bored, but I had a job to do. I was a villain after all. | “I…I would actually really love to go on a date with you sometime. Wait, you do mean with you, right? A date with you?”
Your arch-nemesis stares back at you, arm frozen mid-strike with his laZer sword an inch from your throat, and you feel as if he is staring straight through your mirrored lenses and in to your soul. Your body is tense as you await his answer, mostly because he could kill you at any second, but also a little bit because you kind of like him. Always have, in fact – other than the whole genocide thing. And it’s not like it was a mistake, since he’s done it several times now.
Your breath catches in your throat as you finally hear the words you’ve always sort of daydreamed about escape his lips: “Yes, of course a date with me. Why would I ask you out on a date with someone other than me?” His eyes are covered by his hood, but you can still feel his eyeballs rolling around sarcastically in there. “I mean, I guess I left it a LITTLE ambiguous, since I just asked ‘would you like to go on a date,’ and didn’t make sure to specify that it’s with me in the question, but come on, you’re a super hero for Christ’s sake. I assumed you’re smart enough to figure out exactly what I meant without needing to ask for clarification.”
“No, no, of course I got it, I was just caught a little off-guard. The timing is a little weird is all. I guess I never expected you to ask me out on a date while also simultaneously trying to cut off my head with your laser saber.”
The hand around your throat tightens as you’re shoved firmly back in to the wall. The tip of the energy blade at your neck is withdrawn, instead waved around in front of your face. Your potential new beau seems like he’s pretty angry, if the spittle now flying everywhere is anything to go by.
“MY TIMING IS PERFECT! I AM NON-TRADITIONAL IN MY APPROACH TO LOVE! And I don’t handle criticism well!”
You’re quite surprised when you feel a laser blade slice through the top half of your skull a second later. It’s never gone this far before. It’s even more surprising because you can feel it but not see it, on account of your eyeballs bursting almost instantly from the heat of the sword.
The last words you hear before you move on to your afterlife (newly single!) are, “And I’ve TOLD YOU it’s called a laZer sword. It’s COOL!”
\*
At your funeral, multiple people make it a point to mention that your final relationship wasn’t even your shortest relationship. | 2020-10-11T22:51:20 | 2020-10-11T20:04:04 | 42 | 22 |
[WP] The current rulers of the galaxy exert their dominance by showing showing new races a glimpse of their terrifying nature inevitably either driving the unfortunate victims mad or causing them to retreat in fear. It does not work on humans however, they are used to it | “Alright, Splish Sploosh: run the results by me again.”
“Yes, High Sploosh. We have run protocol Margh Slup, as requested by your very own Splooshiness. We send Slupteen ships to create an invasion scenario. We send out our most terrifying fighters and began to roam the surface. However, as you have heard before, the humans were not scared at all. No matter what we tried, they were not spooked by our Splooshins.”
“Hmmm that is unparalleled. Splonge Sploosh! Tell me again what some of the humans responses were to our Spook attempt.”
“Yes, High Sploosh… Ahem… here we go: “What are you supposed to be? A new Pokemon?”, “Is this a Flashmob?”, “Urgh, go away. The costumes at DisneyLand are scarier than you!”
“What is a ‘Disneyland?”
“To our knowledge, my High Sploosh, a ‘Disneyland’ is a large park to which the humans go to have what they call ‘fun’.”
“Hmmm… I see. Have you figured out yet why we aren’t capable of spooking these hairless RibRims?”
“We are still researching the humans ability to resist our spook attempts, you High Splooshiness, but we have an idea of what it might be.”
“And what is that?”
“The humans call it ‘Imagiation’, you High Splooshiness.”
“Imagination?”
“Yes, High Sploosh. It seems that humans are capable of seeing images in their minds that do not exist.”
“That doesn’t make sense! How do you see things that don’t exist?”
“That is what we are trying to figure out, my High Sploosh. But it seems that humans minds can fabricate images not rooted in any kind of reality. Pleasant images and frightful ones. That is the reason we believe that they are not afraid of us, High Sploosh. We have looked into some of the humans creations, called ‘Films’ and some of the things we have seen are even more terrifying than anything I have ever laid eyes upon. I am shivering right now even… And then there is this thing they call ‘Book’, High Sploosh. It seems that the letters on these pages *create* images inside the human’s head. Just like that! From what we have gathered, these ‘Books’ create entire *worlds* inside the human mind. We are trying hard to figure out how this works but so far our efforts have been fruitless.”
“That is worrisome… keep researching this… ‘Imagination’, Splonge Sploosh! We need to crack these RibRims! It can’t be that such a small and Splooshless race can outwit us! We are the rulers of the Universe! We will not be defeated that easily!”
“Yes, your High Sploshiness!” | The beings reviled themselves to be what we all fear, everyone saw the end of the human race, end of our world, a world war, this is how they scare the other aliens, humans are the violent creatures of the galaxy, so, we are used to the destruction of our species, as it has happened twice already.
“Look now! See what we will cause on your planet if you do not follow our lead!” A 98 year old man stands up, “you don’t scare me. I landed at Normandy, you can’t get worse that that!” They get into our minds and make us see what would happen, the heat, the flash, I could feel my retinas burning, my skin boiling, “Is this what you want?” They ask, “you can’t scare us you galactic pieces of shit!” A man yells through the pain.
The vision stops, “what will it take! What will it take!?” They boom at us, “**NOTHING WE REFUSE TO BE CONTROLLED!!**” the old man yells, and we all start chanting, we refuse to be controlled, “so be it.” Then they disappeared, “that can’t be good in the long run.” A younger man, probably in his 20s says, his voice shaking. “ whatever follows, we will be ready.” A woman says, steady as a rock, looking at the sky, “we will be ready.” | 2019-06-11T10:18:08 | 2019-06-11T08:24:52 | 97 | 26 |
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